This book is out and I suggest you have a preview
“Find out if Heather is giving or getting the Happy Ending this time!”
Below you will find a very short excerpt of a short little ditty released today. This piece has a lot of balls and cock (sometimes in ziploc baggies) but absolutely no sex, so be forewarned.
This 2,000-word short short is a reaction to the copycats who have flattered me quite a bit recently. Thank you, all!
My readers don’t want black and white, they want color, and light, and drama, and futas, and fully articulating arms.
Excerpt from – Voices Carry – 3
by July Cumming
After a week of taboo thoughts about Samantha, Tom creates a plan to get what he wants without anyone finding out. Can he manage to take her hard and without protection before her no good boyfriend gets to her first?
Once everyone had finished eating, the guys took off outside. Tom ran upstairs to get out of his slacks, and into something more comfortable. Sweats were perfect for lounging in. After changing, he came back down and they had a seat back on the couch.
“So girls, another movie?” Tom asked. It was already past eight and he would need to get to bed soon after the show if he was going to use that toy.
“Yeah sure dad. Since you picked the last one, and it stunk I might add, I’m choosing the next one. ‘The Clowns Have Knives’ sounds creepy. Nobody in their right mind, likes clowns,” Samantha sneered.
“Sounds good Cupcake.” Tom folded his arms together and stretched out his legs. Time to relax.
As the movie played on, Tom’s eyes grew weary, and he eventually nodded off to the screams of terror.
It was half way into the film before Samantha noticed her dad had fallen asleep. She was about to nudge him, hoping he would open his eyes, but stopped herself from disturbing him. She felt herself drawn to glance down at his crotch. Tom’s dick was standing straight up under his sweatpants. Trying not to bring attention to him, Samantha quickly turned her face back towards the movie.
“You see it too?” Becky whispered.
“See what?” Samantha replied, hoping she was talking about the film.
“Your dad is rock hard.”
“I hadn’t noticed. I don’t make it a habit of looking at my dad’s junk.” Samantha replied.
“Yeah right. How could you not notice that? It’s huge. Is your dad a light sleeper?” Becky asked.
“I don’t think so, why?”
“Let’s find out.” Becky traced her fingertip from his cock-head down to where she could no longer feel his cock underneath his pants.
“Oh my God, what are you doing?” Samantha asked in an annoyed tone.
“I’m seeing if he is a heavy or light sleeper. What does it look like I’m doing?” Becky continued gently caressing her finger over his shaft that was hidden under his pants. “Look, it’s twitching.”
“Stop it Becky. That’s so not cool,” Samantha whispered as she watched her best friend play with her daddy’s hard-on.
“I never said it was. Well it kinda is. It’s dancing on its own.” Becky smiled and gave Samantha a devilish look. “Dare you to touch it too.”
“God no. That’s my dad.”
“So, he’s not your real dad.”
“Well he is to me. He raised me.” Samantha’s heart started to pound inside her chest.
“Wouldn’t you like to feel his beast? It looks pretty big under there.” Becky reached over Tom and grabbed Samantha’s hand. She knew if she resisted, they would wake the man of the house up. Becky held Samantha’s wrist and placed her hand on top of Tom’s cock. “Go on, feel it.”
Samantha struggled to swallow her spit, making her gasp. She was absolutely mortified to what her friend was making her do. It felt like she was drowning, forgetting how to breathe. She looked into Becky’s eyes, pleading with her to let her go.
“It’s not going to bite you. Relax. Feel how thick his cock is? How warm it feels under his pants? Now squeeze your palm around it.” Becky guided Samantha to do exactly what she told her to do.
“This is so wrong Becky. What if one of the guys walks in? How the hell do I explain that to the guys?”
“Don’t worry so much. Your dad’s prick feels so good, doesn’t it?” Becky asked, wrapping her hand around her friend’s hand. She slowly cradled Samantha’s palm around Tom’s thick shaft and pushed her hand down his dick. “Yes, that’s it. Stroke his cock. I bet he wishes he was awake for this,” she said, pulling Samantha’s hand back up. Becky gripped her hand and steadily jerked their hands multiple times over his bulge.
