It’s newsletter time, which means…

Only problem is, I got a trifle carried away. Yes, I know I always do, but not usually quite so early in the chapter, if you see what I mean. Hence we have a shorter than usual excerpt this time, the rest of it is too hot to post here - even for me. *blush*

Rackety Kate and the Pirates

Chapter 15

The Significance of Surrender

The story so far:
Kate and Jack are locked in a battle of wills, mid-orgy. Who will give way first? And how will surrender change the balance of power?

“Not yet, darlin’” whispered Duka’s dark voice in Kate’s ear. “Don’t disappoint the readers.”

“Nngh,” whimpered Kate, writhing. If only she could shut her eyes, block out the erotic scene in front of her. But she couldn’t, because she’d promised Jack she’d watch his torture. Every twitch of his smooth muscled chest, every drop of sweat that coursed down his neck, or made his strong thighs gleam.

His cheeks were flushed with a deep ruddy hue and the emerald in his ear flashed a dark beautiful green as he tossed his head, groaning. Harley was deep-throating him now, his nose pressing hard into Jack’s pubic curls, the knuckles of his free hand whitening as his fingers dug into Jack’s impossibly taut ass.

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It’s newsletter time, which means…

Rackety Kate and the Pirates

Chapter 14

A Battle of Wills

 The story so far:

We left Kate mid-orgy, with Jack and his four pirates. Everyone has a part to play – Duka is providing some sanity, Peter the seating and Chan and Harley the tortures of the damned for Jack.

Jack’s tiger gaze, fierce and golden, captured Kate’s.  “Is this what you want, pretty Kate?” His breath hitched as Harley leaned in to nuzzle his hip. “Is it?”

Kate quivered, feeling Peter throbbing high and hard inside her like a second heartbeat, his lips feathering over her shoulder, his breath hurried and hot. “Nngh,” she said. “Y-yes.”

Jack stood before her like an offering to some pagan goddess, the whole line of his body a taut harmony of bone and muscle and tawny skin. Kate’s gaze traveled from his knuckles, white with strain, where his fists were wrapped around the tree branch above his head, to the sculpted planes of his heaving chest. She loved the diagonal notches where his cobbled belly intersected with his hips, his magnificent thighs, strong and graceful and dusted lightly with golden hair, the shining honey-brown of his pubic thatch. It didn’t seem possible for him to get any harder, but he did, swelling another amazing half-inch as she watched.

What Chan and Harley were doing was so erotic she couldn’t think straight – nipping, and mouthing and nibbling, everywhere save where Jack obviously wanted it the most, if the helpless roll of his hips was any indication.

And yet, he made no sound, save for harsh panting, his eyes fixed on Kate’s, so that she was devoured by his gaze. She couldn’t fathom why it should be, but she was as much prey as if he’d been a tiger in truth and she something small and quivering, trapped beneath his heavy paw.

Kate struggled, drowning, conscious of the small voices of Ess and Tess, tiny cheerleaders. “C’mon, Katie, you can do it, you can do it!”

The slow movement of Duka’s huge palm, rubbing circles on her belly was somehow soothing. It gave her strength, confidence.

“Go on,” she said to Harley and Chan, able to achieve no more than a tortured whisper. “For God’s sake, go on!”

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There’s been a lot of talk about Baz Luhrmann’s new movie, Australia.

A little while ago, when it first started gathering pace, I thought to myself, “Yep, might go see that one. What’s not to love? Hugh Jackman and David Wenham. Yeah!”

And then I read somewhere that the Drover (Jackman’s character) dies at the end.

That did it. Nope, wasn’t going. Nu-uh, no way. What a total waste of time and money, I thought, if there’s no Happy Ever After.

Next thing you know, Baz Luhrmann did some audience tests and changed the ending. The Drover survives.

I’ve changed my mind - sort of. I might go, I might not. Jury’s still out.

But it occurred to me how completely I didn’t want to see that movie unless the romance came right in the end. to the point that I thought I would have wasted my time if it didn’t. I had no idea I was so wedded to the lure of the HEA. It reminded me of the time I bought an m/m novella from an ebook publisher. I read all the way to the last page - where it finished unhappily ever after. I was outraged, truly. Insulted, disappointed, furious. If it hadn’t been an ebook I would have thrown it against the wall. I’d invested my feelings in the characters and the author had let me down.

What about you? Are you deeply invested in an HEA? How do you cope if there isn’t one? Does it spoil your reading/viewing pleasure?

