Saturday, October 17, 2009
Monday, October 12, 2009
Mancandy Monday: Matthew Macfadyen
The reason I've chosen Mr Macfadyen as this Monday's Mancandy, is because he features in many a story in The Things That Make Me Give In. Or rather, he was the inspiration for at least two of the male characters, and I'm sure you can all see why:
So what I thought I'd do is marry my Mancandys with my book promotion in some sort of unholy union from hell, and give you all a little taste of in what way, exactly, Matthew Macfadyen inspired me.
He inspired me to write about a very, very naughty university Professor, who does very, very naughty things with his student, while looking a lot like Matthew Macfdyen, and a lot like Remus Lupin from the Harry Potter films/books. Tired looking tweedy Professors with hidden strict streaks are hot, I tells you!
See if you agree:
‘Go to the board behind me,’ he says, finally. His voice seems to...deepen when he does, but it’s hard to tell. Harder yet to understand what deepening might mean. That he realises he’s doing something wrong?
He’s about to do something worse, she knows. It’s obvious, even before he tells her to pick up the pen. Though maybe it’s just worse because she obeys, file now closed and pinned back to her chest.
‘Write fifty times: I must write less ridiculous love scenes.’
‘Is that what you think they are? Love scenes?’
‘I don’t know, Clara. Do you feel like you’re in love?’
‘Just shut-up, all right. I’m not doing this, you know.’
‘Fifty times. I must write less ridiculous love scenes.’
‘Don’t you mean fuck? Fuck scenes.’
There is a pause in between her putting the pen to the board, and him speaking next. It’s the heaviest one yet and she feels it pressing on her back– though maybe it’s just his presence that’s pressing, as he stands up behind her. Her legs are now trembling and buckling under the pressure, she knows, but God, at least she hasn’t cried in front of him.
‘Yes, I mean fuck,’ he says, and then too alarming to bear– he puts his hand over the curving top swell of her bottom.
The pen slides up on its own and makes a scything smile of green that isn’t meant to be there. The word scene on her first line is now ruined– she can’t reach most of the shaking mistake, to rub it out.
She goes to turn and say something sharp, but he then pats her bottom. He pats it, and says:
‘Keep writing, Clara.’
The face she had half-turned to him seems to want to turn back, but she doesn’t know if she can bear that. If she turns back, and keeps writing, what then? What then of flowery words and teachers and students and ridiculousness? This wouldn’t happen in her story. It wouldn’t happen. It’s too sordid.
It feels heavenly.
He just strokes her bottom, just slow, ever so slow and in circles. And when she makes fumbling marks on the board once more, then – oh, then – he begins to ruffle her skirt up, inch by inch.
Suddenly his mouth is at her ear, his breath as hot as her own insides feel.
‘What do all good romance heroines get, Clara?’ he says and for a moment she can’t think. She has no idea. Hand holding? Marriage? A yacht and three mansions and–
‘The hero!’ she says, and then is embarrassed that she has yelled it out, like a little apple polisher. Ever the A student, ever the good girl, and apparently also slightly more than the second string character.
Even if he isn’t the hero of anything.
He’s about to do something worse, she knows. It’s obvious, even before he tells her to pick up the pen. Though maybe it’s just worse because she obeys, file now closed and pinned back to her chest.
‘Write fifty times: I must write less ridiculous love scenes.’
‘Is that what you think they are? Love scenes?’
‘I don’t know, Clara. Do you feel like you’re in love?’
‘Just shut-up, all right. I’m not doing this, you know.’
‘Fifty times. I must write less ridiculous love scenes.’
‘Don’t you mean fuck? Fuck scenes.’
There is a pause in between her putting the pen to the board, and him speaking next. It’s the heaviest one yet and she feels it pressing on her back– though maybe it’s just his presence that’s pressing, as he stands up behind her. Her legs are now trembling and buckling under the pressure, she knows, but God, at least she hasn’t cried in front of him.
‘Yes, I mean fuck,’ he says, and then too alarming to bear– he puts his hand over the curving top swell of her bottom.
