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>Corset Fashion Show!

>Central Florida Steampunks, mark your calendars!

On August 7th, Blissful Lotus in Orlando, Florida will be having an Corset Fashion Show/ Erotic Fiction Reading event, starting at 8PM. They are (I believe) Central Florida’s only retailer for Timeless Trends corsets (I might be wrong about them being the only retailer, but they do carry Timeless Trends).

I will be attending, and will read my steampunk short story “The Succubus” which appears in the anthology Like Clockwork (available as an ebook from Circlet Press.)

I’ve spoke with the owners, and they encourage any steampunks who want to come out in costume to please do so! They’d love to see you all!

There is a nominal cover charge — $5.00.

(x-posted to my personal journal)

Posted by EASchechter, 0 comments

>Yippee!!!!

>

I have a tentative release date for Apocalypse Sex! Look out for this new Circlet anthology the week of June 28th, and let me know what you all think of my story Darkest Night. I posted an excerpt of Darkest Night here.

And today I got the page proofs for Like a Sacred Desire. Sometime real soon now, I’ll have a release date for my short story The Hand You’re Dealt! There isn’t an excerpt of this one in the wild yet, but the main characters are two of my favorites: Nicolai and Steven, who I introduced you all to here.

I’m am so VERY psyched about these two coming out!

Posted by EASchechter in upcoming books, writing, yippee, 0 comments

>Pins and Needles, Needles and Pins…

>Nomad’s Moon has been sent off to Baen Publishing. Now we wait… for nine to twelve months.

Prince of Air has been sent off to Cobblestone Press. The wait on that is closer to one month.

Here’s hoping!

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>A Ta-da and an excerpt

>Another Ta-Da! I finished my revision of Prince of Air and sent it off to one of my favorite beta readers. This little short story that was supposed to have been for a Circlet anthology is now a erotic novelette (between 10,000 and 17,500 words– in this case 12, 350).

Here, have an excerpt:

In hindsight, I should have realized that something was amiss. As we walked, Arlaith told me that she lived alone, that her father was long dead, and that she had no husband. And yet, when we arrived at the fortified baile that Arlaith called her home, there was a meal laid and waiting that would have fed everyone at Rath-Morrigan, with enough left over for another meal. There was clothing laid out for my use as well, a man’s robe that had obviously never been worn before, made from the finest silk from over the seas. If I’d been thinking, I would have asked the questions: why so much food for a woman who lived alone? Where did the robe come from, and why? And in all the years that I’d flown over this land, how was it that I had never seen or heard of this baile before, or known of the woman who lived here alone? If I’d been thinking, I would have been alarmed. But I was addled by Arlaith, bewitched by her attentions and by her touch, and I followed her without question.

We arrived, and Arlaith formally granted me guest-right under her roof from dusk ’til dawn. Then she led me through the grand feasting chamber and into her bedchamber, where there was a large bath waiting. Again, she undressed me, waving off her servants so that she could attend me in the bath herself. She was the perfect bath-servant, as she scrubbed my limbs and unbraided my shoulder-length hair, working through the tangles with a heavy horn comb. She held a warmed drying sheet for me when I stepped from the bath, and sat with me before the fire so that she could comb my hair again and rebraid it, threading carved amber-and-gold beads worth a king’s ransom into my hair. When I protested, she silenced me with a kiss, coaxing me to my feet so that she could dress me in the silken robe that was worth even more than the beads. She dressed herself in a similar garment, and led me back out into the feast hall for our meal.

Our meal was served on golden plates, with snow-chilled wine poured into jeweled goblets. I ate and drank without noting what passed through my lips, my eyes on Arlaith, my thoughts already ranging ahead to the promised night in her arms. In the firelight, the robes that we wore were sheer enough that I could see the rose-pink of Arlaith’s nipples, and the hint of darkness betwixt her thighs, and I was certain that she could see my own arousal clearly. Indeed, she gave me a long, appraising look, and then laughed and set her goblet down on the bench next to her.

“Shall we retire, my hero?” she asked, standing and holding her hand out to me. I needed no further encouragement, getting to my feet and then, impulsively, scooping Arlaith up in my arms. She laughed, putting her arms around my neck and nuzzling my ear as I carried her into her bedchamber.

