Pirating or Lending, you decide.

I recently was introduced by a writer friend about an interview with Neil Gaiman on the subject of Internet pirating of his novels.  Now I’ve always held the belief this was theivery of the highest order.  But after listening to the man talk I began to reconsider my stance on this.  Here’s an article on the interview:

http://www.comicsalliance.com/2011/02/10/neil-gaiman-piracy-lending-books/

Here’s Mr. Gaiman on YouTube talking about it:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0Qkyt1wXNlI

After listening to this I wondered if he wasn’t on to something.  Morally it’s wrong but still…he’s selling more books because of it.  I began to think about my career as a reader.  I discovered David Edding’s “Belgariad” by buying the first 3 novels at a used bookstore.  Mr. Eddings didn’t get any royalties from it but he did get a life-long fan.  I bought everything by him from that point on.  Stephen King was introduced to me in the same fashion.  Also Robert Heinlein, Isaac Asimov and quite a few others. 

So is it really bad?  Free sample books from epublishers are all the rage but you only get a very brief taste of the authors who submit to these.  If your site (a publisher’s site) isn’t getting a lot of traffic then it doesn’t matter, does it?  You could put out the very best ebook on the planet but if nobody downloads it or knows about you then what have you accomplished?  Lending books (something everyone of us has done) is a better way to “discover” an author.  I have a free download here on my site, it gets quite a bit of attention.  My sales have increased because of it.  Now I’m thinking of putting it up on Scribd just to see what happens.  Scribd is the largest free download place on the web (or so I’ve heard). 

So is it lending, pirating or something new we haven’t considered?  Think back to how you “met” your favorite authors.   Did you always buy their books or did you discover them at a used bookstore or from a friend or family member?  If Neil Gaiman’s sales are rising in Russia due to free (pirated) eboks can this be something positive?  Do you think $7.99 for an ebook is a bit pricey for a file?  Should epublishers lower their prices?  I’d like your thoughts on these.

Ciao!

Chris

I’m going to piss you off with this…

A certain website devoted to helping authors has put out their annual “readers” poll and listed the “winners”.  Let’s talk about this for a second.  Here are the points I’d like to make before somebody starts calling me a kill-joy. On second thought that label would be fair because that’s what I am.  Personally I call it being “realistic”, but then again I’m a writer and I play with words for a living.   But then again that’s what my detractors say and most of them are writers too.  But I digress….here’s the points:

 The site is for AUTHORS, not READERS.

  1. How many readers do you know who bother to respond to a poll?  Most of my readers have no contact with me.  So how would they even know about the poll?
  2. Authors are (myself included) pretty much promotional whores (a.k.a. do whatever they can to promote their books). 
  3. Authors have family, friends, co-workers and other authors (and editors) with the same publisher who want to help out.
  4. I’ve seen NUMEROUS posts on authors & staff’s websites about “please vote for me on the blah-blah-blah poll.”  Not to mention Facebook, MySpace, etc…

Those are the only points I’m currently going to make.  So in the end you must ask yourself this question, “Who is voting for these books?” 

I think you’ve come to the same conclusion I have. 

Awards are nice, good reviews are as well.  But I believe in unbiased (not that anything is totally unbiased) merits.  Yes, I’ve won something like this and that’s why I know of what I speak.  As a test I put something of mine up for voting (on this “reader’s poll” in question but I won’t say what poll or when I did this) and only mentioned it on my blog.  I voted and so did my wife.  Guess how many votes I got.

That’s right…two (2).

Surprisingly enough I placed in the mid-teens.

So the next time you see an author stating how well they did at the polls remember this.  Sales are a better indicator of your book’s popularity… not some contest where you can vote (and everyone in your entire circle of friends, family and co-workers can vote too). That’s why the New York Times Bestseller List isn’t called the New York Times Readers Poll List.  However sales aren’t necessarily an indication of how good a book is (for example; Twlight).  If these people cast ballots in your favor but don’t read (or better yet buy) what you pen then is the contest fair? I’m sure there are exceptions to this rule… but I also believe in fairies, werewolves, honest politicians and other mythical creatures that don’t exist.  Anyway here’s a big, hearty congratulations to all the winners you deserve it.

Sort of.

This brings me to another point.  When asked to write something for an anthology by any of my publishers I can crank one out (and keep my usual high quality) in a matter of a few hours.  When I send it in I get the following comment, “Wow!  We didn’t expect this so quickly and be so good.” 

Why is that?

I’ll tell you why.  Most authors spend their entire evenings (or mornings or afternoons) promoting their current work instead of WRITING.  This has become an alarming problem that usually results in what I call Daily Oppressive Promotional Ergonomics or DOPE. 

You’re a writer don’t be a DOPE.

If you spend more than an hour a day on promotion and not one minute writing then you are not a writer but a promoter.  Stephen King in his book “On Writing” says he sets a word count limit of 2,000 words per day.  Personally I can crank out 2k of words in about an hour.  However I’ll spend another hour or so re-reading it and adding to it but that’s me.  What bothers me is when I see writers blogging, “I made my 5k word count today!” all I wonder is “How many k was worth putting on disk?”

However at least they’re writing not promoting.   

Writers write…that’s what we do.  We shouldn’t become so involved with “getting our work out there” that’s the job of a publisher (a.k.a. a good one I should mention).  If you’re publisher isn’t at least sending out your latest release to 3 review sites, including reviews on the buy page to your book, advertising on genre related sites or giving out suggestions then you have a bad publisher.  It takes money to make money so if your publisher isn’t spending cash to reel in readers, why did they publish you in the first place?  These places bank on you suffering from Promotion Marketing Syndrome or PMS to do their job for them. 

Don’t suffer from PMS…it’s not worth the pain.