Samantha’s cunt throbbed in excitement as she fondled her dad in his slumber. Is this really happening? “We should stop Becky. It’s so wrong,” she stated. She didn’t really want to stop, she enjoyed touching her dad and feeling his massive prick. It sparked her forbidden desires again, but it felt awkward doing it with her best friend forcing her hand. “He’s going to wake up.”
“Want me to take it out of his pants? I bet his flesh is on fire from being so hard.”
“God no. You can’t do that.”
“I can’t, or I shouldn’t?”
“Both. That’s too risky Becky,” Samantha uttered, while her hand softly rubbed up and down her daddy’s contained shaft. She found it hard to believe how much she enjoyed touching him. The last twenty-four hours had been a blur of arousal and unethical thoughts for her dad. She didn’t think she would ever be stroking him off. This was incredible. As much as she wanted so badly to wrap her fingers around his bare skin, she couldn’t do it in front of her friend. And definitely not out in the open of their living room.
“Is your pussy throbbing like mine is?” Becky asked.
“Nooo. God no! This is so gross. It’s not some random guy passed out. It’s my dad for fuck sake.”
“It is. I can tell just by your reply that you are thoroughly getting aroused by this. Let me take it out. Then you can at least see it.”
“No. It’s not happening. And no, I’m not thrilled molesting my dad in his sleep,” Samantha replied, unaware that she was now stroking him off on her own will.
Becky had taken her hand off Samantha’s hand in hopes she would continue rubbing him on her own. She was really getting off on watching her best friend stroke Tom. Without thinking twice about it, Becky crammed Samantha’s hand down the front of his pants and placed it on his warm stiff flesh.
“Holy fuck. What have you done?” Samantha asked, terrified and stunned that her fingers were now skimming her daddy’s hard cock. She was about to pull her hand out, until Becky piped up.
“If you stop now, surely daddy will wake up and catch you playing with his prick. Keep the motion going.” Becky grinned. The flickering light from the horror movie playing in the background, gave an evil look to her face.
“I can’t do this.” Samantha’s fingers repeatedly slid over her dad’s penis, petting him while he slept.
“Yes you can. It feels warm and velvety right? I assume since you are a virgin, this is the first cock you’ve ever touched?” Becky winked, knowing full well it was.
“Well yeah, I’m waiting until the party on Friday.”
“You are such a naughty little virgin. Stroking off your dad while he’s asleep. Want me to pull his pants down so you can suck it?”
“No! I’m putting a stop to this nonsense Becky. He’s going to wake anytime now or the guys will come barging in. I’ve done nothing wrong here. You did this.” Samantha carefully pulled her hand out from Tom’s sweats.
“Oh you liked every second of it. I bet daddy’s girl would take it further if she could.”
“God no. Stop. This never happened. Do you hear me?”
“Whatever. I know what I saw,” Becky said, standing up from the couch. “I’m getting a drink. Do you want anything?”
Samantha wanted her dad. The size of his cock in her hand had her pussy clenching to the thoughts of it filling her up. “I’m good.” Samantha stood up and walked over to the front door to check on the work of the car. It had been awhile since the guys had been heard from. She opened the door to find the driveway clear of anything. “Um, looks like the boys have left you behind Becky. The guys were gone, as well as the car.”
A scream from the movie startled Tom awake. Unaware of how long he’d been out, he figured it was at least an hour. He sat on the sofa, waiting for his wood to go down before attempting to get up. He didn’t say a word when he heard the girls walking around.
“That sucks. I guess I’m spending the night.”
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea Becky. Not after what you made me do.” Samantha walked into the kitchen and grabbed a water out of the fridge.
“I highly doubt your dad is going to take me home at this late hour. Do you really want me getting a ride from him?” she said, standing across from her at the island.
