Jan 27, 2015
LINK to PAPERBACK.
Jan 26, 2015
It’s just me, S popping in to say hi. What have I been up to? Well I’ll tell you.
I slaved and slaved to complete the paperback version of TRISTAN and finally, it’s out for your enjoyment, now if only I had a link to that version, how handy would that be, eh? A little oversight by createspace I’m sure, I’ll have a link for you soon as possible. For now, go to my the published books page, or click here and you can enjoy the kindle version!
We’ve been getting great feedback on Tristan, you can read all of the lovely reviews here: REVIEWS.
Stay tuned for book signing dates. The first lot will be mailed out, but for the second, you can meet me live!
Other than that, I’ve not done much reading and will shortly shift gears to that, I’ve still got 10 books to read in five days! LOL. Yeah, even I’m not THAT good. I’ve been doing a TON of writing and between that and my day job, I’ve only read a chapter here and a chapter there. I’m super enjoying SHERLOCK HOMLES and THREE SOULS. I’ve got so many good ones lined up though. Each one I finish, I’ll review it on GOODREADS. Have you seen my profile over there yet? It’s here, go ahead and add me as a friend! Love to talk books with you!
All right. Got to go. It’s a beautiful day in Vancouver, going to get some fresh breaths. Dare I say, we’re going to skip winter all together?
P.S. How could I forget? I also attended the Taboo Naughty but Nice sex show in Vancouver over the weekend. I did leave with a couple of neat toys, got to spank two girls (no joke–was frigging awesome, one ‘requested’ me) but overall my friend and I were disappointed. We felt there should have been more fetish type booths and the level of Man on Man was almost 0%, sooooo pretty much I had no interest. We still had a fun time. Went to Celebrities for a bit after then to the Fountainhead Pub for some real drinks (I of course like the name since The Fountainhead is one of my fave books). Celebrities MUST water their drinks down. After 3 Gin and sodas and a broken down golf cart, we felt nothing! LOL All in all a great night!
Jan 1, 2015
HEEEY KIDS! Welcome to 2015! You probably want a re-cap on S’s year, or something like that. Maybe you want to know what books she’s read, or what she recommends. More likely, you’re wondering why the hell you drank so much last night and how can you get rid of the pounding in your head and the parade in your stomach?
Well, we haven’t got any of those answers for you. S thought about posting something about herself, but she figured no one would want to read that. What she hopes you do want to read, is her book. Now, come closer for this… closer… closer… there you go! Something very exciting is about to happen in 2 weeks. The paperback is going to be released!!
Not only that, but she is offering signed copies to the first 100 people who email us!! just send an email to: firstname.lastname@example.org and we will get you all set up. The paperback will sell for $15 CAD plus applicable taxes.
Also one lucky person is going to WIN a FREE copy of TRISTAN
S considered just giving it to someone she liked… she really did! But because people like at least an illusion of fairness, she will gift a free copy to the first person who emails us! Seems pretty fair, yeah?
Okay. Well that’s it for now, but since New Year is a time for resolutions, we resolve to keep more frequent (and exciting) Blog updates.
Until next time,
Dec ?, 2014
That’s the state of affairs we’re in over here at SLegend Fiction–we don’t even know what day it is except that it’s Monday and we’re supposed to blog (yes we know we could just look up the date, but it’s far more dramatic if we post like this…) Some of you are wondering if we post anymore… well anything of use anyway. We’ll get to that part.
First, in case you haven’t bought it yet here’s what our reviewers have said about TRISTAN:
“A captivating erotic thrill ride. I am ADDICTED to Corrik! I want more!!! When will the next book in the series be coming out?”
“I really love the story line and the characters!! I was so hooked on it I couldn’t put it down I keep wanting to read more, I was so sad when it ended. I love the character Corrik can’t get enough of him. I CAN’T WAIT FOR THE NEXT ONE!!!”
“Fantastic! S Legend transports you to Tristan’s erotic and magical world and the characters and story line will definitely leave you wanting more…”
Real people said these things, we promise. It’s not just S being high on herself again. If you want to see who wrote them go here to see and BUY the book on Kindle, or here to buy in other formats. The Paperback is coming VERY SOON!
Now I’ll turn you over to S for the writing gold. Until next time, Tris Kanes
Just a quick one today (we all hope) I wanted to mention a couple of things that helped me with formatting my book that I could not have lived without AND I wanted to give a shout out to those who have not yet published their book and know nothing about formatting or extra special additions to their book.
I want to let you know about a lady who I think is very special. Her name is Michelle Campbell-Scott and she’s got some great courses to help you. I am not affiliated with her in any way; just a true, blue fan. She basically taught me how to format my book in a day with her well laid out instructions and clear, concise videos. I struggled with it for weeks, literally not getting any sleep (I got about 2 hours per night for 2 weeks straight), but this doesn’t have to be you!
Begin, or at least learn how to format IMMEDIATELY. Don’t wait until your book is finished. It’s going to take longer than you think.
Michelle offers help with book paperback formatting and ebook formatting, but if you want a little more, definitely read Mark Coker’s Style Guide on Smashwords. His is specifically for Smashwords, but it does give you a ton of insight on your Kindle version as well.
If you take the advice of these two, formatting will be easy and fun and won’t make you want to pull out your hair. You’re already going to have to wrestle with Createspace–not much to help you with there–but at least you won’t struggle as much as I did.
All right, ta for now. Go read TRISTAN and tell us what you think!
Dec 1, 2014
Hello adoring S fans. Did you miss us? Sadly it has been 1 month since we’ve invaded you inbox with our wit and charm, but alack! S got caught up in a piece of book publishing that apparently confunds new publishers. Not to worry she’s got everything figured out (mostly) and she’ll be back to her regular scheduled blogging next week.
Until then have a read:
Nov 2, 2014
Hello Everyone! You miss me? Finally, we have the first officially released chapter of Tristan. Sorry it took so long, but S is a Bloody Perfectionist! I’m not going to say much, except, you’ll notice this is NOT the first chapter. It’s the fifth, so yes, some things won’t make sense to you. It’s our ploy to intrigue and mystify you, so you’ll read the book. Besides, the chapter is way more exciting than the first.
Alright, go ahead and enjoy this and look out for Tristan November 30th, 2014. Love you guys!
Copyright © 2014 by SLegendFiction
All I can see are two glowing purple eyes.
The light of the candles is gone, scant moonlight squeezes through gaps in the clouds that have covered the night sky, and into our bedroom’s skylight. Corrik’s happy laughter has vanished from existence: He’s in a trance—I’ve never experienced anything like it, and have to assume it has something to do with being an Elf. He reminds me of a person in the heat of battle: I’m afraid; I can’t move; I won’t speak—it’s not wise to interrupt someone in such a state—anything could provoke, attack.
He takes inventory of my body, and decides I’ve been clothed long enough. He unsheathes the great sword from his back and slices my gown in the right places, tears it from my body, discards it, throwing it to the floor along with the silver chastity belt.
I’m naked for the first time in front of Corrik—I hope I appease him. I won’t be Warlord, but I can still win victories for Markaytia, and him admiring me would be such a victory.
“You are beautiful, Kathir, and all mine; mine, do you hear me? No one shall touch you, or look upon you because you belong to me.” He does the same to his clothes, and when he’s naked too, he tosses his sword with the rest of it—it’s just us now.
His body is magnificent; it’s what raw power must look like. Solid muscles contract and squeeze the flesh that fights to hold them in, reminding me of full water skins bursting at the seams.
“And I am all yours to look at….” he says and takes my hand, the one attached to his bringing it down to rest on the velvet skin of his cock. “….and this is yours to touch.”
Mine is large, but his is much larger. It’s long, and thick with a head that mushrooms over his girth. His skin is white porcelain, but his cock is more of a cream color, with full veins embossed on the shaft like twin lightening bolts.
It’s bloody magnificent.
When I remember it will be going inside me, I start to panic—that thing is likely to split me in two. I’m distracted when I feel something wet being slicked over my cock. It’s Corrik’s hand with something similar to the lotion I used earlier. My cock likes what’s being done to him; I moan.
“That’s… nice, Corrik.”