Quite frankly I’ve stopped with one of these since I don’t see a future for it.  Plus I’m too busy writing…which is what I love to do.  Promoting sucks, spending time away from family sucks worse and giving 60% of my sales to someone not trying to at least shoulder some of the burden goes beyond sucking.  In fact the only thing worse than an indifferent publisher is a Black Hole (for overall suckage that is).

So don’t get PMS and don’t be a DOPE. Find the right publisher for your work and then move on to your next writing project.  You’ll be a happier, more prolific writer for it. And imagine all the free time you’ll have…scary isn’t it?

 That’s my two-cents,

Chris

 PS By the way I wrote this in ten minute and it’ over 900 words long.  Just wanted to make that point.

A Star’s Rebirth

AUTHOR’S NOTE:  The following is a work of erotic fiction.  If you under the age of eighteen LEAVE NOW!

The limo pulled up to the scene of the shoot.  Sleek and black it oozed through the gates of the mansion like shark gliding through open waters.  In the back, her face pressed to a small mirror was twenty-eight year old Roxie Darling.  With an expert pair of sniffs she snorted the cocaine granulates up the rolled up hundred dollar bill and into her flaring nostrils.  She leaned back and smiled.

This is how it should be, she mused lazily, I’m a star and I should be treated as one.

It had been years since the television show that had made her a household name had ended.  The cast and crew of Taylor Made had long gone their separate ways.  Like a dysfunctional family none of them seemed willing to get together for talk shows or reunions.  The show’s star had found God, the actress who played her mother had drank her way into an early grave and just recently her sit-com father had been arrested for public indecency.   She had been in and out of rehab places due to her cocaine addiction.  But despite public apologies, time served and community service she refused to give it up.

Now after years of toiling in minor film or TV roles I have the chance I’ve always wanted.  Top billing and my face plastered across the movie poster even if it’s a low budget mob movie.  I will shine in it…and then the offers will come pouring in.

Roxie wiped away the powdery residue under her nose with dainty fingers and handed the mirror to the film’s producer.

“I can’t tell you how thrilled we are you decided to take our offer,” he said with a false grin.  “Never in our wildest dreams did we think we could land someone like you for the starring role.”

“Well you should be thrilled,” Roxie sniffed indignantly.  “I am an actress—not some former rap star or stand-up comedian.  I’ve trained at some of the finest workshops in both LA and New York.”

“So I’ve read.  Do you need anything else Ms. Darling?”

“No I’m good—for now.”

As he sat back in the seat of the limo Roxie couldn’t help but smugly smile at his desire to cater to her every whim and need.  Since they first approached her it had been made abundantly clear she would be treated with respect and fawned on.  Although her agent had argued against taking this role Roxie saw the potential for stardom.

I refuse to ride the coattails of another hypocritical and childish actor like I did on Taylor Made, she growled silently.  Putting up with playing second banana to a spoiled brat like Clint Callahan, never again!

The limo cruised predator-like into the back of the spacious and well-maintained manor finally sliding into a parking space.  Roxie looked around and saw the usual chaos of a movie shoot.  Vans, rigs and other vehicles were haphazardly sitting in the California sun like a Tinsel Town version of a flash mob.  Camera people, script girls, electricians and other mundane workers sweated in the heat.

“Where’s my trailer?” Roxie asked.

“It’s over there,” Louis Brashear answered, pointing off to the right.

“Is it stocked with what I asked for?”

“Absolutely, your favorite brand of bottled water and a fresh sushi tray are waiting for you.  Do you have your script?”

“I am a professional of course I do.  It’s in my luggage.”

“Good.  Do you want anyone to run through your lines before we start?”

“Hardly, I have them already memorized.”

She gave him a heaping helping of cold shoulder as the driver opened her door in a graceful manner.  She took pleasure in the click-clocking sound of her high heels striking the concrete walkway as she outdistanced the tall black producer.

“Do I have my lines memorized?  Would you like someone to help you out?  What kind of people is Brashear used to working with?  I played Annie on Broadway for Christ’s sake!” She spat angrily.

The driver, tagging along behind her pretended not to hear her but carried her suitcase like an obedient pack mule.

She walked up the short steps and flung the door of the trailer open.  A cold blast of air-conditioning washed over her making her long brown hair flutter.  She smiled and entered.

“Set my case over there,” she ordered the limo driver.

“Yes Miss Darling,” he politely said.

She ignored him and waited for the wage-slave to depart.  Roxie stared out of the window and surveyed the workers toiling in the heat.  The lights and cameras were set up around the pool for the first scene.  Across the long rectangle of water she spotted her co-star (if you wanted to call him that) sitting under a tropical patterned umbrella being worked on by the makeup artist.  He was reading his script and laughing with the chubby blonde working on him.

“Stupid bastard probably hasn’t bothered to read it until now,” she sneered.

She dismissed him with a turn of her head and went over to the suitcase lying on the bed.  Undoing the locks she took out the bound ream of paper, snickered at the title and tossed it on the mattress.  The cocaine was making her feel nice and mellow.  Any traces of anxiety or second thoughts had been erased in a wonderful haze.  Her nerves were buzzing and happy.  There was a knock on the trailer door.  Roxie went over and opened it.

“Hi I’m Jennifer and I’ll be doing your makeup, Miss Darling,” an ugly redhead chirped.

“I hope you do a better job than you did the morning on yourself,” she growled.

The woman’s face coiled up briefly in anger but quickly smoothed out.

That’s right I’m the star and you’re a nobody, Roxie thought.  Remember that and we’ll get along just fine.

“I suppose you better come in and get to work,” she sighed.