“It’s only nine-thirty, catch the bus,” Samantha scoffed.
“But it’s Sunday, remember? They aren’t running very often today. Besides, we still have to watch the rest of the movie. It was getting good too, until you stopped it.” Becky wasn’t talking about the flick.
Tom wondered what Becky made Samantha do that had her pissed off. He closed his eyes again, hoping he could find the answer.
“Well, I highly doubt he’ll drive you home. It’s late and we have to get to bed.”
“See, I’m spending the night. Don’t worry, I won’t say anything to him if that’s what you are worried about.”
“What just happened, never happened. Understand?” Samantha still couldn’t believe what she had done to her dad. It would be a cold day in hell when she would admit she enjoyed it.
“I swear, my lips are sealed,” Becky replied, motioning her fingers to lock her lips. “I know you liked it though, but I’ll let you go on pretending you didn’t.”
Back in the living room, the girls flopped down on the couch to watch the rest of the movie. It was a little disappointing for Samantha to see that her dad’s hard-on was now gone, yet relieved it wasn’t there to entice her.
Tom stretched his arms over his head and yawned, letting the girls know he was awake. “Did I miss much? I didn’t realize I was that tired,” he said as he sat up.
“Yeah, you missed quite a bit Mr. Peterson. It was really good.”
Samantha leaned forward and glared at Becky. She wanted to strangle her for implying something. “No, it wasn’t. The movie’s another stinker.”
“It’s good I slept through it then. How are the guys doing? Any luck on the car?”
“Well Dad, they left without saying anything. That was Becky’s ride home. I’ll be having a good talk with Blake tomorrow at school.”
Read More Voices Carry – 3 by July Cumming
Excerpt from THE HOTEL PARTY by Moctezuma Johnson
I’m surprised Jenny wanted to date me. I’m attractive, but she was fucking perfect. I have a nice scar on my back now, but that’s not enough. Tall and pretty with long sexy legs, a full ass and perky, full tits on her, she could have any guy she wanted. She was the kind of girl you wanted to play house with. The kind of girl you may sell a kidney for just to buy her a handbag you couldn’t afford.
Jynx hated her. She was everything Jynx wasn’t: tall, ultra-skinny, always trying to please me, open to anything. She adored me. She’d lick my asshole, dress in costumes, give up her ass, sweep the floor, let me face fuck her, and buy my cat food.
One night I was holding my cock in Jenny’s mouth while lying on the bed using the phone. I got a weird text. “I’m going to get laid tonight. There’s nothing you can do to stop me. Love, Jynx.”
The next morning Jenny left early for work. Jynx came over and kneeled under my desk while I was on the computer. “He took me to a motel and licked my pussy. Then I wanted to blow him. I wanted to. His penis wasn’t big like yours, so it was easy to get him excited.” She went down deep on my cock and looked me in the eyes. “I have had a lot of practice.” She went down my shaft and then lifted my balls and licked the prostate. My cock was so hard it bumped the computer monitor on my desk.
“Is this what you did to him?”
“Yes,” she said. “I licked his balls until he was as hard as he could be. His penis wasn’t that big, but I still came twice when he fucked me from behind.”
I shoved her head down. “Suck, you fucking cheating cumpig!” I unloaded a massive load into her throat.
I fucked Jenny the first time in my secret apartment away from the school. Or maybe it was outdoors in the amphitheater of the university she had attended, but man I was too drunk to be sure. She was currently my student. She had her hands on my cock and then I undressed her. I couldn’t believe her body. It was perfection: long, sexy, and toned. And her pussy wasn’t as dry as Jynx’s cunt so I could fuck her longer. She held me tight and moaned hard and held me to her and shook. She said it was her first time cumming, so I guess that’s how she fell in love with me.
Jenny had some real estate experience and helped me with Korean to rent my bar and get the contracts with the alcohol distributors set up.