Do I look nervous? Because I’m not—I’m not at all nervous about being impaled…
He leans over me, placing his lips by my ear to tell me, “I’ll go gentle for our first time, though what I want is to fuck you senseless.” It’s a small comfort and a confession. Does the Prince desire me that much? I press into his hand, I love his hand, I could spend days with my cock holed up inside of it, deep dark cave of wet wonders, in and out, in and out… I’m building up, building, climbing—
“Corrik, nooo…” I cry when he takes his hand away. I’m so close, but I guess that’s the point. He’s in charge. He’s in control. I get it. Unless…. I put my free hand on my dick, and in short order, my hand is removed and slammed over my head.
“Do not touch him again, not ‘til I say.” It’s a threat, a promise, and hey did he just? Yep, he referred to my cock as a ‘him’. He doesn’t wait for a response, his lips crash down onto mine and we’re kissing—no, he’s trying to kiss me while I try to suck his face off. Do all Elves taste this good? His pelvis rocks into mine, our cocks touch and get to know one another; I tilt up so my cock can continue to find his. Something raw and powerful takes over, we aren’t strangers anymore, we’re lovers. He breathes in as he kisses me, taking my air with him as I exhale; I pull my breath back through my mouth. We dance like that, trading air back and forth with an urgent force, until he stops suddenly and reaches over to the table by the bed for something. I continue to attack him—an animal has taken over my body, Tristan is gone. All I know is I have to taste him: Lick, suck, and nibble his skin. I breathe in hard so I can have his scent, my free hand claws down his back. He moves down out of my reach and kneels at my entrance. I lift my head to look at him as I pant like I’ve run the distance of two cities. By Gods, this is it, the part where he impales me with his monstrous appendage. Be brave, Tristan. You’ve faced far more terrifying situations; you can do this.
Nope, doesn’t help. I’m terrified.
Without warning, he coats everything with slick, cool lubricant: My cock, my balls, and most specially my hole. The liquid isn’t cold, but it shocks me. He doesn’t apologize and uses the lubricant to glide his hand up and down my cock some more before settling one finger at my entrance. With more care than I thought him capable of, he slides his finger in, to his first knuckle a few times, before he twists it in all the way. He’s skillful and gentle. Once he’s able to work the whole finger into me, my fear of his large, Elf cock, begins to ease. I know what he’s doing, he’s relaxing my entrance and he’ll make sure it’s open enough to accept his cock. Besides, I like what he’s doing now—
“You may grab your cock now, Tristan. I want to grab it, but I can’t.”
It seems the handcuffs thwart even him. No matter, I’ll gladly grab my own cock. It’s slick with lubricant as I slide my hand up and down in time with his finger. He adds another. By this time I’m drunk with lust and press down on both his fingers.
“Add another,” I beg. “Please?” He’s more than happy to oblige. I’ve taken to sex quite fabulously; I want more, I crave something I can’t name. I moan, writhe and sigh on his fingers—I’ve lost count of how many are in there—I pump my cock and climb toward climax a second time. Once again, he pulls everything away. Evil Bastard. His cold purple eyes look down at me, filled with an emotion. Lust? Caring? Possession? I can’t name it, but I’m going to pretend like it’s love. I don’t care if I’m called a sap for it; I want love present here, now, as he takes me.
“Don’t feel so bereft my darling. Don’t you want to see what my cock feels like in there?”
Yes, yes I do.
If multiple fingers feel like that, I’m all in, I want that mighty cock to fill me—want him to pound into me, make me scream.
“Take your hand away from your cock; only I will touch you now.”
I obey and move my hand to the side of my body.
“Legs up, spread them wide—open for me, Tahsen.”
He uses the softer of my Elvish names and it feeds my fantasy that he’s in love with me, that I’m not a concubine, but his true husband—someone he treasures. I bend my legs toward my ears spreading as far open as I can and expose my hole. He presses his thumb into the pucker and teases it some more. “Corrik. Please,” I beg harder.
The corners of his lips tug slightly—Corrik’s version of a smile.
Unless he’s laughing.
He dumps lubricant onto his member with one hand and I’m left to suffer watching as he pumps his cock, coating it. Finally, after what feels like a thousand years, he lines the head of his cock up with my hole, but doesn’t push in; instead he reaches down to grab my free hand and slams it over my head like before. I’m vulnerable—but I’m too high on this sex mountain to care. With him over top of me, I can see clear his intentions; he leaks possession seeking to dominate me. I shiver with terrified excitement.
His voice, normally a hard, decisive tone, has changed to an otherworldly hiss. “That wedding was just words, but this is different. Once I claim you—you will be my mate for life. We will be bonded by flesh, and by magic.” His words should scare me more, but they don’t. I like what he says. I don’t understand it, my feelings have not changed for him: I still hate him; I want to be his; I don’t want to want him.
“Go on then, make me yours. What’s taking you so long?” I taunt, seeking some control.
He emits a growl only a creature could and when he does, I see teeth, sharp as razors; the moonlight glints off them. With a mighty thrust he slams into me and I hear thunder in my head, or did thunder actually happen? I’m not sure; all I know in this moment is Corrik’s cock is deep inside me. It’s larger than all the fingers he had up me, and it’s not nice at first. It hurts. Corrik either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care; he continues his thrusts. I wince as he slams into me, and for the smallest of seconds, I’m concerned he really is going to split me in half.
But I remember how much I wanted this—I remember how long I’ve waited and deserve this. My sexual prowess has been locked away for too long and I won’t be denied the enjoyment of this moment for anything; even big, arrogant War Elves whose parents spoil him with whatever trinkets or humans he decides he needs. I let my body relax and bear down so my entrance opens for him once again. The pain is gone in that instant—I’m able to enjoy the benefits of having a mate with a large cock. Corrik is angry and overtaken by something he’s not in control of at the moment, but I’m not afraid—the worst that can happen is pain, the best: Intense pleasure. That’s all I feel right now, pleasure—pleasure deep and intense. Our souls sew together as we become one, as we become mates by flesh and by magic… whatever that means.
The thunder is back. It clashes noisy inside my head as Corrik pounds the life out of me and I climb closer to climax. Up, up, up and… I can’t. I want to cum so bad it hurts, but I can’t. I don’t know what’s wrong until I hear Corrik’s voice rich with haughty, sarcastic, mirth. “What’s the matter my mate? Is there something you need?”
I want to spit on him—I hate how he says that to me like the nothing I am to him. His enjoyment of both my body, and the knowledge that I cannot cum is plain. I want to tell him to fuck off, but it hurts. I need to cum; we need to consummate the marriage, and more than that, I need this.
“I need to cum,” I bite out.
He laughs but it’s not the laugh I love; it’s cruel. It’s like the Corrik from earlier has gone and he’s left his ugly twin. No matter which Corrik is present, he has power over me—both Corrik’s enjoy power. He grabs the hand over my head and slams it down again, this time to make a point. “Ask nicely and I may consider it. You don’t need to cum to satisfy the ritual.”
That’s news to me. In Markaytia, both participants need to cum to consider the marriage legitimate. Once again Elvish Customs differ, and Elvish Customs rule. The way he pounds into me now, there’s no way I can back down—I’ll say whatever he wants me to, beg even.
“Please, Corrik. Please let me cum.” I’m desperate and scared he’ll say no.
He stills his cock and I writhe around it with a whimper as he pets my cheek with his free hand, his other still holding mine steadfast over my head, bound to his by the handcuffs. “You’re so pretty, especially when you beg—stop moving.”
His lips stretch over his teeth, so I can see every one of them, “You should not have provoked me, now look what you’ve done! Our wedding night was supposed to be perfect, I was going to be so soft, so gentle!” His hand reels back and he slaps me across the face—it stings but I’ve had worse, and something incredible happens; my cock aches more, to the point I think it will explode.
He liked when Corrik hit me.
“You like that?” Corrik notices it right away and is both surprised and not surprised at the same time.
It pleases him.
“Not to worry my Kathir, I’ll give you so much pain—
With that he slams into me again, and it does hurt, but it also feels so, so good. I moan, and beg, and swear to him I’ll do anything if he’ll just say I can cum.
“You will—you will do everything I ask,” he tells me.
Fuck, yes, whatever; just say the Gods damned words!
“Cum hard, sweet baby boy.”