Her bed was everything that she had promised; I laid her down amidst the cushions thinking only that I was the luckiest man in the world, to find favor with such a woman.

I was such a fool.

Posted by EASchechter in Ta-da, writing, 0 comments

>To-dos

>Did you know that when you finish a to-do, if becomes a ta-da?

Really!

I just now finished Haunts, the Shadow Unit story I’ve been working on,  and I posted it to the SU forums. And if you haven’t started reading Shadow Unit yet, what is keeping you???

To Write:

* House of Sable Locks (novel, in progress)
* Wanderer’s Moon (next book in the Midnight Moon series. Currently on hold.)
* Drum Mage
* Professional virgin story (no title as of yet)
* Wandering star story

To Revise

* Prince of Air

To Outline

* Sea Prince (outline in progress)
* Coral Throne
* Hidden Things

To Sell

* Nomad’s Moon
* Exile’s Moon
* Infernal Machine

Posted by EASchechter in to-dos, writing, 0 comments

>Book Reviews: _The Plot Chickens_ and _Do Not Open This Book!_

>I don’t know if I’m going to do this often, but these two books caught my eye the last time I took my son to the library. I find it very amusing to find children’s books about the writing process.

The Plot Chickens by Mary Jane and Herm Auch. (Holliday House)

The story of Henrietta, a chicken who loves books and loves to read. She decides to write her own story on her trusty “Hunt and Peck” typewriter, and has to deal with the joys and tribulations of writing the story, rejections, publishing and bad reviews. This book is written by a couple who have a series of chicken-pun kid’s book (Bantam of the Opera, anyone?), and it’s a good, if simplified look at the publishing world. Just right (write?) for the child of a writer, who may not understand just yet why Mommy is pounding her forehead on her laptop keyboard. The illustrations are oil painting (by Mary Jane), that were digitally enhanced by Herm, and are nice and sharp, and very amusing.


Do Not Open This Book by Michaela Muntean. Illustrated by Pascal Lemaire. (Scholastic Press).

The story of a young pig author, who is working hard at getting the words set up in the blank book. There is no fourth wall in this book — the reader is interacting directly with the ‘author’, who is angry that the reader is interrupting him while he’s trying to write the book you are reading. There are one or two places where this book reminds me strongly of The Monster at the End of this Book, but the authorial pig is not nearly as endearing as Grover (then again, who is?). The tone is fiercely antagonistic, even though the pig admits at the end that the reader helped him write a good book. The art is spare, which fits the ‘unfinished book’ theme.

On the whole, I’ll be looking for more from the Auchs. The Plot Chickens was cute, and actually informative about the process that writers go through. Do Not Open This Book was a bit too angry for my tastes.

Posted by EASchechter in book reviews, 0 comments

>I don't listen to Disney music like other people do….

>Inspiration can strike in the strangest places. For example, yesterday, I was in the car with my toddler, and I had Disney music playing on the IPod. Here comes Dick Van Dyke singing “Chim Chim Cheree” from Mary Poppins. There’s a section of that song that is done in an almost melancholy air, in a minor key, and the lyrics talk about the chimney sweep’s world:

“Up where the smoke is all billered and curled
‘Tween pavement and stars is the chimney sweep world
When there’s ‘ardly no day nor ‘ardly no night
There’s things ‘alf in shadow and ‘alfway in light
On the rooftops of London coo, what a sight!”

And my mind seized on that second to last line… things half in shadows and half in the light. WHAT things half in shadows?

Now, I have this gaslight erotic fantasy series in planning mode, with the outline for first book percolating, waiting for the right time (and for me to be able to do the research. Won’t take much, I have all the books already.) So this little idea has been files as something for that particular series, with a working title of Ashes and Light.

My Genius is a little perverse. And if this is news to you, then you haven’t been paying attention.

Posted by EASchechter in inspiration, writing, 0 comments

>Productive week.