She bought an apartment near mine. She cleaned my house. She bought my cat food and toys. She gave up her ass for hours every night. A lot of my customers thought she was the best looking woman they had ever seen. She caused accidents when she crossed the street.
Jynx was still letting me come to her apartment and fuck her. I loved her big tits and the thing was, she was in my life. My email password was her name with some symbols. My cock got hard when I thought of her big fat Asian ass (she is a PAAG, Phat Ass Asian Girl). I came in torrents down her throat when she sucked me off on rooftops, stairways, back alleys, taxis, buses, airplanes. I masturbated thinking of shoving her head in the toilet while fucking her ass brutally. I had spit on her, pissed on her, written dirty words on her, poured saved jizz on her, cockslapped her, fucked all her holes, and called her names. The only thing I hadn’t done so far was go ass to mouth.
I was fucking Jenny four or five nights a week and fucking Jynx the others.
Jynx was coming over before work just to lower her panties and spread her ass-cheeks for me. Then she would slave at the office cubicle. Pathetic.
She was getting worn out, strung out, fatigued, kaput. She didn’t want to be second pussy. She wanted to be the Princess Pussy, the one and only, the adored pussy, tiara pussy, diamond-encrusted pussy, the royal pussy in my parade and who could really blame her? I mean, what hadn’t the bitch done for me?
Minus her chubby calves and thunder thighs she was a great girl. She had smooth, silky skin, and a great rack. Her nipples were those little pink ones that get hard just by going near them. Her under-boob was thick and delicious. I called her Pancake Titties because when she was lying down they looked like a short stack.
She came into my apartment dressed professionally. She must have gotten up before the crack of dawn to shower, put on make-up, and make the trek up to this ghetto part of the city. It was just past six o’clock a.m. She kneeled down and I sat on the edge of the bed. I “I met another guy in Seokmo,” she told me to prime me for our before-work quickie in which I would pound the back of her throat so hard her Montgomery bumps looked nearly as big as nipples. Seokmo was the pick-up part of Korea where white guys went to find Korean girls to fuck. Without me as her steady man, she would be one of those Korean girls—a piece of meat for white dick. “He promised to take me to a movie or dinner, but we just went to a motel.”
I pushed her neck. “You went straight to a motel with some guy?”
She sucked a few strokes and then said, “I had met him before, while I was with Esther. She said to meet him.”
“Why didn’t you have coffee?” I pushed her head down again.
“He had already booked a motel.” She licked the tip and then looked up at me.
“And you fucked him?” I banged my cockhead against her lips.
“Yes. He undressed me and caressed my tits. He got me excited. He licked my pussy and made me cum. Then he bent me over and fucked me from behind with a big dick—as big as yours. He was rough with me, slapping my ass, pulling my hair, squeezing my tits together. It reminded me of you and I came. He pulled out and I expected him to paint my ass cheeks with his jizz but instead he pushed the head into my ass. I couldn’t fucking believe it. Are all British guys like that?”
“Arrogant? Many of them, yes. So you pushed him off?”
“No, I pushed my ass back until all of him was in me. I wanted to control it. Once it was all in, it wasn’t so bad. He fucked my ass from the back, pushing my head into the bed. My ass was up and in the air.”
I got on the bed and pulled her onto me. “So sexy, baby. Fuck me!”
She would become a bonafide slut, this lonely Asian young woman. Jynx, the new slut of Seokmo, was now naked on top of me, my cock up her slutty cunt. As she fucked me, she talked about getting another guy’s cock in her ass. I had Jynx’s ass in my hands and she was riding me. Going faster.
She said, “I did the up and down routine you like where I just move my hips and he went crazy. ‘Yes, you anal slag,’ he said in his British accent.”
“Did he come in your ass, baby?”
“Not just my ass.”
“He fucked you more than once?”
“Stop, stop, stop,” I said rapidly. I was about to cum. “They?”