I cum hard—harder than I ever have before, and he cums too, filling me up with his Elven seed. I hear the thunder again, and I know it’s done: I’m his mate now.
He’s also mine.
It’s a sudden feeling that grips me, courses through me. It must be the Elven Magic. I feel like he’s my possession as much as I am his. He might hold the leash and all of the authority between us, but he too belongs to me now. It won’t matter if we never love each other; he’s mine and I’ll make sure he knows it.
He collapses on top of me; he’s panting; I’m panting and I wish he’d get off me, but I say nothing; the weight of him crushing me grounds me and keeps me in the present, so I can’t fly away in my mind. We stay like that for some time until my silent wish is answered; he rolls off of me and takes his cock with him. We both lie on our backs and stare at the ceiling. I feel a comfort between us like we’ve known each other a hundred years, yet I don’t remember a day. My feelings of hatred aren’t gone, they’re full force, except now I feel I can tell him.
“I hate you.”
I expect the creature from before to return, but he doesn’t. Instead I hear Corrik’s soft voice, the one he’d used earlier, drift regretfully over to me. “I know.” His cuffed hand finds my cuffed hand and he squeezes and rubs his thumb over my wedding ring. We lay like that for the Gods only know how long. Cum is leaking from my ass, cum is splattered all over my stomach. I should feel dirty, but I don’t. I’m not going to bother to ask him to get up with me to clean, I’m going to close my eyes, fall asleep and worry about it in the morning. It’s cum, not toxic waste.
He doesn’t agree that we should fall asleep like this. I feel him stir beside me then he’s tracing over my body with a warm, wet, cloth.
“Corrik, where on Earth?” First there’s handy lubricant and now warm towels? How convenient.
Corrik waggles his eyebrows trying too hard to be impish when he’s clearly, still pensive. “Someone thought we’d need these. Most likely someone from my side of the family.”
Of course—bloody, kinky, Elves.
He takes care as he cleans me, but there’s no more quarter smiles from my Elven Prince—he’s still thinking about whatever it is he’s been thinking about since the end of our, er… mating. When he finishes cleaning both of us, he returns to his position beside me and resumes his silence. Now I’m going to find it impossible to sleep. I wish he would’ve just left me alone. That way I could continue thinking about what a domineering ass he is, but now I’m confused. He cares enough to take care of me—if I didn’t matter to him, he would’ve just left me, right?
He rolls over on his side to face me so he’s over top of me, while I still stare up at the ceiling. His fingers trace the spot where he slapped me. Perfect. I wonder if he can see the mark in the darkness? Or perhaps feel the heat of it?
I can still feel it pulsing.
He traces it and its existence calms him—he visibly relaxes. “Close your eyes, Tristan,” he orders firmly.
I don’t want to, but I also don’t want to provoke him again for his sake. He seems more affected by it than I am. He continues to trace the mark on my face, and he knows that though my eyes are closed, I’m not asleep. His voice sings in my ear: A haunting Elvish lullaby. I can’t understand a lick of it, but the melody is calming. Calming enough for me to drift off to sleep…
Copyright © 2014 by SLegendFiction
Oct 28th, 2014
Sorry, Tristan’s still gone, but he’ll be back next week to RELEASE A CHAPTER FROM TRISTAN! That’s right. A chapter, not necessarily the 1st chapter, we don’t play by the rules over here at SLegend Fiction. What do you hope to see a glimpse of from Tristan? I think I know already, but I’d still like to hear from you!
I have been copyediting for forever now, but have got much accomplished–just a tumble toward the finish. I had been thinking I would write a blog on the event I went to at the Vancouver Writer’s Fest I went to last week, but I think my facebook post covered it: Went to a pub. Listened to Jack and Chris chat to us for over an hour. Got my books signed. I suppose I could drone on about what they said (very inspiring) and indulge my ego by telling you how much I related to what they were saying (’cause I did), but you don’t wanna hear about that, do you? It was pretty kick-ass though and I have now found yet another historical fiction writer to add to my bookshelf. I cannot wait to read Shakespeare’s Rebel, which is also going to be a theatrical production at Bard on the Beach in Vancouver.
That’s about it for today, just a short one. I sometimes get asked what I’m reading, so I’ll leave you with a list of that! Until next week.
S’s books of the week
Me Before You by: Jojo Moyes S says: Best book she has EVER read. (And I’ve read a lot of books).
Confessions of a New Year (Five in the Bed Series) by: M.A. Blisher S says: I LOVE this series. Super intriguing. It began with the book: Bringing Danny Home. Is a tale about a 5-way M/M, D/D relationship. Can’t wait to read the 3rd instalment of this series.
Gone Girl by: Gillian Flynn S says: Enjoyed this book. Smiled and laughed at the ending. Can’t say anymore except, if you haven’t already watched the movie, read the book first!
Three Souls by: Janie Chang S Says: Super intrigued so far. A story that takes place in the early 1900’s. A woman dies and she is greeted by her 3 souls and told they (the 3 souls and her) are stuck on Earth, kinda like a Purgatory, until she corrects something she did in life. Love the way it’s written. In 1st person POV and the way the Author jumps from past to present is something I toy with in Tristan, so it’s a good reference for me. Is well written and am enjoying it.
The Forest Laird: A Tale of William Wallace by: Jack Whyte S says: I only opened this one to read the 1st line, as I do, and couldn’t stop reading, so I’m reading it now. Have you watched Braveheart? Yeah, well unfortunately none of that stuff actually happened like that. I was said because I LOVED Braveheart, STILL do, but I want to read the real events, so here I am. Jack always produces. He is a wonderful writer; I’ve been reading his works since I was young (probably began reading him WAY younger than I should have–LOL). He’s brilliant.
Jane Eyre by: Charlotte Bronte S says: I’m completely embarrassed to admit this, but this is not a 2nd or 3rd time read, I am reading Jane Eyre for the 1st time. It has been on my ‘to-read’ list for years and I’ve only just got to it, but WOW, I see why it’s a classic and I’m only on chapter 3. I love this style of writing. All of today’s nonsense rules are broken, and I get a look through time. I CAN’T believe I’ve never read this book. Anyway, it’s the one in my bag this week, so I assume it will get finished first. I’ll let you know what I thought!
Oct 20th, 2014
Hello all, it is I, S here to regale you with my wit and charm! Okay, yeah, I’ve got none of that, but take a read anyway, will ya?
Before that: Contest Announcement: Want to win a FREE, Signed copy of Tristan? Of course you do. EVERYONE who likes our FB page will be entered. So if you’ve already “liked” us, you’re in! If not go here: https://www.facebook.com/SLegendFiction?ref=bookmarks
Tristan is off today, I told him to take a hike while copyedits for his book are happening–his voice in my head prevents me from being “the Editor.” But that’s not what I’m here to talk about today. I wanted to talk a little about the communal act of writing, which I’ve written about before, but I went for coffee recently with a friend that is writing her first book and it sparked an interesting conversation and something I think could help first time writers. So I’ll ramble about it for a minute…
Ever get writer’s block? I get it all the time. Over the years, I’ve learned how to get myself out of it and yes, you know what I’m going to say: Write your way out of writer’s block! But S, we’re not idiots, that’s what we want to do, we can’t, our muse is on holiday (see blog on muses: Aug 11, 2014 entry). This speech you’ve heard before too: Write everyday even if it’s about nothing. Write, write write.
But there’s one more bit, the thing I keep hearing new writers are afraid to do and I’m going to debunk this myth. The bit is: READ. Read, until your eyes hurt, read until you cry, laugh, read until you are inspired.
What some are afraid of (and I was too once upon a time) was that their writing will begin to resemble the author they are currently reading and thus make them a copycat.
Let me ask you this… Do you really, in all your writing glory think you can resemble Hemmingway? Fitzgerald? Orwell? Maybe you can, maybe you can’t, but if you can, THAT IS NOT A BAD THING (and I’m insanely jealous). It’s a very, very good thing. It is okay to let the greats influence them and lend from them. Some of the greatest authors of all time do this. It will improve your writing and fuel your muse.