You have to wonder. Some people seem to have a tenuous grip on reality…

A Japanese man has enlisted hundreds of people in a campaign to allow marriages between humans and cartoon characters, saying he feels more at ease in the “two-dimensional world.” He even launched an online petition aiming for one million signatures to present to the government to establish a law on marriages with cartoon characters.  Within a week he has gathered more than 1,000 signatures.

Of course, this is all about “manga” comic books, which are incredibly popular in Japan - and it’s not clear how tongue-in-cheek the suggestion is. I do have to say that some of the “yaoi” boys drawn by Japanese artists are very sexy, in a willowy, big-eyed kind of way, but I don’t think I’d want to marry one. (Not only that, he wouldn’t want to marry me, given I have the wrong plumbing.)

Who would you pick as your comic book lust object? I’m partial to the Phantom, always have been. I think what I like is that he doesn’t have any superpowers, just abs of steel and his skull ring. He also has sufficient nerve to wear his undies on the outside, plus he’s a dedicated family man and all around decent guy.

On the other hand, there’s Wolverine. Fancy him rotten, (especially when it’s Hugh Jackman) though those blades could be a worry in moments of passion…

It’s been such an extraordinary week that I’ve been desperate for distraction. I was definitely going NUTS! So I took myself off (all alone) to see Mama Mia.

It did the trick - in spades! I came out humming and dancing. I did the booty-wriggle all the way back to the car. It’s a mercy you weren’t there.

Honestly, is there anything Meryl Streep cannot do? I was gobsmacked. The woman can sing, really sing.

Which is more than I can say for Pierce Brosnan. I’ve seen his vocal performance in this movie described as reminiscent of a wounded water buffalo, but truly, that’s a tad cruel. It wasn’t quite as bad as that. Not, um, quite. Let’s just say as a singer, he makes a great James Bond.

What’s more, he did it all with a straight face. He must have been paid squillions.

Colin Firth was great - sang his own song and played his own guitar. In fact, there was an incredible amount of hairy chest all around. No problem.

Julie Walters and Christine Baranski as the best friends were so funny and out there. And the story actually worked with the songs. It was cleverly done.

I know critics  have not been kind, but honestly, I didn’t care. I wanted a “feel-good” time - and I got it! And as for that island! OMG, it was gorgeous. I want to live there while I write the great Australian novel. No, wait a sec - I want to live there while I write great erotic, drop-dead sexy novels.

I admit to having a couple of ABBA “greatest hits” albums. I play them when there’s housework I can no longer avoid. Bopping through the vacuuming does help.

Have you seen it? What did you think? Who did you go with? Was it better with a friend? And what about ABBA - could they write dance songs, or what?

It used to be that if I wanted flowers, I had to produce a baby. The level of commitment required did seem a little high, I always thought.

These days,  things are much better. There’s a lovely bunch of carnations and roses on my dressing table. My Beloved now remembers that I like purple flag iris and smelly things for the bath and orange-flavoured chocolate.

So take heart!  A hotel company did a survey of 2000 men aged 18 to 65 which found that men aged 53 are at their most romantic.  Aw…

• Fifty-three-year-olds are much more likely to surprise their partner with a simple gesture such as a walk in the summer rain or a sprinkle of rose petals in the bath. This is also the time they tend to splash out on chocolates, flowers and perfume.

• Of the 20- to 25-year-olds surveyed, only one in four said they had recently treated their loved one to a candlelit dinner compared with almost half of the over-50s.

• The study also found a third of the over 50s have recently surprised their partner with champagne compared with just 19 per cent of men in their 20s.

• An affectionate 73 per cent of older men said they told their partners they looked beautiful all the time and 85 per cent wouldn’t leave the house without kissing their loved one goodbye.

Surprised? Do you think men get better with age, like a good wine? Or do they just become more set in their ways? Like glue. 

Ah, you gotta love the Aussie vernacular! Across the country, there are many different words for the humble swimsuit - togs, bathers, swimmers, boardies. Depends where you come from.

But the best by a country mile is used for those abbreviated swim trunks most people call speedos.

Here, they’re known as “budgie smugglers“. 

And if you take a real good look to the right, you’ll see why.

I think it’s clever, and funny and dry - real Oz humour.  Also, um, very visual. *chuckle*

At the moment, there’s a debate raging in lifesaving circles. (You guys Over There call them lifeguards.) Budgie smugglers or board shorts? Apparently, young men aren’t signing on because having to appear in public wearing their speedos makes them feel uncomfortable. Old hands say it’s more important to be fast and safe in the water during a rescue. The local press have the story here. It’s accompanied by a complete gallery of budgie smugglers, so you can see for yourself.

