Done Deal

Meet Angelica Dawson.

After deliberation, I have decided to pursue publishing my erotic fiction under her name. Her blog is not intended to be erotic, rather it will be about blogs and blogging. I'm hoping to learn something through her to bring to my blogs here. If you follow my blog and would be interested in being reviewed on hers, let either of us know: kimmydonn@gmail.com or authorangelicadawson@gmail.com

Angelica is also available on twitter (@angelicadawson) and on facebook. Please help me be a dual genre success rather than failure! :D

Note: this will be the only time I mention Angelica Dawson by name on this blog.

Conundrum

I have a problem. For some of you, the fact that I write erotica might come as a surprise (hopefully not a shock). What came as a shock to me, was that my over-the-top, balls-to-the-walls, Bloody, Foul and DIRTY vampire erotica, Blue Moon House was accepted when submitted to Naughty Nights Press. While this blog and this post is suitable for all ages, that link is NOT. It will warn you. This story, Blue Moon House, is not suitable for all ages either. For some, it won't be suitable at any age. It has all manner of kink in it.

Back story on me writing Blue Moon House: There has been a trend in the Twilight Fandom to write raunchier, nastier, and more graphic stories. Particularly in the arena of BDSM. Enter Master of the Universe or 50 Shades of Grey. I will not link to that. If you want either the Fanfic version or the filed off, you can go put it in a search engine. In a gut reaction to that story getting so much popularity, I decided to write my own BDSM story. Only I didn't use Twilight. I didn't use sparkly vampires, I used more traditional ones. Mine aren't killed by sunlight either, but they are damaged/hurt by it, so they work night hours. They also spend most hours indulging themselves and their food source, the submissives who come to their door.

The nugget for Blue Moon House sunk into my head and refused to let go until I wrote her out of it. You ever had a muse like that? They come fairly often by my house and they are the worst house guests. Don't keep up after themselves, require you to be at their beck and call at all hours... just terrible. However, after a relative glut in my writing, I banged out all 19K of Blue Moon House in three days. That's the nice part about that muse—she's insistent, but she's efficient. So there I was with this steaming pile of rough and ready porn that I believed followed the basic rules of the BDSM community (something a lot of stories in the Fandom have gotten called down on). I found a beta reader (and Elizabeth, I still applaud you for making it through that with me) and then I wanted to share. Why? Because I didn't want Elizabeth to be the only one to share that vision with me. I had to inflict it on others.

Now we're approaching the conundrum (and you have my apologies for taking so long to get here). I posted Blue Moon House for free reading pleasure (or horror or whatever) on MyVampFiction. It was read 150 times at the time of this posting, eight months after the original posting in September of 2011, and has three reviews. In that time, it was suggested that I should submit my erotic fiction for publication.

Who would suggest that?! Why my acquaintances who have published erotic fiction, of course! I beta-read D. F. Krieger's Sail My Oceans (which you should click on and buy!) and Elicia Seawell, although not currently publishing erotica, was not afraid to suggest Naughty Nights to me. So, I took a chance. I sent Blue Moon House first to Evernight and then to Naughty Nights. The first said no, citing the "forced sex, fecal and blood play" which, of course, I included up front in my query letter. I expected the second would also reject me, fairly quickly, so I was bowled over on Friday when I got an acceptance letter complete with contract.

I had been so sure no one would want this. I had been convinced that Blue Moon House would lie unnoticed with the rest of the Original Fiction on My Vamp Fiction (just looking through the category, 3 reviews seems to be the maximum). Instead, I'm being offered the chance to publish and promote it. So, do I, author of Cargon: Honour & Privilege, a book geared to young adults, want to divide my efforts and cross-promote erotica under a pseudonym? I also have a few conflicts with the contract, so I might be saved making the decision that way, but it is still a question I need to deal with.

My fanfiction includes a LOT (like 60%? 75%) of erotic fiction. All of them are rated as such and I trust readers to respect those designations. If I do publish my original erotic fiction, I will still be easily identifiable as Kimberly Gould, Kimmydonn, and will have to trust my younger readers and their parents to be wise enough not to pursue works that aren't intended for them. Blue Moon House comes with a list of warnings longer than my arm. Most readers are not going to like it. Which brings me back to my first problem. Do I want to do this?

I have to say, looking at the stack of cons, I'm not sure I can grasp enough pros. The big one would be market share. There are a LOT of erotica readers online. Way more than young adults who are willing to try post-apoc renaissance. Is it possible to hook a reader through porn and convince them to try my non-erotic fiction? This is a HUGE stretch in the case of Cargon, but my second novel, Thickness of Blood, is an adult story with adult themes. A reader who could indulge in Blue Moon House is more likely to enjoy following George as he tracks down his daughter's rapist than someone who felt at home in Fontive with Eve, Adam and Louis.

Before I was published for young adults, I delved into a lot of genres, tried a lot of different styles, and some suited me. Some, I think, made excellent stories that I would NEVER recommend to a young adult. Should I keep my eggs in one basket? Or should I launch those other stories and reap a wider audience? Should I stop with Thickness of Blood and keep my toes out of erotica? I haven't made up my mind yet and would love any and all advice.