I’m not for a second suggesting you copy, in other words plagiarize another author’s works (if you’d like to quote them, quote them just do so properly) what I’m saying is that no matter how much one style will influence you and your writing–your works will still be unique to you! Your work will have YOUR writing voice, polished with the cloths of yesterday… Maybe you borrowed Jojo Moyes’ cloth, or Barbara Kingsolver’s cloth, I don’t know, but in any case your work will still be yours and much more well rounded by inheriting the successful genetics of other GREATS. As Tony Robbins says: “SUCCESS LEAVES CLUES.” Find them. Use them.
Example. After I’d read ‘THE FRENCH LIEUTENANT’S WOMAN’ by John Fowles, I became obsessed with entering my own book like he did and fiddling with my characters, even changing the ending by turning back time like he did. I thought it was the coolest thing. I didn’t even know I was ALLOWED to do that. I wrote a bunch of stuff where I did that–it was all kinds of fun! As a side, too many ppl (IMHO) have become sticklers for “proper form” in writing. Yes there are some guidelines to follow if you want your book to read well, be entertaining and hook the reader, but there is this strange list of “rules” that people conducting writing courses have come up with and instruct new writers on in terms of “what to do” and “what not to do.” I can guarantee you, with this fictitious list of do’s and dont’s recommended, “entering your own book” would be outlawed and edited away, and people like me would never get to see how cool that was and come to the conclusion that “Hey! I can do whatever I want.”
Or how about with: “A Visit From the Good Squad” by Jennifer Eagan? She writes in a different POV for each character (apparently a big no, no). Further, she uses grammar to her liking and writes like she’s conducting a symphony of commas, semi-colons, and parentheses. If you compared her use of grammar to the conventional uses, it would look like her (and her Editor) had never been to grammar school. But this is NOT so. I think her Editor and Her understand grammar how it was meant to be understood. Both her Editor and her had immense creativity AND intelligence and now I get to read this wonderful work (I highly rec this book for a read in terms of writing style, study). Something I would have never thought would be “allowed.”
So my writing has been forever influenced by the GREATS before me, yet my writing is most definitely my own. And if you can pick up during a piece of my writing, “Hey that’s very Fitzgerald,” OR “Wow, what a Kingsolver move!” I would take that as a high compliment.
I literally can’t stop reading and often will read a book in a matter of hours, depending on the book, hence my muse is active almost 99% of the time. Read. Soak up the creativity and intelligence of the GREAT minds that have come before you. Don’t be intimidated by them, learn from them; let them help you across time, or perhaps just an ocean or two.
I’ll leave you with an example of different styles, this I learned just from reading!
I could write the following sentence in a few different ways.
1) Ed walked across the street and got into his car.
2) Ed walked across the street; got in his car.
3) Ed walks across the street, gets into his car.
4) Walked across the street; got in the car.
5) I had walked across the street then I had got in my car.
6) You walk across the street and get into your car.
My personal favourite is, of course #4. 4 and 5 are both in 1st POV, but one is active and one passive. One is in the “right now” the other is “less strong.” Neither are wrong. Is merely preference. And actually, 5 contains what I call a “Past, past voice.” I almost never use this voice. It is NOT wrong, just not what I like.
1, 2 and 3 are in 3rd person POV. 1 and 2 are both passive, 3 is active. In both 2 and 3 I manipulated the grammar (so I either used a comma, or a semi-colon) to define my cadence because I understand how they work. TECHNICALLY, my comma usage in 3 is “illegal,” b/c it’s not a “real” sentence. BUT we talk like this and thus I feel it makes a character more real to write like this. Many authors are now utilizing these techniques, have been since well before I’ve come onto the scene, but I still get ‘Grammar-Cops’ calling me on it… But as long as Jennifer Eagan says it’s okay, well that’s good enough for me!
Do you know what #6 is?
And believe it or not, there are still more ways to write this same sentence… With so many versions and so many voices, we could not possibly copy each other, if we are true to our truest voice.
Until next time!
Sept 29, 2014
Today is an exciting day! Per Ardua Productions has made us this fantastic Book Trailer. They are the most talented production company in Vancouver, if we do say so, and we HIGHLY recommend. We were, so lucky they agreed to do this for us. I know, I know, you want me to stop talking so can watch. Enjoy! Tris Kanes.
Sept 14, 2014
What was that last week? We were drunk. Today she’s got a much better blog for you (she hopes). Before that, quick book news. S spoke with her pre-readers over the weekend and she is excited to say that the pre-read went BETTER than planned. Everyone loved the book so much, they are already looking forward to the second, which she is currently writing. She can’t wait to share me with you Nov 30, 2014. Tris Kanes.
Top 5 Coffee Shoppes (for Writers and People)
Originally, I was going to open with this whole thing about how coffee is the lifeblood of writers, yada, yada, yada… But when I thought about it, coffee is the lifeblood of most people, so it wasn’t really fair for me to claim it in the name of writer’s like coffee is a moon or something. Coffee does have a special place in my heart. Some day, far off in the future, I would love to have my own coffee shoppe. I don’t want to re-invent the wheel, just REALLY good coffee and world famous biscotti–a cozy place to read books and meet friends. Because of this “dream,” I am always on the look out for amazing coffee and places with cool atmosphere. I’m not much into the science of coffee yet, so I can’t comment on grind and roast with accuracy (I know a little about it… not enough to start writing about it), but I can tell you what I like and where I like and why. These are my Top 5 Vancouver Coffee Shoppe favourites.
#5 Bean Around the World (Cornwall Ave Local)
The Coffee: If you like a weaker coffee, this is your place. It’s a little wimpy for my pallet, but the flavor is good. Sip Value a 6. Sip value is my lingo meaning, ability to gulp or chug this coffee, ’cause with good coffee, each sip is too flavourful to miss!
The Atmosphere: As a writer, I LOVE coffee shoppes like this. No you’re not really in the sun, even when you’re outside, because of all the trees, but it’s because of these same trees you get such a cool writing atmosphere. Dark (with enough light for writing), wood all over the place (places made of wood make my muse light up–don’t know why) and the place is filled with an ancient vibe (I’m certain it’s built on an Old Indian Burial Ground, or something). Also a great place to have a meeting and talk ideas, cozy up with a book, or just chill.
S wishes: That they had better food. All of their food is clearly either conventional, or at least several days old. Loaves and other confectionary delights are kinda stale.
#4 Matchstick (E15th near Kingsway)
The Coffee: These guys roast their own beans and the coffee is delicious. It’s got all the S checks: strong and smooth and they’ve got fresh baked scones of different varieties. Not those ones you bite into only to get a mouthful of sawdust, the ones that are buttery, soft and dense. Sip value 7.5.
The Atmosphere: I’d take your coffee to go unless you’re a hardcore Hipster. The plastic, orange, chairs reminded me of what I sat on in high school and looked about as comfortable. They do have long tables if you need to spread out with books and a large group. The staff was awesome!
S Wishes: Better chairs, smaller tables, obviously.
#3 Milano (on W 8th)
The Coffee: I like coffee smooth like my wine and Milano definitely brews a smooth shot of espresso. It’s rich and strong, good crema with a sip value of an 8. You won’t be sorry spending your $3 on this brew.
The Atmosphere: Though the coffee is indeed awesome, it’s the shoppe itself that makes this place on my list at #3. It’s got a deck that looks out to the mountains and park. On a sunny day it’s beautiful.
S wishes: All she wishes about this place is that she had one of their coffee’s in her hand right now!
#2 49th Parallel
The Coffee: I know this is a trendy brand now, but it’s still one of the best coffees Vancouver has to offer. This gets a Sip Value of 10+. You literally never want your cup of 49th Parallel coffee to end and wish it was a bottomless cup you could carefully sip all day. Yeah it’s smooth, strong, good body… All that jazz… But it’s got this feeling to it. At least I get a feeling when I drink it; you know the feeling where you think you can take over the world? Maybe it’s just due to all the caffeine, probably, it’s really strong, but I tell you, you’ve never tasted coffee more lasting in your veins.