****

Roxie sat in the trailer waiting for the call to go on set.  She had been watching television (something else she demanded during the contract negotiations).  The hot red bikini snugly hugged her well-kept curves and the soft satin robe decadently caressed her back and shoulders.  She cooed from the luxurious feel of the fabric and basked in the treatment she was receiving.  The door rattled with a knock.

“Come in,” she said in a bored tone.

The portal swung away revealing Mr. Brashear and the director.  For the life of her she couldn’t remember the man’s name even though she’d been introduced to him three times previously.

“We’re ready for you, Miss Darling,” the big black man told her.

“Let’s get on with it then,” she replied.

Following the two men out she quickly broke out in a sweat due to the outside temperature.  Crossing over to the expensive set of pool chairs a man rushed over to hand her a clean, white towel.  She dabbed the perspiration away without marring her makeup.

“Okay in this scene Bobby is going to approach you about the money your husband owes the mob,” the director began.

“I’ve read the script I don’t need a refresher on it,” she said snippily at him.

“Okay then take your mark and let me know when you’re ready.”

She smiled a false sweet grin at him and sat down in the pool recliner, adjusted her satin robe and picked up the prop magazine from the ground.  Crossing her legs and lying back Roxie accepted a pair of pricey sunglasses from the prop handler.  She took a deep breath.

It’s Showtime—remember you’re a star, a professional who’s loved my millions, she chanted to herself.

“Lights!” the director shouted.

Time to make cinematic magic…

“Camera!”

Stardom here I come…

“Action!”

From stage left a big tall man wearing a black business suit crossed into the camera’s view and stopped beside the recliner.  He put his hands on his hips and frowned (per the script) waiting for her to notice him.

“Can I help you?” she asked politely.

“My name is Vinnie Barossa,” he recited dully.  “I’m a business associate of your husband’s.”

“He isn’t here.”

“We know that.  In fact we’ve been unable to find him since the beginning of the week.  You wouldn’t know where he is, would you?”

Where do they get these guys?  Is there an amateur act missing a player?  What a weak delivery of dialogue.

She folded the magazine up and set it on the ground (just like in the script).  Looking up at him she pulled her glasses down the bridge of her nose.  From overtop of the expensive shades Roxie pretended to admire him.

“In fact I have no idea where he is,” she said, “He’s left me here all by my lonesome.”

“Look Mrs. Kingston,” he said, “he owes my employer a million bucks.  The debt was due on Monday and if he’s skipped town, well let’s just say things are going to drastically change for you.”

“Is that a threat?”

“No it’s a promise.”

She unwound her legs and sat up.  Placing a heel on either side of the pool chair she wiggled the robe just off her shoulders to show off her enhanced chest.

“And if I don’t know where he is?” she cooed.

“Then I’m afraid my boss is gonna take the price out of your well-tanned hide,” he threatened.

She rose to her feet and sashayed up to her co-star.  Pushing a finger into the middle of his chest she got into his face.

“Don’t threaten me, you little worm,” she snarled.  “I have nothing to do with my husband’s business dealings.  If you touch one hair on my head I’ll have the cops haul your mobster ass to jail faster than you can say boo.”

Great delivery!  Perfect timing maybe he’ll take notes and learn a few things.

Per the script he went for his gun.  Without hesitation Roxie snatched his hand away and bent it behind him.  The heavy weapon clattered to the ground and luckily didn’t accidentally discharge.

“Ouch you’re hurting me!” he grunted.

“You dare draw a gun on me?” she spat.  “I’m no rich man’s toy I grew up on the streets of Los Angeles and I know how to handle myself.”

Ignoring the scene’s description she hiked his arm up higher making his next line sound more genuine.

Somebody’s got to instruct this moron on the art of acting and it might as well be me.

“Look Mrs. Kingston I’m real sorry but those are my orders,” he said in actual pain.

“Perhaps we can come to an understanding?  Between you, your boss and myself, what do you think?” she queried in a sultry tone.

“Mrs. Kingston are you trying to seduce me?”

I hated that line when I read it the first time and it’s even more idiotic now.  Stealing dialogue from a classic movie makes me want to vomit.

“I said I grew up in a bad neighborhood so I know how business is done.  Let’s say I give up my stupid husband what will happen to me?” she asked over his shoulder.

“Well you’d be broke,” he groaned.

“I’ve been poor before and I don’t intend on going back to that.  Perhaps you could persuade your employer to keep me on here as a hostess.  What do you think?”

“Mr. Alfredo has enough girls to make him happy.  I don’t see why he’d want one more.”

“I’m no girl—surely you can see that.”

“I don’t think I can convince him to let you stay,” he snarled, “especially when you’re so rough with his people.”

She released his arm and kicked the gun into the pool.  It wasn’t in the scene but she thought it made a nice touch.

“He hasn’t met me yet,” she recited.  “I’m no pushover.  I could be a treasured asset to his business dealings.  Besides maybe he ought to move up from girls to a real woman.”

“That’s a tall order,” Vinnie remarked.  “I’d have to have something more than just your word on this.  Perhaps a demonstration of your abilities would be enough to convince me to speak on your behalf.”

Stupid!  What a goddamn stupid line—I told them to change it!  Brainless fuckers I’m going to have to speak to the screenwriter and then we’ll have to shoot this idiotic scene all over again.

Ignoring her mental tirade she slid the satin robe off her shoulders and walked around.  She kept a finger on his right bicep and moved around it like she was using his body as a pivot point.  Leaning into the actor she pushed her breasts into his chest.

“I can be very persuasive,” she growled sensually.  “I’m sure you can see how easily I could worm information out of Mr. Alfredo’s clients.  He could have almost any of their secrets if I entertain them for a few hours.”

The actor swallowed hard.  It wasn’t in the scene but her stellar performance was easily affecting him.  Glancing over his shoulder the rest of the crew was leaning towards them.