Lucky Seven

So Miranda tells me I've been tagged. Okie dokie. I can accept this challenge: Go to page 7 or 77 in your current manuscript
Go to line 7
Copy down the next seven lines/sentences as they are. No cheating!
Tag 7 authors to join in the fun.

I have just begun editing Never Say Die, my zombie time loop story. So here are seven lines from page 77

“Well, I can do that. I have been already. I can't believe no one's been able to take you down.”
“They have, Heph, four times already. I'd rather not make it five.”
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing, just do this for me? Please?”
“Sure. I can do that. So, you really are a girl. That's not just a handle.”
I can't help but laugh. “You're thinking about what I look like right now, aren't you?”
“Well, yeah!”

Happened to be some cute dialog! Now... I need to tag authors. I can do that!

1. Elicia Seawell
2. David Kirk
3. R.B. Wood
4. Haley Whitehall
5. Nicole Wolverton
6. Jennifer Barry
7. D. F. Krieger

Word Count Podcast - Imaginary Friend

I was able to participate in the Word Count Podcast again. To listen to the show, click here

The theme was: the urn you bought at a garage sale still had ashes in it. Here is my story, Imaginary Friends.

---

“Tyler! Would you slow down!” I shouted at my four year old who was running circles around the sofa. “You're going to hurt yourself or break something.”

“Tag!” he shouted happily, reaching into thin air.

“Playing with Joseph again?” I asked, referring to his imaginary friend.

“Yep! No! Don't tag me!” He ran faster, skidding into the kitchen and stopping at my feet. “Can Joseph and I have a snack?”

I shook my head. Tyler was bright; his imaginary friend had more depth than most other kids. I'd asked at the day care he went to part time, but apparently he only played with 'Joseph' when he was at home.

“No, sweetie, supper'll be ready any minute now.”

“Okay.” Unperturbed he raced back into the living room.
---
“Joseph, Joseph, bo-boseph, banana, fana, fo-foseph, me mi, mo-moseph. Joseph.”

I came around the corner from where I'd been reading the paper. “Tyler? Did you learn that in daycare?”

“No. Joseph taught me. Tyler Tyler bo-byler, banana fana fo-fyler, me my mo-myler. Tyler!”

The name game. The song was old when I was little. Where did Tyler learn it? I sipped my coffee and watched him play, still with Joseph. They sang Mom and Dad and Trudy, his favourite among the daycare staff.

“Mom? Did you want to play with us?” Tyler noticed me still watching.

“No, you seem to be having fun. I'll make us some sandwiches for lunch, okay?”

“Okay.” He smiled and went back to his game, picking some other names from daycare.
---
“TYLER!” I ran from the kitchen to grab the large urn from the mantle. Tyler stood on chair beside the fire place and had practically crawled along the mantle. “You could have broken that!”

He jumped down, unphased. “But I wanted to play with Joseph.”

I sighed. “Then why did you want this?” I asked, holding it out toward him. It was a beautiful piece I'd happened upon at a garage sale years ago.

“Joseph lives in there.”

I sighed and tried to keep calm. He was only a child. He didn't know that his friend was imaginary. A quick count of ten and I saw humour in the situation. “Is he a genie? He lives in a bottle?”

Tyler pouted. “No-o, he isn't a genie. He doesn't grant wishes. He's just my friend.”

“Ah, so I can open this and show you no one lives inside? There's nothing inside, see?” I pulled off the top and pointed it toward him.

He looked up at me with what must have been one my exasperated expressions. I almost laughed to see it on his little face. “You tell me I can't bring dirt in the house. I'll just put it in a bottle next time, too.” He turned and trotted off.

Dirt? I tilted the urn back to look inside.

“Oh, my God.” There were ashes in the bottom of the urn. Who would sell an urn that still had ashes in it? I put the lid back on carefully and set it in it's place. I had a frightening idea who 'Joseph' might be. Was it possible Tyler could see and hear ghosts?
---
“Tyler?” I called when I was fairly certain he was 'playing' with Joseph. “What does Joseph look like? Is he a boy like you?”

“No-o,” he said. “He old, older than dad.”

I nodded. “I see. Can you ask Joseph a question for me?”

His withering look made me chuckle. I really had to stop making faces like those. “He can hear you, Mom.”

“Good,” I said quietly. “Joseph, where would you like us to spread your ashes?”

“No!” Tyler jumped up and ran to me, hugging my legs. “Don't make Joseph go away! He's my friend.”

I squatted down and hugged Tyler, smoothing his hair. “It's okay, sweetie. It doesn't have to be today. I'll wait until you can't see Joseph anymore. When you grow up.”

He sniffed and nodded and wiped his nose on his sleeve. “Okay. But not until then!”

“I promise. Now, where would Joseph like go? And is he happy on our mantle?”

Tyler giggled and I took that as a yes for the second question. “He says he'd like to stay here. Maybe in our yard under the tree.”