I’m ambivalent. After all, a man needs incredible self-confidence and a body like a god to be able carry off a pair of budgie smugglers - and let’s face it, there aren’t too many of them!

The billboard says it all really. What do you think? Do speedos on the beach put you off your lunch? I don’t see how the principle is all that different from a bikini, to be honest. It’s all about the body - and the budgies.

What do you call a swimsuit where you’re from? A swimsuit? Or something else entirely?

I’ve been thinking about dark, tortured heroes lately. You know, the really angsty ones.  And I’m trying to narrow it down to favourites. I’ve got Black Niall from Linda Howard’s Son of the Morning and J.R. Ward’s Zsadist - that is one seriously screwed up Brother! Then there’s Frances Crawford from Dorothy Dunnett’s Lymond Chronicles - the subtle, intelligent sort of alpha.

I’m going to be guesting on the wonderful Lauren Dane’s blog this Thursday 25th September - yes, coming right up!  For some reason (could it be that I’ve just written one of these guys? *grin*), I’ll be discussing just what it is about these “walking wounded, but I’m so tough” men that draws romance readers.

Dunno if it’s the stare or the cleft chin, or both… *shiver*

So help me out with my preparation here, guys. Who’s your favourite dark, broody guy in romance fiction? To partly answer my own question, Heathcliff never did for me. Here in Oz, we’d say he wasn’t the full quid, or he had a few too many ‘roos loose in the top paddock. Definitely a bit on the stalker side…

And, BTW, this is a BIG HEADS-UP!!! I’ll be giving away books on Thursday, so drop around and bring that strong, tortured eye candy along with you for a chance to win. Lauren Dane’s place, okay?

I’ve often giggled at my mother when she misplaces her glasses. “Wait a sec,” she’ll say. “I can’t hear you without my specs.” Meaning she can’t see my face, and my lips moving.

Facial expression is an absolutely essential part of human interaction. I was reminded of this very powerfully yesterday when I watched a colleague struggle to assist a woman wearing a full burqa, complete with the veil over the eyes. Because for us humans, it’s the eyes that really carry the conversation.

Think of the big deal writers make out of the colour and/or expression of a character’s eyes. Think of how irritated you become if a character’s eyes change colour (without explanation) part of the way through the book. (Well it drives me insane, but then we all know I’m the Picky Bitch from Hell.)

There are so many ways to describe eyes, and all of them carry a subtext to which the reader responds emotionally. For example, I have light brown eyes, a shade of khaki really. Extraordinarily ordinary. Certainly not especially romantic to my mind. But think of all the heroes who have “amber” eyes. Huh? Have you ever met anyone with eyes that are actually the golden-orange of amber, or the yellow of real gold ? It’s remotely possible, I guess, but I suspect we’re talking about the romantic version of my brown-khaki eyes, which do have a yellowish cast. Sounds revolting, doesn’t it?

For example, a man with dull, black eyes can’t be the hero! (Unless he’s miserable, or ill.) There’s a sort of code I think - something to do with the length of the lashes and the unusual eye colour. Brin, from GIFT OF THE GODDESS has black eyes, but they’re not just black, you know? They’re midnight eyes!

…fathomless. Midnight eyes, framed by inky lashes. The tiny part of her mind still functioning noted slashing cheekbones, a high-bridged nose and a firm, beautiful mouth. But she couldn’t drag her stare away from his, from the cool intelligence shining there, the adamantine will.

If Trey was warm, sweet fire, this man was night. Deepest, darkest, midnight and velvet. Beautiful.

And infinitely dangerous.

And a little later -

Without releasing her from his stare, he growled, “You’re the poet, Trey. Tell her about the goddess.” His eyes were enigmatic, compelling, sucking at her soul, her self-possession. Despising herself, she squared her shoulders and fought to keep her nerve.

Even though it’s a first impression, Brin’s eyes convey to Anje, and through her, to the reader, an enormous amount about his personality. In fact, I just counted and the word “eyes” occurs seventeen times in Chapter 1! It’s astonishing how much we look at each other!

Meet Grayson, Duke of Ombra, hero of THE FLAME AND THE SHADOW (Coming 4th November) -

She’d thought his eyes must be as dark as his hair, but this close, they were a clear, limpid gray. Long-lidded eyes, full of secrets, shielded with extravagant lashes, surely the gift of some besotted goddess. His brows were strongly marked, with an upward slant at the corners. They gave him a sardonic air that went well with his lithe, self-contained grace.