Again I’ve outdone myself—they’re like putty in my hands. That’s the mark of a true thespian.

“I could show you… do you think you’re up for it?” she continued.

“Ah—gee I guess I got some time.  Besides it’s for a good cause, right?” he stammered.

“Absolutely Vinnie—keeping me in caviar and champagne has always been my favorite charity.”

Oh well here comes the love scene—I wish we’d have started somewhere else in the script.  Duty calls…

She took a step to the right allowing the camera to zoom in on her right hand.  Slowly she unbuttoned his coat and slid her palm down his chest.  Roxie lingered on his stomach making circles and wrinkling his shirt.  Her co-star’s chest began to heave up and down.  She stared him in the eyes the entire time watching his face contort into a mask of desire.  Turning her hand digits down she eased her fingers into his pants grabbing his already erect cock.

Well what do we have here?  A nice thick shaft—that’s a perk I didn’t expect, she thought past her drugged haze.

“This is a nice hard cock you have here, Vinnie,” she said.  “What have you been feeding it lately?”

“B-blondes mostly,” he groaned in need.

“Blondes are nice—but brunettes are smarter, better and more talented.”

Removing her hand from the front of his pants she undid his belt and slowly pulled down his zipper. Another surprise awaited her.

No undies either…

The thickness of his ten inch member flopped out into her hand.  Its shocking length and wide girth lay like a robust Italian sausage in her palm.  She gripped it tenderly and stroked it a couple of times.

The camera’s probably trained on his face to get his reaction but I’m too much a professional to do it half-assed, Roxie mused inwardly.

His hands landed on her shoulders and gently pushed her down to her knees.  Her vision was filled with the meaty reality of his cock.  She licked her lips in anticipation.

“Please,” he moaned.

She obliged him despite everything.  Kissing the tip she quickly enveloped his shaft in her warm, wet mouth.  Rolling her tongue around his girth she felt the actor’s hips thrust out hesitantly at first.  Warm hands were placed on the sides of her head and soon he was holding her face still while he pumped his meat into her willing mouth.

“Oh god…,” he gasped, “…so good.”

Roxie grinned past the huge mouthful and continued to suck the man’s organ.  The drug in her system encouraging her improvisation and her pussy began to swelter with hot, moist heat rivaling the California weather.  Her knees protested about the roughness of the concrete.  She ignored it.

After a few minutes of devouring his rampant meat-pole she stood up.  The poor actor’s shaft was twitching in frustration from the cessation of her talented mouth.  She pushed away from him and sat down on the edge of the pool chair.  Leaning back, propped up by her elbows Roxie crooked a finger at him.

“Dinner is served,” she cooed hotly.

The man peeled off his clothes, strutting and dancing in some parody of a male review dancer.  She tried not to laugh.

He really sucks as an actor… I hope his tongue is better trained.

Vinnie knelt between her legs and pushed away the hot red material of the bikini exposing her damp, red and hungry cunt.  She felt the first touch of his mouth and moaned loudly.

Okay he does have something to offer the movie! She cheered to herself.

Pulling apart the moist lips of her snatch the greasy haired actor began lapping, licking and tonguing the burning folds of her.  Her body began to quiver.  Roxie’s mouth fell open and her head hung back on her neck.  She let out a low moan when he inserted one of his big fingers into her pussy.

“Ooh baby that’s it,” she husked out.  “Tease my cunt.”

“You’re so good—so tasty and hot,” he replied.

Again that line needs replaced… but right now I could care less.

Her thighs began to shake while Vinnie ate her out.  Another finger joined the first and the walls of her cleft stretched to accept them, a minor sting of pain started but quickly faded.  His mouth attached itself to her hooded button and he mashed his lips against it making Roxie release several hitching sobs of pleasure.    Her ass bounced up and down to the rhythm of his oral delights until her nipples cut into the fabric of the bikini top.  Looking between her deep cleavage she watched him dine out on her cunt.

“Oh yes—you’re so good,” she said ignoring the script.  “I like your fingers so deep in my pussy.”

He mumbled something into her snatch and kept digitally fucking and licking her.  Her body became incredibly hot, aroused and excited.  She bucked her hips upward, driving his face and fingers deeper into her cleft.  She saw the camera swing around to her left to zoom in on the fact he was stroking his big hard cock at the same time.

“Stop,” she groaned.  “I want your huge dick in me.  Fuck me you bastard!”

Where did that line come from? She wondered silently.

Pulling himself up to a standing position Vinnie waited for her to rise from the chair and bend over in front of him and presenting her perfectly shaped ass.  The bottom of the bikini was pulled away and soon her top landed on the ground in front of her.  The huge swell of her breasts spilled out and she took one in each hand.  Splaying her legs as far as they would go she moaned out in desperate need.  Between the cocaine and the man’s thick cock she found herself hornier than she’d ever been in her life.

“Oh… fuck!” she groaned when he pushed into her moist depths.

The organ being stuffed into her pussy was almost too big.  She struggled to stay upright and still accept the meaty intruder snaking into her slit.  His hands came around and pushed hers away.  He mashed her nipples.  Alternating between tugs and pinches she hissed out in painful pleasure while he tortured her erect buds.  The withdrawing of his shaft made her shudder.  Then he started to seriously fuck her with it.

“Oh!  Ah!  My… God!” she grunted with each penetration.

“Do you like it?  Tell me how it feels Mrs. Kingston?” he snarled.

“I-it’s so big!  Oh fuck yeah it’s filling me up… so deep… so hot… oh Vinnie I want it all!” she recited from the script.

The slap of his hips against her ass made Roxie’s hazy brain’s synapses fire off in delightful randomness.  She pushed back against him just to drive him all the way into her hungry snatch.

Fuck this bastard is going to rip me open…but I don’t care!  I have to take it, it’s all for Art!