>So, I’ve had a productive week so far, and it’s only Wednesday. A query for Nomad’s Moon went off to Immanion Press. Infernal Machine is done, and went off to the beta readers two days ago. And I’ve almost finished revising Prince of Air. The initial revision that removed the sex scenes and attempted to make it a mainstream fantasy story was a mistake. I know that now. Putting the sex back is making it a better story again. Maybe now I can sell it.

Very productive. Now to sell the finished works.

The updated queue:

To Write:

* Haunts (Shadow Unit story, in progress)
* House of Sable Locks (novel, in progress)
* Wanderer’s Moon (next book in the Midnight Moon series. Currently on hold.)
* Drum Mage
* Professional virgin story (no title as of yet)
* Wandering star story

To Revise

* Prince of Air

To Outline

* Sea Prince (outline in progress)
* Coral Throne
* Hidden Things

To Sell

* Nomad’s Moon
* Exile’s Moon
* Infernal Machine

Posted by EASchechter in queue, writing, 0 comments

>Happy International Pixel Stained Technopeasant Day!

>Happy IPSTP Day!

For my offering, here’s an excerpt from my short story “Darkest Night” which will be included in the Circlet Press anthology Apocalypse Sex.

***

Darkest Night

They say that things are darkest before the dawn.

They’re wrong.

We know it for a fact now. Things are darkest right before the lights go out for the last time. Things are pretty dark now, as we wait for the end.

It was the middle of ship’s night when we learned of it. Often, in the night, I amuse myself by scanning for fossil signals from transmissions sent out into the dark who knows how long ago. It was only luck that I found this one. I listened to it once, and then went to wake Tariq, my captain.

I found him on the ceiling, entangled with his lover, Marcus. Marcus was still new to us, nominally brought on board just over a month ago as an all-around engineer. I never begrudge Tariq his lovers. I want him to be happy, and while there are many things that an A.I can do, cuddling isn’t one of them. Marcus was just Tariq’s type: intelligent, eloquent, as pretty to look at as a nebula cloud, and sexually insatiable.

I was quiet for a long time, a minute at least; I so enjoyed watching them together. The contrast between Marcus’ station-bred pallor and Tariq’s darkness was wonderful to watch, especially when they came together in this position, each of them pleasuring the other. I could tell that Tariq was enjoying himself immensely, and I hated to disturb him.

“Tariq,” I called, softly at first, then a little louder when he didn’t respond. I heard Marcus grunt past a mouthful of Tariq, then saw his eyes widen as the two of them rotated past my sensors. He was scowling, and I knew that I’d once again raised his ire.

“Tariq,” I repeated. This time I heard him react, saw his head fall back, away from Marcus’ cock. He groaned softly.

“…better… better be good…” he mumbled.

“I’m picking up a fossil signal, Tariq. I think it may be important.”

He groaned again, his eyes closing in pleasure as Marcus did something that I couldn’t see. Then he slapped Marcus’ bare ass, “Stop that, you.”

Marcus let go and floated away, reaching out to grab at a handhold and pull himself towards the wall, “Come on, lover. Why’d you have to go spoil our fun?”

“Because Moira wouldn’t interrupt without cause,” Tariq launched himself across the cabin and pulled a jumpsuit out of his locker. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“You listen to that damned machine more than you listen to me.” Marcus turned away from Tariq, finding his own clothes where they’d come to rest next to the air vent. “Tariq, if you loved me, you’d turn that thing off like I asked. It gives me the creeps, having that… machine watching us all the time.”

Tariq is many things, but tactful is not one of them. He stared at Marcus for a minute, then burst out laughing. “You’re joking!” he sputtered finally. “Moira’s run this ship for fifteen years. I’d be lost without her, and I’m not crippling the Taraqa to cater to your whims.”

Tariq jaunted out into the corridor, so he didn’t see Marcus’ face go red. I did, but I ignored it, following Tariq out to the command deck and waiting for him to take his place on his couch.

“Should I wait for Marcus?” I asked.

“No. Let me hear this.” He leaned back and closed his eyes, and I knew that he was listening with all of his attention. I started the saved transmission:

“…unknown origins… wave of incredible strength… all worlds utterly destroyed… all ships vaporized… cannot outrun… speed near ‘c’… evacuate all stations… warn all colonies… possibility of survival slim… must take shelter as deep as possible beneath planet surface… God have mercy on our souls…”

The signal faded to white noise, and I cut it off.