“While Chase was fucking my ass deep and hard, spreading my ass cheeks wide apart, hurting me, the door opened and the next thing I knew, I had a cock in my mouth fucking my face and one in my hand. ‘Suck it, you gook whore,’ the guy said as he forced it down my throat.
“And in your hand?”
“I naturally just started to jerk the other one who was holding a video camera. ‘You’re right, Chase, she is an absolute slag, but not as bad looking as you said. She isn’t that fat,’ the cameraman said moving to another angle to shoot Chase deflowering my ass.”
I was really horny now, ready to explode inside of her. “Keep telling me how they whored you out. Do the up and down to me.”
“Chase continued to fuck me. ‘I didn’t say she was fat. I said her legs were fat,’ he said and then moaned loud. I felt his cock expand up my ass. It fucking hurt. He reminded me of you that way. His balls were banging into the petals of my pussy. He jizzed up into my ass, pumping harder and deeper than ever—ripping my poor asshole apart. I felt like I was bleeding.
The guy in my mouth then pulled out and coated my face with ropes of hot cream. He was yelling as he came, like he had won the world cup or something. The cameraman filmed my face close up like I was a star. And he filmed my ass. They turned me over on my back and lifted my legs up. Cum pooled into my eye and stung. My ass was way up in the air now. ‘Push my cum out of your ass and be the gook anal queen you are meant to be,’ said Chase while he held my legs up. I squeezed and cum ran out my asshole and down onto my tits and face. The cameraman said, ‘What a dirty slag! Great find, Chase. Which hole do you fancy I have a go at, slag?’ He kneeled on the bed and pushed into my pussy and after a minute or two of slow deep fucking pulled out and added his seed to my stomach and my tits. At this point two younger guys came into the room and…”
She was riding on me hard now and I couldn’t take it. I was leaning forward a bit and her little pink nipple was rubbing against my cheek and my eye. Her whole body was still, except her ass, which was shimmying up and down like hydraulics powered it. It drove me to the edge. I tapped her ass and she jumped off me as my cock spurted all over her ass cheeks and the bedspread.
“Oh my God!” I collapsed face down on the pillow and nestled up against her. “What a story!” I fell back to sleep until she shook my shoulder. “Master?” I opened my eyes. She was kneeling next to the bed. “May I go to work?”
“Show me your tits!” She pulled her blouse neckline down and pulled up a big piece of meaty tit. “Get me the pen, pig.” She handed me a pen. I wrote pig on her tit and she pulled her shirt back up and hid the message.
Try a sample of my intense writing style:
Excerpt from THE BATTLE FOR ALIEN RELISH – Triangulum Stain 2 by Moctezuma Johnson
Chloe was on the couch with her curly hair exploding on the back cushions. Her back was flat against the seat cushion, sticking to the leather, and her neck craned forward. Her mouth was stuffed with a ball gag and her wrists were cuffed with police cuffs.
Her mouth was stuffed with a big red ball gag with breathing holes pierced into it. Her legs were cuffed to her hands so her pussy’s thick meaty lips were on display. She was clean shaven. She was gorgeous. Her eyes were dark and wide open. She blinked. She wanted so badly to be aroused.
Man after man had left her. She knew this was the reason. They got bored or scared of her. They felt like they couldn’t own her like they wanted. Sure they could stuff her mouth, stretch her cunt, blast her ass with their dicks. They could get her to say she loved it, or even loved them, but deep down there was a gaping hole and it wasn’t just her anus. It was deeper than that!
Deeper than anus, Chloe thought. That was a funny thought. What was deeper than anus? Was there some micro-infinity? Worlds and worlds of imperceptible infinity up her ass. Was she the goddess of ass?
Lefty knew that she just wasn’t excited enough about him. Some infinity up her ass was reckless and needed to be sated. It was like there was a bad teenager up her ass. She needed to tame it. She tried it all. She tried rough sex, group sex, filmed sex, paid sex, charity sex, bdsm sex, lesbian sex, and none of it scratched her itch. Lefty knew and left her. The rest had left her.