Just as she had a handle on things he pulled completely out of her.  Rudely he pushed her face first into chair and hauled her on her back by yanking up and over with a grip on one of her legs.  Her skin was sore from the harshness of the chair’s material.  Before she could protest his treatment of her Vinnie spread her legs wide open and pushed them near her ears.

“No wait a minute!” she wailed

“Shut up bitch and take it,” he growled.

This isn’t in the script!  That fucker!

She was pinned to the chair and watched in horror as the vein-covered snake-trouser was aimed at her defenseless pussy.  Roxie tried to wiggle away but was soon pinned down by his body weight and the meaty spike driven into her snatch.

“You fucker!” she hissed in his ear.  “Stick to the script you’re hurting me.”

“Sorry, no can do.  You think you’re some big Hollywood star, don’t you,” the actor said angrily.  “Well welcome to the porn industry Miss High and Mighty Darling.”

“This is a soft-core shoot!  Nobody said anything about it being hardcore the scene isn’t going to be shown in its entirety.  The dirty parts are going to be cut out!”

“You idiot didn’t you read the fine print?  It’s all going in the picture.  That’s why I’m taking such pleasure in making you scream and beg.”

“You son of a bitch I’ll have you fired for this.”

“I doubt it… I’m the director’s son.”

Roxie felt her face widen in surprise.  However she didn’t have time to think about it as the big, thick shaft sank to the hilt in her stretched out cunt.  She cried out.

This is a bad angle!  He’s hurting me!

“Yeah take it you slut,” he shouted.  “Take all my cock!”

“Ah!  W-wait!  It’s too much,” she sobbed (this line wasn’t in the script).

Her soft cavity was wet but it wasn’t enough to ease the pressure of being so completely stuffed with man-meat.  She beat his back with her hands and eventually dug long bloody furrows in his flesh.

I have to get him out of me or it’s going to ruin my poor pussy!

But she couldn’t move.  His weight was too much and she found she didn’t have any leverage to shove him away.  With tear-filled eyes she accepted her fate for the moment.  But behind that worried, excited expression her temper rose to greater heights.

“Oh yeah…I’m gonna come,” he groaned.  “Are you ready for it?”

“Yes, oh yes please,” she said.

Her line was straight out of the scene but she said it because she was hoping for the end of this part to come.  Vinnie continued to jackhammer his big cock into her burning slit while she tried relentlessly to make the actor finish quicker.  With a thin cry he yanked out his massive meat and Roxie let out a sob of joy.  Then the first hot, thick splatter of semen struck her between the eyes and began dripping down her nose.

“Ah!” she shouted in surprise.

The next glob hit her right cheek as he adjusted his aim.  Her mouth was dangling wide open, not because it was scripted but out of pure shock.

He came in my face!  That miserable motherfucker, how dare he? Roxie squealed to herself.

Three more shots spewed out and landed onto her tongue and greasily slid towards the back of her throat.  She clamped her lips down and received the remaining spray of man-seed onto her pouting, trembling lips.  The salty-sweet taste seemed as false as her Hollywood fame.

“Like that don’t you,” he sneered.

“Yes,” she said in barely masked broken voice.

“You like the taste of my cum, don’t you whore?”

“Please… more.”

I-I can’t believe I said that line!  Oh god what have I gotten myself into?

Picking her bodily up in his brawny arms Vinnie carried her to the pool’s edge.  Without a word he flung her overtop of the cold water where she felt she hung there for an eternity.  Like the sudden realization of what happened to her career she hit the surface and sank past it.  Fighting her way upwards she swam to the edge of the pool and looked at Vinnie with a hurt expression.  She wiped the semen off her face which hadn’t washed off from her impromptu bath.

“I’ll tell Mr. Alfredo about your offer,” he chuckled.  “I think you’ll pass his audition just like you passed mine.  You see we caught your husband yesterday and now he’s sleeping with the fishes.”

“You k-killed him,” she replied.

“Yeah it took a while but he finally died when we tossed him in the bay.  He told us how great you were in bed so I was sent here to see if it was true.  Your hubby gave us the idea you’d tried to keep from going back to the streets where he found you.  Congratulations you passed the test.”

“You played me!”

“You can expect Mr. Alfredo this evening…he likes black leather skirts, crotchless panties and tall boots so I’d go out and buy some.  By the way if you’re thinking about making a run for it after emptying your bank account you can forget it.  One of my associates is going to be staying with you.  You see I’m no errand boy but a Capo in Mr. Alfredo’s organization.”

“No!”

“Yes it’s true baby,” he leered.  “And by the way I’ll be staying here permanently so you better get used to treating me with respect.  You’re my reward for catching your husband, you see.  Mr. Alfredo gave me the house, the cars and the whore who lives here.  I just wanted to make sure you were worth it.  Do you want to stay and service me anytime I want?”

“I will,” she meekly stated.

“You will…what?”

“I will Mr. Barossa.”

“Good you learn quickly.  I’ll be back tomorrow and you better be ready for me because I’ve got a big appetite and you’re the main course, doll.”

He started to walk away and she could feel the camera’s lens zooming in on her face for a close up.  Despite the rioting turmoil in her brain she still managed to enact a conspirator’s smile.

“You go right ahead Vinnie and think you’re in charge,” she recited her dialogue, “but I’ll make you sorry you treated me like this.”

“And…cut!” the director shouted.  “That was great but I’d like another take just to get some different angles.  Get Roxie into her trailer, dry her off and redo her makeup.  Come on people, shake a leg we don’t have all day.”

The gaffer’s assistant came over and helped her climb out of the pool.  He ogled her naked body and Roxie suddenly felt dirty and violated.  She staggered into the held out white towel and in horror noticed it was being held by the now smirking redhead who did her makeup.