I nodded. “Thank you, Tyler. You have fun with Joseph. And Joseph, don't play so roughly,” I said with a smile. “You two are going to break something yet.”

Tyler turned back to me instead of running to play. “Can you put the urn down lower?” he asked, pointing to the mantle.

“Of course I can,” I said, setting it on the hearth instead of the mantle. “Just be careful with it,” I reminded him.

“I will, Mom! You're it!” he called and ran around the couch, away from the ghost I couldn't see. How long would Tyler hold onto his imaginary friend? How long would he believe in ghosts? I hoped Joseph would be ready when that time came.

I felt an odd breeze through the house and with it came a sense of peace. In that moment, I knew Joseph was happy. Not for the first time, I admired the urn, shiny inlays and patterned ceramic. I was glad I'd bought it.

Readings

In an attempt to hold off the incredibly heavy mood that is plaguing me, I'm going to write about something that is uplifting. Good idea, right? Okay, here we go.

Lately I've been petitioning schools and public libraries to offer myself and my book for their students/patrons. I did a reading at one Junior High School and Smoky Lake Library in February. I sold only four copies of my book, but those go into circulation with the chance to be read by potentially hundreds of readers. That's a happy thought for someone who isn't counting in dollars but in readers.

The other happy thought comes from the responses I get when I read aloud. I'm fortunate to not have stage fright. I'm not the most lively reader, but I like to think I'm better than a droning monotone. Certainly people listening to me seem to enjoy the readings. Also, people are keen to take my bookmark home (although I've gotten very few sales from those).

Overall, the one-on-one or one-on-few groups give me a sense of pride in my work that I often lose when I'm alone at the computer. Reading Cargon again, reminds me how much I enjoyed telling that story and still don't tire of reading it.

I don't have a lot of marketing strategies. I tried signings but just lost money at it. I tried blogging more regularly and actively but didn't see that generating anything for me. I tried hunting for reviews and found people wanting money or hard copies, either of which didn't sound like a good business decision. Readings are definitely where it's at for me. I'll continue to pitch to teachers and librarians in my area and hope this ball will finally start rolling for me. At the very least, I'll take heart in the reactions I receive and get the lift to keep going.

Thank you, Hillcrest School and Smoky Lake Library for hosting me in February. Your attentiveness meant more to me than you would guess.

Two posts in one day? Bwah?

Yeah, I know, very unlike me. However, I wanted to share this post from the Office of Letters and Light. If that name doesn't sound familiar to you, this might: NaNoWriMo. Them. Feburary is Pitchapalooza over there and I wanted to share the wealth with you. This will tell you all about it. My NaNo is currently summarized in 111 words and I can probably ditch the last sentence. What do you think?

In a case of Buffy meets Ground Hog Day, Cassadra finds herself stuck in a time loop. Instead of one day, Cassandra continually relives the zombie apocalypse until she finds the right keys to prevent it happening, fighting for her life every time she fails to stop the spread of the infection. Her loop ends every time she dies. Her loop starts every time she refuses to accept death as an option. She’s watched everyone she loves die and comes back to try to save them the next time. Her will to survive is what drives her story and makes us keep reading through horror after atrocity to see her succeed.

If you were at SIWC (Surrey International Writers Conference) this is the story with the pregnant zombie... only it doesn't actually have a pregnant zombie in it. Cassy is pregnant at one point and a zombie at one point, but not at the same time. That's what happens when someone overhears the conversation (I'm looking at Michael Slade who will probably never read my blog). However, there will be a pregnant zombie at some point. I can't let that idea slip away, can I?

Cup of Patience

I'm trying to effectively nail down my mental illness. Today, I'm using this analogy.

In the morning, assuming I had a reasonable night's sleep, I wake up with a cup of patience. The mug is full, brimming, and that is the buffer with which I enter my day. That cup of patience is what shields me from everything that would send me soaring to the clouds or plummeting to the depths. A cup of patience is all that keeps me level, grounded.

I drop coffee grounds all over the floor. A tablespoon of patience slips over the edge of my mug, spoiling my day very slightly. It's not a big deal though, I clean it up.

My daughter dawdles on the walk to school. She takes a gulp out of my mug. Thankfully, at five, that leaves half the cup, but she can drink my cup dry very quickly.

Sitting at work, I nurse my half mug against corrupted files, mistakes made, people changing the plans. Often, before the work day is done, my cup is empty.

If I'm very lucky, I managed to take a trickle of patience home in my mug. On good days, I get a few minutes to myself after work and can refill my cup a little. Never full—it's only full in the morning, but enough to get me through the evening. More often, supper burns, I miss my yoga practice, my daughter doesn't like what I've made for supper, and that last trickle is swallowed up.

Then I snap at everyone and everything. I have no buffer. the next thing that goes wrong is the worst of all things. If enough things go wrong after the cup is empty, even when they are all tiny, I want to end everything. I want to push a button that obliterates the world, starting with me.

Today, my cup isn't empty, but it isn't half-full either. I don't know how much I'll have left at the end of the day. I hope it lasts.