Now she just picked up the same old losers at the High Dive Bar on High Street in Beaver Lick, Arizona. She picked them up and had them carry out their fetishes on her. Since the first attack of the Triangulum Stain she had been peed on, shit on, slapped, caged, written on, and spit on. Of course she’d been cum on copious amounts. Today she was tied up, her legs tied to her arms which were cuffed above her head. She was waiting, hoping, dying to get gushingly wet, but instead it was nothing but red rock pussy, as dry as the desert rock.
Officer Rick, the latest dreg that she had peeled off a bar stool and brought to her house, was pounding her ass. Ever since she saw sentient dildos she knew that the great Arizona expanse was but a comma in a book, one book of many crammed onto the bookshelf of life, one infinitesimal small pin prick of the entire dusty library of the universe. Ever since she knew that, she lost all feeling. The connection from cerebral cortex to cunt had been cut. Cleaved straight off. As Officer Rick unleashed his semen onto her cold, flapping pussy lips, he grunted and she sighed. It was as if the streams of sexuality were all dried up. The pleasures that Chloe had experienced as Princess Chuckhole had been too much. No earthling should ever touch, taste, and feel such ecstasy. It was too much for the mind. It was sanity-bending. Now as she found herself bound and being used hard, she was devoid of any feeling. Her body heaved and tears rolled down her cheeks and landed in the bruised nape of her neck.
“What? Why are you crying?” Officer Rick said. The tears had sobered him up a bit and he quit drooling on her breast and picked himself up. He stroked a strand of curly hair out of the salty river of her tears. “Don’t cry, baby. I’ll take care of you.”
The last sentence sent her crying into hyperventilation. All hope was lost. Chloe wanted to be Princess Chuckhole again but all the sentient alien dildos were long dead, and long gone. She turned and looked out the skylight. She could see the stars up above. She sniffed, and she wished to the stars that she would be reconnected to herself.
She could have sworn she saw the cosmos momentarily churn.
On Planet M69, Alien Relish, in the years after the sentient dildos were destroyed the speakers were off, the cum-waters were still, and the scene was silence. It was like someone had turned off the faucet. All that wonderful protein was immobile.
Since the planet had stopped moving. The lusty feelings of humankind had likewise been cut off. All over Earth, people were losing their sex lives, overrun by apathy and insensitivity.
LINZI BASSET – Interview on The Bullshit Blog Tour Bus Stop Smutpunk Show | #SSRTG #LPRTG #EARTG | Real questions and answers, erotica’s version of 60 Minutes
Interview with Linzi Basset
Many people know Linzi. I verified this by checking how many people Amazon search her name each month and the number is staggering. After reading two of her books, I can see why readers are hooked on this writer who I’ve taken to calling the Vladimir Nabokov of erotica. Read the interview to see why! A quick note about the formatting, Linzi’s answers are in italics, my questions are in regular text. Enjoy!
First, let’s get some basics on the table. Tell us the name of your latest book and what genre it is considered.
This is the final book in the Club Alpha Cove BDSM club series but it’s written as a complete standalone. This one came about by demand from my readers and it’s the story about the children of the couple in, ‘His Defiant Sub’, book 8 in the series – seven years later.
Now, straight to the hardest and most profound question of them all, why do you write?
This is the question we always have to think about, isn’t it? For me, it boils down to what Vincent Van Gogh once expressed: “I would rather die of passion than of boredom.” That’s why I write. To express the deep well of passion that lives in my soul which is the part of me that I keep secreted away from my day to day existence. It’s a part of me that had been suppressed for a long time primarily due to a very conservative upbringing. It was part of my familial and cultural heritage and what was expected of me. Now, I’ve reached a point in my life where I’m able to liberate myself and share my passion with others. Blossoming out of what once was the genesis of my own confined existence! Passion is what drives my creativity. Passion is what allows me to ‘see’ and express my own sensuality through the medium of the written word; to be able to draw from that deep well to define the beauty of eroticism and all that it encompasses. I want to share what I feel with others.