“Come Miss Star we have to get you fixed up for the second take,” she said mockingly.

Oh this is too much…I never thought it’d come to this!  They’ve thrown the entire script out I’ve been given.  I’m supposed to be the heroine in this—not some mob slut to be used and abused.  They’ve fooled me and I can’t say shit about it since I’m under contract.  Oh fuck it’s a four picture deal!

Hot tears sprang up in Roxie’s eyes and she meekly followed the makeup artist back to her trailer.  Behind her were the shattered remains of both her career and dignity.

When She Was Good…

AUTHOR’S NOTE: This is a free excerpt from my psychological thriller “When She Was Good…” currently not under contract with any publisher.  Just thought I’d give you all a taste of what’s to come soon from me.

Indentity Found

The mirror quaked in her hands.  Bright green eyes, a tangled mass of auburn hair and a heart-shaped face stared back at her.  A patch of white gauze held in place with clear medical tape marred the smooth forehead of the person gazing back at her.  Quivering lips, like a tiny red bow twisted and contorted in the stranger’s effort not to burst into weeping.  Tossing it aside she felt it land between her legs in a thumping sensation.

            Well at least I’m not ugly, she stated inwardly.  It’s bad enough not knowing who I am but to be hideous to boot would’ve been too much.

            “You don’t remember anything?” the psychiatrist asked.

            “No,” she said flatly.

            “That’s not uncommon for victims of blunt force trauma to suffer from amnesia so don’t take it with such defeat.  I told you before you looked into it that you might not recall anything right away.”
            The pretty blonde picked up the mirror and put it aside.  She gazed at the medical professional and frowned, the tape pricking and pulling at the flesh of her brow.  Clasping her hands together she let them drop to her sheet covered lap.  She had come in just after breakfast and introduced herself as Doctor Gillian Trelawney, a clinical therapist on staff here at the hospital.  She was young, petite and beautiful.  Doctor Trelawney had a set of piercing blue eyes that seemed to bore into people’s heads. 

            “So what should I call you?” the analyst inquired.

            “What?”

            “I can’t keep referring to you as Hey You so why don’t you pick out a name?”

            “What does my chart say?”

            “Jane Doe.”

            “Then let’s leave it at that.”

            “Very pragmatic.”

            “That’s me—I suppose,” Jane sighed.

            “Nice to meet you Jane,” she chuckled. “So tell me what you do remember if anything.”

            “I hate chocolate and don’t recognize that woman in the mirror.”

            “Chocolate?  Hmm…”

            “What does it mean?”

            “I have no idea Jane.  But it must be a strong memory to keep you from forgetting it.  Or perhaps not, you could be instinctively aware that you’re allergic to it.  A self-preservation reflex of your mind to keep you safe until you can deal with what happened.”

            I suppose that could be it.  Looking at the pudding just made me ill.

            “About the accident—where did it happen?” she asked.

            “Just outside of Erie, Pennsylvania on a deserted lane, you were hit by a car filled with teenagers near a collection of cottages on the banks of Lake Erie.”

            The dream! I remember that it had a lake in it as well!  Maybe that nightmare was a memory not just a fantasy!

            “Did you recall something?” Gillian queried with a smile.

            “I had a dream about a house on a lake…”

            “Go on…”

            “It was empty but I thought I heard someone upstairs.”

            “Describe what you saw upstairs.”

            “I-I can’t I was too scared to go up the steps.  I ran out of the house and suddenly people started pawing at me… ripping at my clothes… I woke up screaming and the nurses were trying to restrain me,” she stated with a shudder.

            “Was it a man or woman?”

            “A woman—I think she was dead or at least dying.”

            “I see.  Was her voice familiar?”
            “Now that you mention it, it was.  Looking back at it somehow I know I should remember her voice. It was so oddly recognizable.”

            “Interesting.”  

            I’m beginning to hate these tantalizing little comments she’s making! Jane thought to herself.  Why do these shrinks speak so cryptically?

            “What did she say?” Gillian asked, leaning forward in her chair.

            “She said I had to see her, that I had to come up and visit.  The woman was pretty insistent that no matter where I ran to I would have to face her sometime.  What does it mean?”

            “It could be your true self trying to break past the temporary blockage created in your mind because of your injury.”

            “So it was me who was talking?”

            “That’s a possibility.  Have you had the dream since then?”

            “No.”

            “Next time don’t try to fight it, just allow it to happen. It might snap this fugue of yours.”

            “I don’t know,” she said trembling, “it was very scary.”

            “It is possible you’re avoiding it because of stress.  You could be running away from something, a stifling marriage for example, but trust me Jane you’ll have to face her sooner or later.”

            “That’s not very comforting Gillian,” she all but spat.

            “Right now your mind is in a safe place.  It doesn’t want to leave but in the end the memories of your past life are going to come surging forward.  Relax, it might not be so bad for your dream-self to be trying to make you recall everything too fast.”

            “Why?”

            “The mind is very powerful and can do many things as a defensive measure.  You might be one of those people who take duty to family very seriously.  Right now Jane isn’t fulfilling her obligations and Dream-Jane wants a return to normality.”

            “So it could be a good thing?”
            “Of course.  Just because it was frightening doesn’t mean it was bad, just very strong in trying to get you to remember,” she commented with a grin.

            “Oh…”

            I don’t know about that—that cunning bitch upstairs seemed smug and menacing.  Disguising her voice the second time around to lure me to that house doesn’t seem the type of thing a friend would do.  I’m sure, as sure as I’m sitting here I don’t want to meet her! Jane mused with an icy shiver.

            “I think we’ve done enough today,” Gillian announced.  “I’ll be back in a few days.  But if that dream happens again just go with it, it might provide even more clues.”

