Its the last day of January and so we're welcomeing our last guest of the month for the New Year's Bash. I can't believe its flown by so quickly! And now give a nice big welcome to Aubrey!
It’s January 31, 2010, the last day of the first month of the year. Momentous!
Hi, I’m Aubrey Leatherwood writer mainly of contemporary erotic fiction though I also dabble in erotic horror as well.
On the last day of every month, I practice a ritual of sorts. I the wee hours of the morning, I take account of my Works-In-Progress. Out comes a cute, aqua file box with cream rosettes all over it, the laptop and a massive Excel spreadsheet titled bibliography.docx which houses everything I’ve written in the past two years (one day I’ll got back further) and everything I plan to write in the next two years. There’s a synopsis of each title (each work must have a title even if it’s crappy for the time being), the date I start(ed) on it (I am ashamed to admit that some of them go back to the early 90s), the date I’ve targeted to complete it, the genre, the applicable subgenre, two paragraph blurb, challenges, target audience, submitted to, submitted date, and status of submission. After an update of each title and a review (this takes a couple of hours) I decide on a plan of action to achieve my writing goals by the end of the following month.
And for the following month, I completely disregard that plan.
It’s funny because I am well-known by those who well-know me J to be a pantser. Yes, I write by the seat of my pants without a care to plotting or reason or to jumping between radically different voices and atmospheres. For someone as fiendishly organized as I am, I know it’s sort of odd. I write the end, the beginning, the middle. Whatever moment inspiring me to put words on paper is what comes out. And later on, I connect the dots. I say it like that’s simple, it’s soooo not, and frequently it has me cursing about why I didn’t map the darn thing out any better.
Still, at the end of the following month, I update my status and make a new plan.
It’s madness, I know. But I produce an incredible amount of writing each month even if it’s haphazard and spread between WIPs.
Without further ado, here’s an excerpt from a recently completed WIP, “The Soul in Nowhere” a work that is going to be a dark and sizzling departure from the nice Aubrey many of you have seen thus far.
Rahmi's thighs weakened as moisture trickled between them, two spots at the center of her back tingled, and she sank even deeper into her bed. Her legs lolled open a little, restless.
She tested the liquid between them with curiosity and appetite. “Do you want to punish me?”
“It is my nature and my duty,” He stepped forward and pinched one of her swollen nipples tightly. Rahmi gasped. “I can see in your eyes and in your actions that you agree you must be punished. This half-Arcane life in this realm is not enough for you. It is not what you were meant for.” Mast sharply dragged her hand away from her body burning her wrist with his hot skin. He pressed the pads of his super-heated fingers to her wet, abandoned flesh before abruptly pushing two fingers inside her. Rahmi’s body jerked and she hissed as did her flesh. Mast abruptly pulled his hand away.
“Do you want to hurt me?”
“I don’t know,” he responded but Arcane eyes never lied. He licked his fingers. His tongue was long, moist, and came to two sharp points, “Yes. Desperately.” He admitted.
Rahmi had never felt desire in her human form before those last twenty-four hours. She could never indulge such a feeling. Rahmi feared what copulating with a human would cause. She didn’t know if a human would survive it. She didn’t know if her wings would sprout from her back and startle one. She didn’t know if it would affect her and kill what was left of her Arcane. She didn’t know if she would kill and absorb the soul in the way of the demons. She just didn’t know. But with Mastema, she had felt if from the start. It was animal and aggressive and it responded to him powerfully. And, she would feel no guilt over any bi-product of harm. He was, after all, a demon.
Jerahmeel stood and padded over to her Harp. She took a robe and covered the instrument. Turning to Mastema, she explained, “It will try to protect me.”
Let me close by thank Antonia Tiranth for inviting me to blog. I’ve had a lovely time!
2 years ago