The atmosphere: There are a few locations and places that brew 49th Parallel beans. The three top for me are: 49th Parallel on Main street, on Fouth and The Caffe Cittadella on 7th and Ash. Main street location is beautiful b/c of all it’s dark wood (writer’s haven, or maybe just mine), there’s always lots of people and it’s cozy. The staff is comprised of hipsters, but they’re still awesome (btw I have nothing against hipsters, I just like to poke fun). 4th can tend to give off a busy, there are so many people, we don’t have enough room vibe. I don’t usually stay at that local unless I’m meeting a friend. Better to get your coffee and go. Both these locals carry Lucky’s Doughnuts baked fresh, same day. I keep hearing they are good, but I’ve never had one! Finally, and my personal favourite, is the Caffe Cittadella. Built in an old Heritage House, it’s stunning, quaint and crazy fodder for muses. It’s got two levels and a patio with benches. The staff are always smiling and they’ve got a bunch of great food and fresh confections!
S wishes: She could install a 49th Parallel in her house.
#1 Elysian (Ash and Broadway. 5th and Burrard.)
The Coffee: This coffee is number one for a reason. Take 49th Parallel coffee and make it just a smidgeon better and you’ve got Elysian coffee. It’s like a jolt of lightening though, which is why I like it, but it’s not for the feint of heart. It was a pretty close race between 49th and Elysian, but the coffee itself is that much better it makes number one. Sip Value of an 11+
The Atmosphere: I tend to take my coffee to go from this place. Both locations are okay, but they feel too cramped. I don’t mind sitting out on the sidewalk at the Broadway local once in a while, but it’s a congested street with car smog and strange people walking by… But you might like that, so give it a shot.
S wishes: That she could buy a coffee from here and take it to Bean Around the World on Cornwall AND that they’d open up a bigger local in a cozier place, preferably on the Eastside where she lives.
If you’re wondering why your favourite coffee place isn’t mentioned on here, it’s because it’s MY list! And besides, I only wanted to write about 5, this blog is long enough as it is. If you are thinking that I left off my REAL favourite coffee shoppe, you’re right! I don’t want the whole world going there, it’s busy enough as it is… Okay, okay, send me an email and I’ll let you in on a Vancouver secret, someone was kind enough to tell me, so I guess I can tell you too. Until next time.
Sept 8, 2014
How S lost her Mojo: By Tristan Kanes.
Gods damn it, S! She made promises to you last blog and she clearly didn’t follow through and now I’m left answering all the hate mail. So where is your story? You say. Well, I’ve got my own story to tell and it’s the reason S couldn’t write smut for you.
The sun was bright as it set in the sticky, hot Vancouver sky and S couldn’t see while she was driving. “Cheese,” she was thinking, “I need to get some cheese.” She had…
S: “Whoa, Tris, hold up. You’re terrible at this and that’s not where it started.”
T: “You weren’t even going to write a blog today, admit it. At least I’m writing something.”
S: “That’s because, oh, never mind. You want me to tell how I lost my Mojo? Fine. I’ll tell it.”
T: “Okay, but I’m getting my 2 cents in. You’ll leave the bits you don’t like out.”
S: “Yeah, yeah.”
Let’s begin again: How S lost her Mojo. By: S Legend and Tristan Kanes.
It was August Long weekend and I was bursting with ideas. I had a Fanfiction story I’d been working on, some sexy number, Tristan was going well and Tristan II had material galore not to mention my other book: For You, had been completed and the second one was ripe with fruit. I thought, ‘Hey, I can take the weekend off. Do some reading, relax.’ So I did. I went away for the whole long weekend, had a great time, but when I got back I had a dream. I can’t remember it, but it was shrouded in darkness. I was moving through a long, dark tunnel, with no escape.
When I woke up, it was like something was missing. I couldn’t explain it, but something wasn’t right. No matter–I went to my computer to start typing all my brilliant ideas. I began with a story I’d been working on before I’d left, one I’d been in the flow with, but nothing came. It was like my fingers were too afraid to write. I shook my head and decided to persevere and move to the next story. It was a good plan, I belted off three chapters before I knew it things were looking up.
T: “Wait, you’re already forgetting to mention certain happenings–tell them about what you saw when you woke up that morning.”
S: “You tell them, smart ass.”
When S woke up after her spooky dream, she thought she saw something. A shadow in the shape of a person. And despite knowing it’s always a bad idea to follow strange shadows, proven in every horror movie she’d ever watched, she climbed out of bed to follow the shadow.
S: “That shadow turned out to be nothing Tristan. No one was there, I was still half asleep when I saw that thing.”
T: “Yeah, but…”
S: “Let me tell the story.”
T: “Yes, Ma’am.”
I carried on that way through the week, writing a chapter here and there, but slowly my gas depleted. I was a train running out of steam, until finally, I couldn’t write another word and I was easily distracted by the smallest little thing on the internet. I mean, wasn’t there all that research on Michael Fassbender I still had to do? Shouldn’t I respond to my friend’s Facebook post on what I think about Werewolves? You know, the important stuff. Writing fell by the wayside, life fell by the wayside, it became harder just to do the things I needed to get done, let alone the things I wanted to get done for my books.
But I felt fine. I wasn’t sick. My life had all good things in it, so what was my problem? I was like that Crowded House song: There was no fire where I’d lit my spark. But like the second line: I am not afraid of the dark. In fact, I live it the dark, thrive in it–my best work happens at midnight.
I finally figured out what happened when they played Austin Powers: Gold Member on T.V. I’d lost my mojo. I was still me, but without the sparkle. But Austin had his stolen by an evil villain (Dr. Evil). Where had mine gone? Had Dr. Evil taken mine too?
Like Austin, I couldn’t stand by and let whoever had taken it get away with it. I knew right away I had to get it back. But how? My gas tank was depleting faster and faster. I’m a workout-o-holic and even the simplest of workouts were exhausting me. Hell, sending an email seemed exhausting let alone hanging around with people. My day job became really tough, but luckily since it was still summer it was slower and I was able to give the clients I had 120%, but when I got home, making it off the couch was a challenge. I was fucked, or so I thought then things got difficult for realz.
T: “I’m taking over from here, you’ll euphemise the whole thing.”
S: “But… Fine. You’re right. Proceed.”
S began have visions. Not prophetic visions, but self-defeating visions. She stopped caring about things one by one. She compared herself to others, thought about what she didn’t have, how many times she’d failed. When this began to happen, she fought harder. She didn’t have her mojo, but so what? Who needs it? She could handle whatever this was without it. But the harder she fought and the more in denial she travelled, the further she sunk into blackness.
T: “See? I’m great at this writing stuff. That last line was gold.”
S: “Yeah, you’re a regular S.E. Hinton–stay golden Ponyboy.”
T: “Pony who?”
S: “Forget it. Back to the story.”
I’d been working so hard to forget about my mojo, since I couldn’t get it back that I was getting worse. I went to bed after a long day, couldn’t even keep my eyes open and hoped it would get better in the morning, that I would just suddenly wake up good again. As I drifted off to sleep, I saw it again. A shadow, shaped like a person, but I was so tired and I couldn’t keep my eyes open another second, I fell asleep.
In the morning, I was worse. I could barely get on with my day. Everything seemed bleak and depressing. I hated my book, I hated my life, I hated everything. I couldn’t do anything, so I gave up and decided to do nothing. I decided to catch up with a show I’d begun watching: Supernatural. Immediately, I wanted to BE Sam and Dean, which was weird. Most women want to fornicate with the actors that play Sam and Dean–not that, that would be a terrible thing–but it isn’t what I felt. I wanted to be them, the Winchesters. I wanted to fight ghosts, demons, something; I wanted to be of use like them. But most of all, I wanted to be real like them (I know, odd to say about made up characters).
So I checked out for a while. I watched episode after episode, season after season. A strange thing happened. I felt like the skin horse said in the Velveteen Rabbit: “Real isn’t how you are made. It’s a thing that happens to you.” He then goes on to say, “When you are real, you don’t mind being hurt. It doesn’t happen all at once. That’s why it doesn’t happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.”
Okay, so this isn’t the whole quote, I’ve bastardized Margery Williams’ work to my own ends. But my point is, this is what happens to Sam and Dean. Lots of bad shit happens to them, but they keep going and nothing is more important to them than each other, these things make their made up characters real. That realization did something to me. It lit a spark in my darkness, I could feel a sparkle of my mojo again and it’s juice was like lightening. I did a crazy workout that day, I wrote, I had a whole bunch of fantastic interactions with people–I remembered why it was important to have a mojo.