Isn’t it a universal truth that it’s our singular experiences and passion, for whatever thing or things that it may be, that molds us all into the individuals that we become? Whether it’s hidden in the depths of our soul or exposed for all to see?
How would you describe your writing style?
Now that’s a question I’ve never considered and the honest answer is that I really don’t know. I guess you could say I shoot from the hip…lol!
If I had to define it, I’d have to say that it’s somewhat stream-of-consciousness, descriptive, emotional. It’s what makes me tick. Every book starts out with just an outline of sorts of who the main characters will be and how the ‘theme’ of the book might be woven into the fabric of their lives. Then I sit down in front of my laptop, I type Chapter One … and off I go. The plot and character development and slowly emerge. I come alive within every story. When I write, I become the character, I live each and every scene. A part of me is engrained in every story that I write…hahaha …no, MJ, I won’t tell you which part! Does it always work? I hope it does. I made some mistakes in the first few books of the Club Alpha Cove series, which is why I did some rewrites. I do a lot of research, factual research, logistical research etc., but ultimately, of course, the story and the characters have to “work” for me. If I don’t feel connected with either one, I’ll ditch it and begin anew because it won’t feel authentic. It’ll lack the depth and the passion I “live” into my writing.
Unfortunately, there are flaws and facets in and of ourselves that we don’t necessarily like. When I read my own writing, I cringe at some of the things that I don’t like about myself and my style. I’m not saying that you scream out your own name in absolute horror, but surely there are a few spots you wish you could strengthen. What are they? What would you say is the weakest part of your writing?
That’s a tough one, a difficult question to answer and one that I’ll come back to later …so off I go to the next question for now!
Okay, I’m back. Let me start by saying this, and it may come as a surprise to many people, but English is not my first language. When I started writing again a few years ago, I struggled with the enormous versatility of American English. All my stories are American-based, so I obviously needed to ensure that they would appeal to the American people. It was a massive struggle until I found an American editor that “Americanized” my writing!
The one thing that I battle with that needs constant work and attention is the passive voice…ahh!…and when I get a script back from my editor with notes indicating where I need to correct it. I do actually scream. And why…why does English have so many tenses? Good heavens! Why can’t everything just be in past, present and future? Why do we need past present, future present, past perfect…or is it perfect past…geez!!
What I’m saying is, don’t let anything stand in the way of your dream to be a writer. I’ve grown so much over the past year and have confidence in every story that I produce, but it’s hard work. Even though my thoughts, my words and my stories flow easily, I have to work on each and every sentence I write because no matter that I “think” in English, there is still a basic interpretation of my thoughts from my mother tongue to not just English, but American English in all of its formal and idiomatic shapes. It can be absolutely daunting at times, extremely so, but I refuse to let it faze me. I approach it with just as much passion as I do with the stories I write.
Many writers might simply get some kind of bot, load it with links to their books, and set it on BLAST. As I gain experience in this genre, I’m realizing there are better ways to get your voice heard.
You have quite a loyal following actively searching for your work to the tune of eight hundred plus people per month typing your name into Amazon. What kind of publicity do you (or those around you) do for your books? How did you start out? What advice can you offer newbies?
Oh dear…another question I’ll have to come back to…off to the next question!
I am sad to say that I haven’t done much as far as publicity is concerned. I have a very demanding full time job, therefore to find the time to properly market and promote my books is a challenge. I do make use of Twitter to promote my work and I’ve developed a more “social” profile on Facebook to connect with followers. Most of the promotional marketing aspects of my work is generated by its very own popularity and that’s the best kind there is. Word of mouth. You can’t buy that. I’m amazed at the number of readers that tell me that someone told them about me which got them interested in reading my books.