            “I’ll try,” she whispered.

            “Take care and just concentrate on healing.”

            “Bye-bye.”

            “Goodbye Jane.”

            Embrace the dream, huh?  Well I’m almost positive that’s a shitty idea especially if my gut instinct is telling me to run away, Jane thought.  But who is she?  My inner self or some terrible memory of something I just don’t want to remember?  I could be some disgusting whore or even worse, a serial killer!  No, this feels like something other than me.  Someone I’m afraid of, not the true me trying to force me to remember.

            Sinking back into her pillow she closed her eyes and tried to calm the tempest in her mind.   Relaxing into the firm mattress she fell into a dreamless slumber.

            “Sir you can’t go in there!” someone shouted.

            Jerking to wakefulness Jane heard a frenzy of slapping footsteps, there was someone running down the hall outside of her room.

            “Get out of my way!” a man roared.

            Her hands tugged the sheets up to her chin and she began shaking fearfully when the figure appeared in the doorway to her room.

            He was tall, black haired and very handsome despite the anger polluting his face.  His chest was heaving with both excitement and exertion.  A slowly spreading smile creased his features and he let out a sobbing laugh of relief.  Taking three cautious steps into her chamber Jane found herself cringing away from this unexpected visitor.

            “Trisha!  Oh my God it is you!” he cheered.

            “W-who are you?” she whimpered.

            “What do you mean, who am I?”

            “Sir you have to leave!” Sally insisted from behind the stranger.  “You don’t have the doctor’s permission to visit Jane.”

            “Jane?  Jane?  That’s not Jane that’s my friend Patricia Anne Marlowe!  I’ve known her since grade school!”

            Patricia?  Patricia Anne Marlowe—Trisha?  Is that my real name? she thought frantically.

Available in print!

There are quite a few milestones in a writer’s career and they usually go something like this:

1.  First acceptance letter (either publisher or agent)

2. First contract

3.  First release

4. First royalty check

5. First review

and so forth and so on…

I have hit a long awaited milestone today–my book “The Scandalous Tale of Agnes Biggenbotten (Eternal Press) is now available in PRINT on Amazon.com.  I cannot express how incredible stoked, happy and surprised at this.  If you’re interested in holding an actual copy of one of my books in your hand go to:

http://www.amazon.com/Scandalous-Tale-Agnes-Biggenbotten/dp/1770650407/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1266415067&sr=8-2

For the record, if you want it signed I would be most happy to do so.  Please contact me at:

christophercnewman@att.net

We’ll work out the details…

Ciao!

Chris

While we’re on the subject…

Well I learned all about the hated word “jiggle” so now what’s next?  Ladies this is your chance to let an author of erotica know what other words you completely cringe or get angry at.  Don’t hold back…let fly.  I’m not doing this to be funny, I just suddenly realize this is something I need to know.

Long live Shimmy–Death to Jiggle!

Chris

“Jen’s Tale” reviewed!

My sci-fi/romance/erotica novel “Jen’s Tale” available at Red Rose Publishing (www.redrosepublishing.com) has been reviewed by Night Time Romance Reviews.  Here’s the link below or you can just read what they have to say right  here:

link:http://ntromancereviews.blogspot.com/search?q=Jen%27s+tale

Jen’s Tale by Christopher Newman

Red Rose Publishing

July 2009

EBook $2.99

ISBN #978-1-60435-358-7

Science Fiction, Futuristic

Book Review:

To whom it may concern. I come to you with tale unlike any other. It’s a tale depicting the one Jennifer Allen. It will show to others the adventures one will go through to. Not to mention to show Jen the true mean of love and sex.

To whom it may concern. I bring you another exciting person named Brent. Whose sole purpose in life it seems to make Jen a very happy woman. You will come to learn like Jen, there is more than meets the eye.

Jen’alein, a native of the Aquellian Empire, was sent to scout Earth to see if it’s good enough forAquellians to live on.

But what Jen didn’t count on in the insignificant planet a human worthy of saving. Nor did she count on developing those damn human feelings called love.

Brent seems like an ordinary man who seems to want to put a smile on Jen’s sour face. He slowly manages to crack the wall Jen has around her heart. It sure gives him points for being the reason for Jen to be a very satisfied woman.

Just when Jen and Brent are at crucial moment in their lives, she has to leave the city. Jen promises to keep in touch with Brent but this would not be a great book without a little bit of angst involved.

Christopher Newman is great writer of many books like the one titled, A Terrible Tryst of Fate. Mr. Newman now brings readers a new take of alien invasion. His new twist on aliens taking over humans can only be described as fresh and original.

Jen has her faults but we can’t help but love her attitude. The ups and downs she goes through by being with Brent.

Brent isn’t going to just let the best thing that ever happened disappear from his life. He is going to be in the fight of his life. He does whatever it takes to bring back home the love of his life.

I can’t but love Jen’s Tale. It was definitely something in a class of its own. If you’re crazy about science fiction then Jen’s Tale is the one for you.

To it may concern, this one story you won’t be able to stop reading to the climatic end.

Be on the look out for Christopher Newman’s upcoming release Love Bites Back. Coming soon from Freya’s Bower

I give Jen’s Tale a rating of 5 Stars.

A Terrible Tryst of Fate Review

AJ Llewellyn from Dark Diva Reviews has this to say about my novel “A Terrible Tryst of Fate”:

A Terrible Tryst of Fate by Christopher C. Newman

Summary: Amelia Bainbridge is a single, lonely woman who dreams of true love rescuing her from her humdrum existence. What she gets is an assault by a wayward toad demon, G’rrk and she is swiftly rescued by a mysterious, handsome, silver-haired hero named Hunter.

Confused and conflicted by her feelings for him, Amelia ponders who this man might be as he struggles with his own demons…literally. Is this a match made on earth, in heaven or…?