But once again, the shadow came and the next morning, I woke up drained, depleted, worse than ever. I let go, I watched more Supernatural. Even as I write it, I know that sounds stupid, but that’s what I did. When I had no one who could understand, I had two made up people that did and it meant a lot. I actually did stop watching for a couple of days thinking I was wasting time. The shadow visited numerous times and it undid all the good watching the shows had done. I couldn’t deny it anymore, the shadow was real and it kept following me. It was getting stronger too. I figured out that it was eating my mojo–living off it. I was right about one thing. It had completely consumed my mojo and there was no getting it back. Gone forever was my old spark.
But that didn’t mean I couldn’t get a new one.
I knew more than I ever had. Had more foundation than I’d ever had to build a bigger and better mojo than ever before. I was right about that too–the small bits of mojo I’d begin building was stronger and when the shadow appeared, it would take them, eat them and each small bit was stronger than my old mojo. There was only one solution, only one way to build a new mojo once and for good. In the words of Dean Winchester I had to “Kill the evil sons of bitches.” Or, well, son of a bitch in this case.
T: “Oooh! Can I tell the next part? This is the best part.”
S: “Yeah, yeah. On with it Ponyboy.”
S knew she had to find the shadow thing an confront it. Step one in fighting the Supernatural is: Find out what you’re up against, so she did some research. She read a great book, by her friend and there was no denying what the shadow thing was: Her own, twisted ego. Ego can actually be a good thing, but ego has weakness just like everything else and her ego had been poisoned. She has some theories as to how, but that would take days to discuss, so instead we’ll move on to Step two: Find out what kills the evil creature. S’s ego had become evil. Instead of providing her with confidence it was completely squashing her confidence. Without confidence, it’s impossible to do anything; especially write. Myth says that writer’s block is actually nothing more than a loss of confidence. The biggest challenge in this case was that S’s ego, tainted as it was, was still a part of her. How could she kill a pieced of herself, without killing the rest of her? Very tricky.
The solution, she would have to starve it to death, which meant it couldn’t be killed in one day, but several. She had to deny it her new, kick-ass mojo she was creating. It had already stolen her old one, she would have to protect the shiny new one, else the new mojo would be subject to the same fate as the old–devoured by a soul eating monster: her own poisoned ego.
S: “Is that it? Aren’t you going to tell them what happened next?”
T: “I thought you’d want to tell that part. It’s kinda hard to explain.”
S: “I thought you were the writer now?”
S: “That’s what I thought…”
This is going to sound like corny, sap, there’s no two ways about it, but it legit worked. Whenever a negative, poisoned thought would come up, like “Look at your life. It’s not what you wanted. It’s not what you planned. You haven’t done anything for anyone. No one likes you.” I’d put on my fuck you brain, my Dean and Sam Winchester blasting demons back to hell brain, and tell the soured, blackened part of my ego that it wasn’t true. Of course that alone didn’t work. I needed to think of the good things in my life, the things I was grateful for. Silly little things like the fact that I’m lucky enough to get to dine on fresh caught fish and garden fresh veggies. But part of it was being realistic. Sometimes, there are some shit things in my life, but that’s what makes me real and it’s okay and I can handle whatever’s thrown before me. I may not have had the ‘luck’ of some people, but perhaps that is largely to do with my attitude. In fact, it was ALL to do with my attitude I realized. And some might say the blackening of my ego began long before the time I thought it did and it’s been happening all along, very slowly due to the attitude I currently harboured that nothing was good enough.
If I want my life to be a certain way, I have to be that person, or the person I don’t want to be will consume me, which would be very sad, because I have a pretty cool person inside here dying to get out. She’s still fighting, lighting the darkness, gripping tight to the optimism she’s known for.
So the battle began, the battle for my soul. The mission to starve a poisoned tainted ego and rebuild a collapsed mojo.
T: “That it? That’s where you’re going to leave it?”
S: “Yep. I think it’s a struggle we all face and I think it’s on going. We constantly loose our mojos and we have to go on an adventure, fighting demons to win back a mojo, or sometimes create a new one by letting go of the past. We have to protect that mojo at all costs, all the time, or it can be stolen, eaten, destroyed. It’s never ultimately safe.”
T: “People aren’t going to like this…”
S: “Maybe not.” *walks away*
T: *Smiles* “That’s the S I know.”
So was this a true tale of S and her mojo? Or was it simply a ploy so that S could infer (poorly) some odd parallel between her life and that of the Supernatural T.V. show she’s recently become obsessed with? You can decide. Hopefully though, you’ll decide to buy her book… my book: TRISTAN November 30, 2014. Until next time. Tris Kanes xoxo
Aug 25, 2014
Tristan’s not even around today, it’s just me, S. I would like to say I’m very sorry, I fucked off all day and watched Supernatural instead of writing important blogs. But if you watch Supernatural, you probably understand. That isn’t all I did, I am working on the second book in the Tristan Series. It has no name yet, just calling it Tristan II for now, its working title. I am getting excellent reviews on Tristan and I’m really excited to share it with the world. It’s just a couple more copyedits away.
I promised I would write about having meetings with myself, so here goes and I’ll promise you a sexy story this week. I’ll write two blogs for the price of one (still free) to make it up to you all, my loyal fans *wink, wink* for not writing a proper blog today and leaving you with this drivel.
Publishing your own books is a lot of work, I mean A LOT of work. Who knew? You’ve got to keep yourself organized, or all you’ll end up doing is binge watching shows on Netflix all day. Between all the twittering, blogging and facebooking, not to mention the writing, editing, editing, more editing and online networking, sometimes it’s hard to know what you’ve done and what you’ve got left to do. I began having meetings with myself. You are a self-publisher now, therefore you are your own board too. You’ve got to meet with your board.
For me, it was helpful to have a 6 month plan at the out set. I set out tasks each week as well as a schedule and it worked great for a while, but it was hard to keep track of what was working and what wasn’t and to see if there were approaches I should add to my plan, until I sat down with myself. “Now,” you say, “I’m with myself all the time, how about I just take a time-out from what I’m doing, organize myself then?” I tried that too, but things became scattered. Meeting with myself “any old time” I’d either give myself too much time to do tasks or not enough. Not that I’m scheduled in to meet with myself twice per month, I know I have that much time–also, I can measure how long it takes me to get tasks done. How many can I get done in a day? In a week? How many tasks are too much?
Setting out too many tasks for yourself and not getting them done can be just as defeating as watching Netflix (clears throat) SuperNatural all day, and not getting enough done. It’s really helped me to fine tune my approach and I feel less overwhelmed all the time. It’s helped me find more time for what I love doing most: Writing.
So I highly recommend for all the self-publishers out there, meet with yourself, what could be more awesome than that? Okay, gotta go, another episode of Sam and Dean salting dead people’s bones and lighting them on fire is calling my name. Love their witty banter and brotherly affections. One last thing, I will hold true on my promise, you will have a sexy short story before the week is through. Any requests?
Aug 18, 2014
With nothing to do but wait on tenterhooks for responses from her pre-readers, S has been inspired to give you this Monday afternoon treat! S has written so many books that she is already on Book II of many of her series. This was the only piece, obscure enough that she could give it out. You might not get some of the references, but that is okay, just enjoy the sex! That’s what it’s for. Only thing S wants to make sure you know is that these characters are NOT vampires. Vampires are not the only creatures with teeth for biting. Other than that, you will just have to imagine what these characters might be and wait for Book One’s release in 2015. This is the same series our “friend” Ryker is from. S still doesn’t trust him to post. And for good reason! Enjoy. Tris Kanes. P.S. S apologizes for mistakes. This has only been roughly edited. It will be even better when it comes out!
FOR YOU BOOK II CHAPTER 6
Copyright © 2014 SlegendFiction
I want to run my hands through her hair; I want to throw her down, rip her fucking clothes off…
“I wanted to give up, that’s why I’m here,” she says.
I squint at her. “What the fuck you talkin’ ‘ bout?”
“If I destroy Ryker Corp., it all ends.”
“What ends, Darlin’?”
She hugs her knees, lookin’ like a little girl, lost her puppy dog. I reach out and tip her chin up, “tell me damn it. You owe me.”
Tears shine, angry. “I don’t owe you anything.”
I freeze for a second because my fuckin’ heart freezes. It’s my biggest fear come to life… She might as well have just tol’ me she ain’t never loved me, that I imagined the whole God Damned thing.