I’m starting to do book trailers and the odd teasers, but not enough. Most of my followers connect with me via my website. I do direct mail shots to them and the responses I receive are a clear indication of how much the personal connection I make means to them. I personally respond to every email I receive from fans. For 2016, I plan to start a blog page as soon as someone can tell me how to stretch time to slot it in with everything else!
This advice is not just for others, but for myself as well. You have to create a ‘presence’ in your work, of yourself as an author. Decide in advance what that presence and profile should be and make sure it’s the right one for you and for the type of books that you write. When you market and promote your work, mix it up, don’t get caught in a rut by doing the same thing over and over. It’s something we all tend to forget and I have to admit that I have, too, on occasion forgotten to take my own advice. Join other groups of authors who share the same interest and love of the genre that inspires you. Do guest blogs, interviews and be honest about mistakes you’ve made. Help others and mentor them by way of short articles that might address their concerns. Above all else, never harbor doubt in your ability to write and never give you power away to negativity.
I’m curious to know what other writers like in the same way maybe that musicians share among themselves what other songs they like to cover. It says something about both artists. What’s your favorite line of somebody else’s writing?
Considering the genre I write in, most of you will find this amusing, but this line has stuck with me throughout my life. It’s what has informed my life in a way. It’s what has driven many life changing decisions that I’ve made recently and something I believe that ultimately guides all of us…helping us to decide the path of our own destiny. My good friend RB O’Brien will love this.
It’s from William Shakespeare: “All the world’s a stage and all the men and women merely players: they have their exits and their entrances; and one man in his time plays many parts, his acts being seven stages.”
With which writer would you secretly trade places?
John Grisham. I just love his writing. I’ve read a variety of genres, but I have to say that I greatly favor legal suspense and thrillers.
Lastly, I really love your writing style. I find that you have an incredible way with words. How did you become such an incredible writer? Any tips for us newbies and lackeys that can help us improve?
Thank you, MJ. That’s high praise coming from someone who has the prodigious talent to be able to paint a canvas with words the way you do.
I believe that telling stories in my own voice, driven by my own passion is what motivates me and that is the very essence that gets insinuated into each and every one of my stories. It’s a distillation of who and what inhabits my being. I truly experience and live each and every scene. I feel every touch, every kiss, every harsh word uttered and that to me is the key. I write from the inside out. My stories are me. I live them. I couldn’t imagine writing a story looking in from the outside to try to describe something that I cannot see or feel. When I feel myself laboring unnecessarily to write a scene that I can’t connect to, I know it’s going to come out wrong. My editor always tells me to leave some things to the reader’s imagination, because I become so involved with describing what I see and feel.
It may be that my advice to the writer in you, whoever you are, might sound overly simplistic, but it’s essentially the discovery over time of listening to your own singular voice and the application of it, through hard work and passion to speak through the medium of the written word. Be comfortable within yourself. Write every story as if it’s your own, your dirty little secrets that you’re telling…and yes…maybe some of them are mine…lol! Find your voice with the words that truly express what you think and what you feel and it will flow into your story, make each one stand out, make each chapter shine and make each scene come alive in every reader’s mind. Let your passion come through and connect and your words will have the power to transport the reader into the story as a voyeur, or better yet, as a participant. You really want them to read your erotica books with just one hand….wink*wink!
Thank you, Linzi, for taking the time to answer these questions and the many that led to this interview taking place. It’s a pleasure to be in the company of someone who commands the English language in such a powerful way. You really are like Nabokov in that regard. English wasn’t his native language and he has penned one of the most powerful voices in the literary canon. You, my dear, are most definitely erotica’s Nabokov. Best of luck with For Amy – Their Beloved Sub. As of posting this, For Amy was #5 on Amazon’s bestseller’s list for Suspense.
Want to appear on my blog? Contact me
I’m happy to have people guest post and would like to do short interviews.
Let me know if you’re interested.
Some useful links for writers:
MOUSE OVER TO SEE IF YOUR SUSPICIONS WERE CORRECT