Tariq opened his eyes, his eyes troubled, “Origin and time stamp?”

“The signal seems to have originated in the Gamma Epsilon system, time stamped eight months, five days and sixteen hours ago,” I answered. Tariq frowned, and I could tell he was thinking hard. It would only annoy him if I interrupted, so I remained silent. Marcus didn’t.

“Tariq!” Marcus had stopped just inside the doorway, gripping the handhold there so tightly that his knuckles were white. “You need to make a choice,” he said, his words tightly clipped. “If you want me, then that… abomination has to go. Otherwise, I’m leaving at our next port-of-call.”

Tariq turned his couch so that he faced the door, “Marcus, we have more important things to worry about. Moira, play that again.”

I replayed the transmission, and Marcus looked at Tariq, obviously confused, “What was that?”

“Apparently, the end of the human race,” Tariq answered quietly.

Posted by EASchechter in excerpt, writing, 0 comments

On perverts, hypocrites, and why your sense of humor isn't funny.

Allow me to set the scene. I am a crunchy-granola mommy. Not as crunchy as some, though. I’m more a been-left-in-the-milk-just-a-touch-too-long crunchy. I suppose you can call me a somewhat-soggy granola mommy. I wore my son until he was too heavy to wear comfortably, we’re doing child-led weaning, and I hope that he decides he’s weaned before he starts school. But we never co-slept, I am very much in favor of vaccines, and I don’t have the temperament to effectively home-school a little boy who is occasionally smarter than I am.  So I pick and choose from the Attachment Parenting menu.

Now, being a social creature, I’m on a mailing list with other AP mommies. We compare notes and talk about problems and the million little things that kids do. (I seem to be the go-to person about martial relations. Imagine that!) Last week, there was a thread on mommy paranoia, and how you should follow your gut instinct about who you let near your child. It was going well until someone chimed in, “Yeah, all men are pervs.” Another mom chimed in and agreed with that.

What?

After letting it it stew for a few days, I called them on it. I asked them if they really thought about their husbands and sons that way, and pointed out that hateful speech isn’t funny, even in jest. The second mom almost immediately said, “You know, you’re right. There was no reason to say that.”

The first mom, the one who initially said “All men are pervs” attempted to justify her statement (what she called her stereotype) by using statistics. You see, since men think about sex ever seven seconds, and since most pedophiles are male, that meant that all men are pervs.

WHAT?

I called her on it again, very politely. I pointed out pervert = sexual deviant. So, by her logic, since men think about sex ever seven seconds, which as I understand it is normal, and since SOME men are pedophiles,  then all men are sexual deviants. I then asked her what her idea of sexual normalcy in males was.

Her response was that she was sorry she upset me, and hoped that we could move beyond this. In other words, she evaded the question.

I pressed on, pointing out that I wasn’t upset, I just didn’t understand what she was talking about and wanted clarification. That she was reacting with a surprising  bias, and that it looked like the upset was on her side of the screen.

At this point, the moderators of the list stepped in, and my part in the conversation stopped. The conversation, however, did not. In the past day, at least two more moms have asked her to explain what she was talking about, and asked her to define what she means when she says ‘pervert.’

She now claims that she was joking the whole time, and that we just don’t understand her sense of humor.

Now, here’s where the fun part comes in. Just for grins, I googled her. I know where she lives, and I know her full name. And based on her email, I’m pretty sure that the first hit on Google was her. This is the part that if I wrote this into a novel, the editor would have sent it back and said it was too far-fetched.

Because she’s a Relationship Counselor.

I restrained myself from saying, “Counselor, your bias is extremely unprofessional for someone in your field.” I was a good girl. And besides, that would have been overly stalkerish.

But now I’m wondering what the HELL was going on there? Because she’s the person who other people trust to help them in their marriages and relationships. How can she do that if she thinks all men are perverts?

The mind boggles, scrabbles and parchesis….

Posted by EASchechter in reality-is-stranger-than-fiction, 0 comments