But there’s one thing in her fuckin’ cold grey eyes, a shred of doubt in her own mind that maybe she does fuckin’ owe me. It was real, us, but it’s over; I let go her chin and stand up. “Fine. You don’t owe me shit. I’ve got my son to get back to.” I don’t bother mentioning Trilogy. “You can stay away for good now. You don’t want us, we don’t want you neither.”
I can feel the rage peelin’ off her. “He’s my son, too.”
“That why you always leave him?”
“I’m there when it’s important, you asshole!”
Her anger is fuckin’ turnin’ me on. Fuckin’ stupid cock, with a mind of its own. I’d like to shove it down her throat; shut her the fuck up.
“Well he’s got me now, so fuck you.”
“You think you can protect him? You don’t know the first thing.” Her voice is low, cynical and threatenin’.
“I don’t know, because you won’t fuckin’ tell me anything!”
“You can’t handle it; I barely can.”
“Try me, just fuckin’ try me.”
She still says nothing.
“Who are they? The bald things with our son’s face?”
“I don’t know.”
I reach out and fuckin’ slap her across the face, don’t worry, she can take it; Dess likes to be fuckin’ slapped. Still does by the look of it; she’s panting, her pupils dilate and she licks the blood from her lips. The blood is what begins the frenzy, for both of us, my Ryker blood and her whatever the fuck she is blood, goes crazy.
“I don’t know. I have my speculations, but I swear, I don’t know.” I saw it, she fuckin’ looked down at my cock which is still rock fuckin’ hard. I hate her, but I’ll fuck her.
“You like that Darlin’ and you hate that you fuckin’ like that.” She knows what I’m referrin’ to.
“I hate you.”
“I hate everythin’ about you. You’ve ruined me.”
“I hate you because I love you and I want to hate you with every ounce of my being.”
“Me too,” I say.
She can’t hold back no more, she jumps me, attacking my lips and I suck her tongue down my throat. She rips open my fuckin’, shirt as I suck her neck, marking her… Marking her… Marking her…
She lets me, sub-fuckin’-mitting to me. She can’t resist the thing in me that calls to her, nor me her. She runs her hand over my chest, mapping, getting reacquainted, and fuckin’ slams my body to the ground, my head hits hard, and the violence has begun.
“Who was she? I’ll kill her.” She can smell the last woman I took. Teeth bared and more rage buildin’. I won’t be able to stop her if that’s what she’s after.
“You can do anythin’ you want Darlin’, after I fuck the daylights out of you.”
I open her shirt now, tearin’ it from her body, so I can suck her nipples, hard. Mine. I stand up bringin’ her with me; she wraps her thick, strong legs around my torso and squeezes me ’till I can’t barely breath. I only get short bursts of air between kissin’ her, suckin’ her throat and her fuckin’ crackin’ my torso; one of my lower ribs fuckin’ breaks.
“Fuck. Fuckin’ Bitch!” I scream, but I keep eating her fuckin’ mouth.
“I’ll cut your dick off if I ever catch you, you got that, Major?” She says between kisses.
I slam her to the ground, I’m on top and she’s underneath me, right where she fuckin’ should be. “I’m going to fuck you, and you’re not fuckin’ leavin’ us, understand?”
“You don’t tell me what to do.”
“The fuck I don’t.” I rip down her small, red shorts and find her pussy. I find what I’m looking for: Her clit, it’s beautiful, the best one I’ve ever seen. I lick it once, she moans tossin’ her head back, “please… Lexy…”
I suck her clit into my mouth and roll my tongue over the thick, swollen jewel. She tastes like peaches; my tongue slides into her warm wet pussy and I coat her clit a second time with my tongue and her own juices. She slams her foot down on my back repeatedly, right where she knows she fuckin’ broke my rib. Fuckin’ cunt.
My dick likes it though; Dess and I like pain equally.
“Mmmmhhhh… I’ve missed that fucking tongue of yours, sugar,” she says.
I shove two fingers inside, and keep sliding my tongue over her swollen clit and I can feel her bulidin’ climax as I tame her. “You like that darlin’?” I say between sucks and presses of my fingers into to her.
“I’d like your dick better.”
Fuckin’ yeah she would, but she ain’t gettin’ it yet or this’ll all be over before it starts. She can beg me for it.
I turn her to all fours and smack her ass hard leavin’ an ugly red handprint. She’s yelps and moans at the same time. I scissor my fingers in and out as I slap her ass some more; she’s wet and coating my fingers. “Tell me what you want darlin’, tell me how much you want my cock.”
“I’m not begging you, asshole, either stick your cock in or don’t. Can’t you feel how wet I am? I’m wet for you, Major,” she says all se-fuckin’-ductively.
My cock likes when she talks like that and I do want to just stick my cock in her, it’s aching and feelin’ her juices on my fingers makes me want to feel her on my cock. I made the mistake of unzippin’ my pants and pull out my stone cock. My cock is a magnificent specimen, if I do say so myself.
Soon as she hears the zipper, I’ve lost her. Any tamin’ I’ve done is undone. She pounces and I’m on my fuckin’ back. Dess is strong, stronger than me much as I hate to admit that. She comes from another time and another universe and I’ve never quite grasped what that meant genetically. I’ve come to learn a thing or two about her, sure, but I don’t know if I’ll ever understand the magnitude of differences between us; ‘specially since on the outside we look a lot the same.
She slaps my face several times until tears are stingin’ my eyes and I’ll do anythin’ to get her to fuckin’ stop. “You stay like that sugar, and I’ll make your cock feel nice. You’d like that wouldn’t you?”
“Yesssss…” I hiss.
My shirt’s already gone, so I writhe as she bites and sucks her way down my abs and my cock is jumpin’ to try and get in her mouth. She blows on it, like the cruel bitch she is, and licks the head just a few times and it makes me feel like cryin’.
“You’re going to be a good boy,” she says. “And I’ll suck your cock. Maybe I’ll let you fuck me.” She keeps lickin’ the head, but all I want is to shove it down her throat. That’s when she bites my inner thigh, hard. “I didn’t fucking hear you Major, what do you say to Mama?”
Fuck that hurt. But I can already feel my dominance die down and I’m ready to do fuckin’ anythin’, just to get her to sit on my cock that is wild right now. It feels itchy with need.
She swallows my cock whole and without being able to prevent it, my hips buck up ‘till my cock hits the back of her mouth, choking her and she slaps the side of my ass with all her strength, it calms me, but it only makes my cock harder. Fuck!
Using her teeth this time, she rakes them down my cock and sticks her tongue out to smooth along the surface as she climbs back up. It’s pure ecstasy. “Mmmmpppphhh… Oh God… Oh God… I’m going to…” I cry. She pops her mouth off my dick as I build towards orgasm and I’m left to fuck the air then she alternates between sucking the head and smacking the sides of my ass ‘till there are probably fuckin’ bruises.
It’s torture. I hate it. I love it. I need to cum.
“Poor Lexy needs to cum…” She can sense that a mile away and she loves the fuckin’ pain and torture I suffer because of it.
“Yeah, baby, please…” I’m too far gone, I’ll do anythin’…
Handlin’ me like I’m a feather instead of the hulkin’ land mass that I am, she turns me so I’m on all fours then pushes my ass down until my ass hits my feet. “You’re going to fuck my fingers first.”
Fuck. That makes me rut at the ground, so my cock can feel some kind of friction. She slaps the curve of my ass this time to halt me. She’s not makin’ any of this easy for me, I pissed her off too bad.
I hear her suck on her fingers before she slips two inside and I’m pushin’ back, my hands pressin’ the ground away and bare down on her fingers ‘till my ass swallows them whole.
“Yeah, baby, fuck them. That’s good… Good boy…”
It feels good, my ass begins to make some of its own fluids and she keeps sucklin’ her fingers and pumpin’ them in and out of me.
“I can’t take no more Dess, please… Please let me fuck you.”
She’s got me under her thumb, I’ll do whatever she says, but it’s not what she wants right now. I can smell her blood; there ain’t enough of whatever it is that makes her dominant. She’s been dominant plenty of times with me, and I’ve submitted, easily. I can feel the shift happen before it does…
“That’s right Major, beg me. But you’ll never get my pussy. I’m going to leave you like this, hard and wanting. It’s going to hurt for days and you’ll remember me when I’m gone…”
“The fuck I will,” I growl.