My Review: This is an intriguing story that although based on a tried and true premise features a plucky, convincing heroine and a very captivating hero in Hunter.

Author Christopher C. Newman understands women very well and gives Amelia an inner world that is both amusing and realistic. He also excels at depicting dark forces and provides original and interesting images of demons and hell. Added to the mix is the triangle of sorts with Hunter’s on-off lover Erzsébet jealously watching the developments on earth and this makes for some fast-paced, way above average romantic angst.

The sex scenes are many and often, frankly a bit creepy when they involve Erzsébet and demons, but still, this is an interesting book that is anything but typical of the erotic genre.

Without wanting to spoil this for those who haven’t read it I hope there are more books planned for Hunter and Amelia, the ending seems to warrant it.

Rated 4 Delightful Divas by A.J. Llewellyn!

“A Terrible Tryst of Fate”

A TERRIBLE TRYST OF FATE
By Christopher Newman

Dark Roast Press Publishing
 
September 2008
Supernatural, Erotic Romance

Buy Now:
  
Book Description:

 
Amelia Bainbridge has a great job, good friends, and a place of her own. But what she lacks is love, and she’ll only settle for true love.
  
After attending her best friend’s wedding she is attacked by a terrible creature that means to dine upon her flesh. Amelia is saved by a handsome silver-haired man known as Hunter. It is love at first sight for both. Who is Hunter and why is he so evasive about his past?
 
Amelia’s love for Hunter places her in the path of this demon’s machinations. Into the mix comes Erzsébet, who is Hunter’s occasional lover. She becomes jealous of Amelia with a hatred as deep as the Pit of Hell she’s been cast into. Can Amelia and Hunter survive to explore their love while the legions of Heaven and Hell gather forces for the End of Times?

Review:
 
Amelia has everything going good in her life. The only thing that would make it perfect would be if she had love of a good man. She never suspect that her chance at love would come from Fallen Angels. But now that Amelia has what she’s desired for so long, she wonders if all the pain and danger she’s suffering is worth. Can she really trust Hunter?
 
Hunter has long given up on finding peace in his existence. But a twist a fate brings Amelia into his life. Once he’s met Hunter knows his life will never be the same again.
 
Amelia is immediately attracted to her savior after a vicious attack on her life. Hunter tries to keep a distance from Amelia but is unable to and falls for the luscious human woman.
 
Meanwhile far from Earth, forces conspire to keep these lovers apart. Just when their happiness is complete, Amelia is attacked once more from a jealous and spiteful wench that is royal concubine of Hunter’s master.

 
A TERRIBLE TRYST OF FATE by Christopher Newman is a exciting read filled with lots of action, suspense, intrigue and can’t forget lots of sexy romance. Sure to keep plenty of readers drawn in from the very beginning.
 
What I enjoyed reading about
A TERRIBLE TRYST OF FATE was that nothing was what it seemed. There is plenty of intrigue and backstabbing around the hero and heroine of this story.
 
Amelia is a stronger character than she gives herself credit for. At the end both Hunter and Amelia will discover that love is worth the risk.
 
Asmodeus is definitely one interesting character. He is portrayed as a fool by some, heartless by other and yet he surprises many by the end of the book. Asmodeus is a definitely one of my favorite characters next to Hunter and Amelia.

 
A TERRIBLE TRYST OF FATE is an amazing page turner that is anything but terrible and my choice for top pick of the week.
 
 Wonder what Christopher Newman has in store for readers in his next book? Perhaps a possible sequel?
Whatever it is, I hope he will not have fans waiting too long until his next book?
  
I give
A TERRIBLE TRYST OF FATE a rating of 5 stars.
 
 Reviewed By:
 
Estefanie L

Night Time Romance Reviews

 

 

 

A View on Writer Popularity Contests

It is my firm belief that there are more writers out there than there are readers on many sites dedicated to books.  I find it very difficult to find a way to reach my readers than I can with my fellow authors.  Like an unchecked deer population I practically have to elbow them out of my way to tranverse the Internet  in my search to confront anyone who actually reads, not writes.  I wonder where, in the bowels of Cyberspace, these people hide, crouched in fear from the massive search of millions of authors who, like SkyNet in the Terminator movies, hunt them relentlessly.  I was involved in a contest, obviously for writers by writers, to “choose” the most popular in their genre for 2008.  To my utter lack of shock, I discovered it was  nothing more than a popularity contest. 

Apparently in that deep dark place the readers are secretly immersed they barely got the message.  With my low sales quote for my novels I find it quite unlikely that I really placed 12th on the list of any of the voting categories.  Perhaps I’m just a Philistine with a dose of too much reality, but I know who voted for me.  Most of them have read my work, but for free (most are related to me in one way or another).  With this in mind I hardly “crowed” about my “victory” and now find it all rather amusing (in that sarcastic sense of humor of mine). 

But does this devalue the work of any of those who participated?  Unlikely at best.  Like I’ve stated before I believe that these poor huddled masses are afraid to peek out their heads to participate in most contests for fear of getting their Inboxes jammed pack with unwanted emails from the menagerie of writers out here in Cyber-land.  Perhaps when the sun goes down, and nobody’s looking, these timid creatures will unburrow themselves out of the ground and seek out the results of the voting.  Maybe I’ll sell a few more books, but I really don’t care at this point in time.  I’ve come to the conclusion I write primarly for myself, my family next, and anyone adventurous to read something without the usual creatures (vampires, werewolves, and such), the standard plot devices (bad boy/girl meets good boy/girl for fun, romance, and danger), and ending with a predictable conclusion. 

I’m still wondering how many readers are out there.  I promise not to expose you to my colleagues if you come forward, it’ll be our little secret…. honestly.