He’s a very different guy, nothing like Brin at all. If you like ‘em all dark and tortured and angsty, Gray’s your man! BTW, all heroes have wonderful eyelashes, it’s obligatory. Actually, most men do, ever noticed? My son has the best eyelashes in the family and the loveliest eyes - a vivid blue-green.

So, what sort of eyes stop you in your tracks? Either in reality, or in fiction?

I love the contrast between eyes and hair and skin. The so-called “Irish” colouring of blue, blue eyes and black hair makes me breathless every time. In fact, I always find the light eyes/darker skin combo stunning - Jason Momoa, for example. We talked about him and Stargate.

What are the most unusual eyes you’ve ever seen? (Contact lenses don’t count!)

I once knew a girl with reddish-brown eyes, fox colour. She had auburn hair. I guess the best description would be sherry-brown. Fledge in TAILSPIN has her eyes, but there’s no sherry on Phoenix sadly, so I settled for calling them russet. Then there was the school friend with the palest of pale gray eyes - they were truly silvery. She was blond. Definitely a bit disconcerting and I’ve never seen anything like them, before or since.

And just to get you in the mood, here’s a pair of extraordinarily expressive eyes to enjoy - I sure did!

Don’t forget - every month there’s a chance to win everything droolworthy - Tim Tams and hunkalicious postcards - including Mr Gorgeous . Check the Current Contest page and keep the comments coming!

This post is about Stargate Atlantis. It’s also about losing my purse. Don’t see the connection? Read on, my friend…

Last week, I opened by bag and discovered my purse was missing, together with all the cards in it. You know that horrible feeling when your guts turn over? And your brain is filled with a long wail of disbelief and horror? “Oh, nooo-ooo!”

There’ s a happy ending, I hasten to add. I’d left it in the Post Office (because I’m an absent-minded idiot), but there was a whole night of terrible tension before I could find out for sure. I couldn’t eat, couldn’t settle to anything. It was awful.

What to do to take my mind off it?

I watched five episodes of Stargate Atlantis, back to back. And it worked a treat. By the time we’d beaten off yet another Wraith attack, I was so tired I could actually sleep. Thank heavens.

And yah boo sucks to the snobs who frown on escapism in reading and entertainment.

I LOVE SF/fantasy shows like Stargate. Don’t even get me started on Serenity/Firefly and its premature demise. Or the way Babylon 5 had to finish in a hurry. I was completely intrigued by the whole premise of Babylon 5. *sigh*

On the other hand, I’m very slow at catching up. I think I’ve said before, I watch very little TV. I did catch the original Stargate though and developed a close personal relationship with Daniel. What can I say? You all know I love intelligent geeky gorgeous men. So I’m only up to Season 2 of Atlantis. It’s kind of engaging, you know? First there’s Joe Flanigan playing John Sheppard. Excessively cute and he reminds me irresistibly of a young Harrison Ford, right down to his repertoire of handy-dandy expressions. See the photo above for a few of them.

I enjoy all the characters, especially Rodney McKay, who’s the Stargate version of Dr Smith in the old TV series of Lost in Space, and Teyla, the exotic warrior woman type. I like that she’s small and curvy and still hard-muscled and tough. It’s all very Boys’ Own Adventure crossed with space opera. And Beckett, the Scottish doctor - which makes a change from Chief Engineers. I keep expecting him to say, “I canna get more speed oota the medical hyperdrive, Cap’n.”

And of course, how can you go past the hubba-hubba addition of Jason Momoa as Ronon Dex? One of my writing buddies is so fixated on him, dreadlocks and all, that he’s the model for her current hero. There were loads of pics of him in costume, but I thought you’d prefer this one. He’s definitely gorgeous, but he’s also unusual, with those light eyes and dark skin tones and the dreads into the bargain. I think he’s Hawaiian. And he’s big - boy, is he a biiiig guy! He carries off the casual violence of the Ronon character very well and he looks like he’s enjoying himself.

What do you watch when you need an escape from daily reality? Have you ever been in a situation where book/movies saved your sanity and helped you get through?

Do you like SF/fantasy shows? Go ahead - a fangirl squee is completely acceptable on this blog. Do you like Stargate? BTW - no spoilers, please! I still have a way to go. Not to mention, I’ve only just discovered the West Wing. Blown away, but that’s a subject for another post.

Don’t forget - every month there’s a chance to win everything droolworthy - Tim Tams and hunkalicious postcards - including Mr Gorgeous . Check the Current Contest page and keep the comments coming!