The pen slides up on its own and makes a scything smile of green that isn’t meant to be there. The word scene on her first line is now ruined– she can’t reach most of the shaking mistake, to rub it out.
She goes to turn and say something sharp, but he then pats her bottom. He pats it, and says:
‘Keep writing, Clara.’
The face she had half-turned to him seems to want to turn back, but she doesn’t know if she can bear that. If she turns back, and keeps writing, what then? What then of flowery words and teachers and students and ridiculousness? This wouldn’t happen in her story. It wouldn’t happen. It’s too sordid.
It feels heavenly.
He just strokes her bottom, just slow, ever so slow and in circles. And when she makes fumbling marks on the board once more, then – oh, then – he begins to ruffle her skirt up, inch by inch.
Suddenly his mouth is at her ear, his breath as hot as her own insides feel.
‘What do all good romance heroines get, Clara?’ he says and for a moment she can’t think. She has no idea. Hand holding? Marriage? A yacht and three mansions and–
‘The hero!’ she says, and then is embarrassed that she has yelled it out, like a little apple polisher. Ever the A student, ever the good girl, and apparently also slightly more than the second string character.
Even if he isn’t the hero of anything.
‘And tell me, what are the heroes usually like, in a romance?’
She can feel herself shaking, now. He has his hand on the seat of her knickers, her skirt completely pushed up. As she answers, he strokes just one finger into the split of her buttocks through the material.
‘Aggressive. Arrogant. Dominant.’
‘And the women?’
‘Submissive. Pathetic.’
‘Is that what you really think? That they’re pathetic?’
His fingers strokes tighter into the crease, straining against the taut material. She gasps, and writes things that are not words.
‘Yes. Yes.’
‘And you hate arrogant men, cold men, nasty rotten rakes. You don’t like to write about them.’
‘I...find it hard. I find it hard to write about...dominant men.’
‘Shall I yank your knickers down?’
‘Yes! Jesus, yes.’
She can feel herself shaking, now. He has his hand on the seat of her knickers, her skirt completely pushed up. As she answers, he strokes just one finger into the split of her buttocks through the material.
‘Aggressive. Arrogant. Dominant.’
‘And the women?’
‘Submissive. Pathetic.’
‘Is that what you really think? That they’re pathetic?’
His fingers strokes tighter into the crease, straining against the taut material. She gasps, and writes things that are not words.
‘Yes. Yes.’
‘And you hate arrogant men, cold men, nasty rotten rakes. You don’t like to write about them.’
‘I...find it hard. I find it hard to write about...dominant men.’
‘Shall I yank your knickers down?’
‘Yes! Jesus, yes.’
Sunday, October 11, 2009
And The Winner Is...
Jeremy Edwards!! Yeah!!!
Yes, the lovely Jeremy got picked out of the hat (actual thing I picked out of: an old ice-cream tub) completely at random, and so wins a copy of my super duper book The Things That Make Me Give In.
Hopefully you'll see this, Jeremy, so I can send you your copy. Just email me at charlotte_stein@hotmail.co.uk with the address you want it sent to, and I'll get that in the post as soon as possible.
And I just want to finish by saying thank you, to Jeremy, Danielle, Emerald, T. Harrison, Justine (I know you didn't enter cos you bought it, but even so!) and Sefi, for taking the time to enter and comment and be lovely. I wish I had copies for you all, but unfortunately my relatives have pretty much stolen all of them.
Stupid relatives.
Yes, the lovely Jeremy got picked out of the hat (actual thing I picked out of: an old ice-cream tub) completely at random, and so wins a copy of my super duper book The Things That Make Me Give In.
Hopefully you'll see this, Jeremy, so I can send you your copy. Just email me at charlotte_stein@hotmail.co.uk with the address you want it sent to, and I'll get that in the post as soon as possible.
And I just want to finish by saying thank you, to Jeremy, Danielle, Emerald, T. Harrison, Justine (I know you didn't enter cos you bought it, but even so!) and Sefi, for taking the time to enter and comment and be lovely. I wish I had copies for you all, but unfortunately my relatives have pretty much stolen all of them.
Stupid relatives.
Monday, October 5, 2009
Waiting In Vain
Okay, so the contract's been signed for this. I think it's safe for me to post something about it.
Total-E-Bound have accepted my novella/short story, Waiting In Vain, for publication!!!!!! YARGHH!
As you may or may not know, Bertha, this is really excellent news for a variety of reasons:
a) After Black Lace closed, I was terrified that no other publisher would ever want my work.
b) I was just generally terrified that no erotic romance publisher would ever want my work, even though I longed to be a writer of things both erotic and romantic.
c) Total-E-Bound are orsum.
d) Total-E-Bound publish all sorts of different sub-genres within the erotic romance genre, and as my dream is to one day have an erotic romance paranormal type novel published, perhaps I'm one small step closer to fulfulling this dream.
e) It's going to be the longest single thing I've yet had published. At 10k, it's just about a novella. I've progressed from short stories to almost novellas!
f) Although I submitted it for their Christmas Crackers anthology, it's actually going to be published as a single Lust Bite on its own, on (hopefully!) December 28th- the day after my birthday.
g) Two weird coincedences: my first published thing was in the anthology Lust At First Bite. And the star of Waiting In Vain was fuelled by the same inspiration as in Playing- Alex O'Loughlin. I should really consider writing him a thank you note:
Dear Alex O'Loughlin,
Thank you for being so disgustingly gorgeous. Because of your disgusting gorgeosity, I was mightily inspired and produced two works that are apparently worthy of publication. You are the muse that makes woo-woos happen in my underpants.
Love,
Charlotte Stein
Though I realise I'm thanking the wrong person. And no, I'm not going to start blubbing and reading out thank yous like I've been given an Oscar or summat. But I should really thank my editor at TEB (I have an editor at TEB!) for being orsum enough to take a chance on my work. And there are also people out there who have kept me going when things looked really bleak, writing wise. And they (and this happening) have really made me want to say this:
Don't ever stop. I came *this* close to not submitting to that TEB call. Literally- I had minutes to spare before the deadline. I agonised over it. I thought- there's no point. They didn't like my last thing, why should they like this? I'm not erotic romance. I'm too foofy. I'm too erotic. I'm not erotic enough. My stories are boring. I can't write. I need to live in the real world, now. I've failed.
But I was wrong and stupid and don't ever give up. Promise? Don't give up. Stay strong, okay? Because every single thing you almost didn't send could be 1.34 mins away from someone saying yes.
Total-E-Bound have accepted my novella/short story, Waiting In Vain, for publication!!!!!! YARGHH!
As you may or may not know, Bertha, this is really excellent news for a variety of reasons:
a) After Black Lace closed, I was terrified that no other publisher would ever want my work.
b) I was just generally terrified that no erotic romance publisher would ever want my work, even though I longed to be a writer of things both erotic and romantic.
c) Total-E-Bound are orsum.
d) Total-E-Bound publish all sorts of different sub-genres within the erotic romance genre, and as my dream is to one day have an erotic romance paranormal type novel published, perhaps I'm one small step closer to fulfulling this dream.
e) It's going to be the longest single thing I've yet had published. At 10k, it's just about a novella. I've progressed from short stories to almost novellas!
f) Although I submitted it for their Christmas Crackers anthology, it's actually going to be published as a single Lust Bite on its own, on (hopefully!) December 28th- the day after my birthday.
g) Two weird coincedences: my first published thing was in the anthology Lust At First Bite. And the star of Waiting In Vain was fuelled by the same inspiration as in Playing- Alex O'Loughlin. I should really consider writing him a thank you note:
Dear Alex O'Loughlin,
Thank you for being so disgustingly gorgeous. Because of your disgusting gorgeosity, I was mightily inspired and produced two works that are apparently worthy of publication. You are the muse that makes woo-woos happen in my underpants.
Love,
Charlotte Stein
Though I realise I'm thanking the wrong person. And no, I'm not going to start blubbing and reading out thank yous like I've been given an Oscar or summat. But I should really thank my editor at TEB (I have an editor at TEB!) for being orsum enough to take a chance on my work. And there are also people out there who have kept me going when things looked really bleak, writing wise. And they (and this happening) have really made me want to say this:
Don't ever stop. I came *this* close to not submitting to that TEB call. Literally- I had minutes to spare before the deadline. I agonised over it. I thought- there's no point. They didn't like my last thing, why should they like this? I'm not erotic romance. I'm too foofy. I'm too erotic. I'm not erotic enough. My stories are boring. I can't write. I need to live in the real world, now. I've failed.
But I was wrong and stupid and don't ever give up. Promise? Don't give up. Stay strong, okay? Because every single thing you almost didn't send could be 1.34 mins away from someone saying yes.
Friday, October 2, 2009
What Makes You Give In?
No, seriously. What does? Thanks to the divine Janine Ashbless and the wonderful Roberta Fleck, both of who commented on Janine's blog about the things that make them give in, I'm now wondering what makes you give in, lovely people of the world.
For me, it's this:
And this:
And this:
The smell of a just cracked book and the Starman soundtrack in my ears. HR Giger and Sigourney Weaver. Black as midnight hair. The month November and all its misty coldness. Fizzy worms, oh fizzy worms and lamb spiced with cumin!
.
Those are the things that make me give in, to a variety of things and in a number of different ways.
Now it's your turn. Tell me what makes you give in, and I'll put your name in a hat, shake you all about, and choose one of you at random to receive a copy of my orsum fabulous amazing book, The Things That Make Me Give In.
And if what makes you give in happens to be "being put in a hat, shaken all about, and then chosen at random", well...all the better, eh?
Friday, September 25, 2009
The Things That Make Me Give In
Okay, I thought I'd have at least another six days before I had to start the probable month long celebrations, promos and other things I haven't actually worked out yet, for the release of my book. I've spent so long sure that my book wasn't coming out, I've made no plans. I've picked no excerpts. I don't even know what the blurb is on the back of the book.
And yet behold, it is real! It's as real as my lust for Alex O'Loughlin! It's as real as a really real thing designed by Professor Actua-Lee Happ-Ning of the So Real You Can Bite It clinic for the Starving Hungry! It has been released into the world like those corn husk chicken things on that animal program this morning!
Other people have seen it before I have!
I curse you for living so far away, Justine Elyot. But Justine Elyot is also fabulous, for letting me know that the book is real. It actually arrived at her house! So unless there's only one copy in existence, my book is out on Amazon UK, six days early!
ARGH!
These things aside, here is what it looks like:
In case you've forgotten, Bertha. And here is its Amazon link:
I don't expect you to know that off by heart.
It is also available these places:
But not yet, which is making me flap and fuddle and other words that don't exist, trying to decide what to do. I think what I shall do is not be able to sleep a wink tonight, in anticpation of what could be my book (a complete book that I wrote fook me!) arriving tomorrow. And then hubbie will torment me by claiming it hasn't arrived, so that he can do the Joey Tribbiani "no it hasn't, yeah it has really" fake-out like he always does.
And then I do the "I'm going to divorce you, no not really" fake-out.
But I digress.
Now go buy my book, people of the world*! It's really good, honest- even Bertha** thinks so. I'll be posting excerpts and running a contest in days to come, so you can see just how good it is with your own two eyes!***
*By people of the world, I of course mean "the three people who read this blog".
**May not be a reliable witness.
***Results may vary.
Monday, September 21, 2009
Mancandy Monday: My Inner Bear
Once, Activia yoghurt did not have adverts that featured a load of bloated women. They had marvellous, inventive, wonderful ads, that featured a creature I labelled the "Inner Bear". Behold:
I'm pretty sure I have an Inner Bear. I'm also dead certain that he looks like this:
I have no idea why he's male, however. Though it is nice having a man inside me, all the time. Plus it justifies me having him as my Mancandy Monday, so that it's less like I fancy myself and more like I fancy a three foot tall bear with dead eyes and chocolate round its gob.
Until it turns, goblin-shapeshifter-like, into six foot tall Alex O'Loughlin without a shirt:
There's an awful mess when he bursts out of me like in Alien. But he's worth it.
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