I pull off her fingers and tackle her. I grab her wrists in my one hand and plaster them to the ground over her head. “If you move your hands, I’ll fuckin’ break your arms.” And I will. Done it before. She heals with incredible speed anyway; it’s only a minor inconvenience to her. Still, it fuckin’ hurts.
She’s mine instantly, “yes, sur.” She moves her head to the side and opens her neck to me; I bite down, leavin’ my teeth marks… Another mark; she’s mine.
I suck her lips and position my cock right where it needs to be. I slam it into her. We’re both in such a blood-sex induced frenzy by this point we forget everythin’; rules, Ryker corp., strange fuckheads with my son’s face on them… All our problems vanish and there’s just her and I. We fuck and it’s love in the rawest form: We breath hard, we pant, we can’t get close enough to each other. We’re animals.
I feel her climax build and she feels mine. When I release inside her, she quickly follows, the muscles of her pussy spasm and squeeze my cock wringin’ every bit of cum out of it.
This woman is mine forever and I’m hers and I’ll drill her whenever I need to ‘till she gets it.
I fall on top of her breathin’ hard, we’re both naked and sweaty; she puts her arms ‘round me ‘cause it’s over now and she’s released from my orders. Her leg slips up my side and I prop myself up so I can stare at her pretty face and kiss her lips gentle this time. I’m cryin’ and so is she.
“See, the truth is Darlin’ I love you so fuckin’ much it hurts everyday and I want to hate you because you’re mine and I can’t have you. Don’t leave me, please don’t fuckin’ leave me again. I’ll do whatever you want, anythin’…. Just don’t go.”
I squeeze her tight and she squeezes me. “I love you, Lexy… But the only thing that could allow us to be together is something you won’t do for me and I wouldn’t want you to.”
“No. You’re wrong. I’ll do anythin’…”
“Anything, really? Would you kill our son?”
Well that’s a hammer to my fuckin’ gut. But I don’t get to answer because suddenly there are bodies… Bodies falling from the sky…
Copyright © 2014 SlegendFiction
Aug 11, 2014
Hey all! Did you miss us? We took the week off last week. After all that editing, S needed some R&R and she thought I must need some too, so she just sent everyone home! We’ve got some exciting book news. The book’s editing is just about complete with only a final CopyEdit to go. Reminder: S has asked 6 of her most trusted to be the first ever readers of TRISTAN and tell her what they think… She’s nervous as all Hell. I don’t know why, it’s a great book if I do say so myself, it’s all about ME! Once this is complete she will release a free chapter. She was going to release the 1st chapter, but she is now thinking she might release something a bit more exciting… What do you think she should do? We’ll see… Until then, here she is with a short, short bit on MUSES. Tris Kanes.
As writers we LOVE and HATE our muses. Muse being the life source for all our stories and their characters of course. I love how Stephen King describes muses: “He lives in the ground. He’s a basement kind of guy. You have to descent to his level and once you get down there you have to furnish an apartment for him to live in. You have to do all the grunt labor, in other words, while the muse sits and smokes cigars and admires his bowling trophies and pretends to ignore you. Do you think it’s fair? I think it’s fair. He may not be much to look at, that muse-guy and he may not be much of a conversationalist, but he’s got inspiration. It’s right that you should do all the work and burn all the mid-night oil, because the guy with the cigar and the little wings has got a bag of magic. There’s stuff in there that can change your life. Believe me, I know.”
I’ve often tried to finish stories when my muse is not there, when he’s on vacation somewhere off in the Keys, and the work I produce is utter rubbish. People think I’m crazy when I tell them I can’t make up a story at all, I don’t, my muse does and I am at a loss without him. My muse is not one dude really though, it is comprised of many people. I claim my characters are my muse and they either talk to me or they don’t and when they don’t I’m literally screwed. But I’ve found I can kick my muse into gear by reading, none-the-less and watching shows that inspire me. Every writer will have their own tricks for waking their muse out of a coma, or dragging him back to the mainland. My advice is to write anyway. Maybe you don’t work on your novel, but write something and when your characters begin speaking to you again, you will be in practice. P.L Travers, author of Mary Poppins once said in an interview that she herself was surprised when Marry Poppins slid backwards up the banister and thought to herself “What a clever Lady!’ As if she herself was surprised by Marry Poppins’ actions. But if she is the creator, how could she be surprised by Mary’s actions? I know what she means and I think most writers do. I am often surprised by the things my characters decide to do and some days I feel like I have no control over them at all. If anyone looks into P.L.Travers life, we can see that her characters clearly had some aspects of the people in her own life, but as a writer I can understand that despite these qualities Mary Poppins might share with these real people, Mary is her own character and I believe P.L.Travers believed this, as I do with mine. Our characters, our Muses become real to us and there is a point when we fail to separate them in our minds with the people outside our minds. Can you relate? S.Legend
July 28, 2014
Today is another ‘S on writing‘ moment. But before that: Book news! The book’s EDIT is complete. S is going to hand it out to 4-6 of her most trusted (and most interested) to read and let her know if they think it needs any extra. She will be handing it out THIS week! She’s both excited and nervous as hell. I would once again like to apologize for Ryker last week… We are back to our regular scheduled programming and you won’t have to hear from him again (I hope). Tris xoxo
This week I want to examine something important: Describing stuff in your novel, specifically a character. There are many ways to do this of course. Personally, I like feeling the essence of a character. I like to draw a picture, in my mind, of the character by a few physical descriptors followed by ALOT of personality descriptors. Jonathan Franzen is brilliant in this arena as well as Scott Fitzgerald. Two great references if you need a bit of help to make your characters virtually leap off the page and into the mind of the reader as somebody real. In TRISTAN I do something crazy. I NEVER end up describing Tristan–not really at least. I mean, he’s on the cover and that’s how I see him, but I give very little to the reader by way of physical descriptors and you get to fill in the blanks based on things he does, who he is and how he interacts with others. Also, it is of my opinion that each of us sees each other and our own selves with different eyes and so I hope that the reader can see each version of each character depending on who looks at them, as well as have their own view of that same character. With Corrik, I tried something I thought was kinda cool. With writing, we’re TOLD to always describe and write in the positive. But the fun thing about being a creative writer is breaking the rules, so I decided to describe him by what wasn’t there, and I literally say that. I’m going to post below AGAIN the same paragraph some of you have already read, but look at it today with new eyes. See how I’ve have chiseled him out of clay without too much detail, but enough so your mind could finish the job and Corrik molds with your imagination into a version that is just yours. Since this is an erotic novel, I do add a bit more of the physical than I tend to in my other books, but I do feel it somewhat part of the Erotica experience.
Makes it exciting in this case: “That was when I saw him for the first time. The power of his features came from what wasn’t there, rather than what was. The man was devoid of imperfections; not one thing about his face or his body hinted to a deficiency. I could see no weakness in his impenetrable demeanour; the man was used to winning, and getting what he wanted. His cold purple eyes knew no warmth, or sunshine, and sat as sentinels atop the high bridge of his patrician nose, complementing the supercilious manner he carried about himself. Without a smile on his face he looked cruel, and stony. At the same time there was no darkness in him whatever. Gold hair flowed long over silver robes, that were open to reveal porcelain white skin; unmarred, and solid. The breezy, pretty robes did nothing to diminish the restrained force of his chest and abdomen muscles—he seemed to dominate the effeminate attire, as if he’d already defeated it. Not a body built for field work, but for blood—war.” ~Tristan pg 4, S.Legend~
Can you see what I did? Questions? S.Legend
July 21, 2014
Hi, this isn’t fucking Tristan. He’s busy. Where is he? How the fuck am I supposed to know? I’m not his keeper. But when you see him, give him a message from me: If I ever have to do his job again… Well he won’t like it. I didn’t want to do this, I was threatened. S has her ways and honestly, I’m afraid to tell yah how she threatened me, in case she follows through. Anyway, she can’t release anymore “Tristan” just yet, but the book’s edit IS finished and she will be releasing the first chapter SOON. In the mean time, she wants you to get to know her writing and since MY book is up next on the publishing list, she’s going to give you a piece of it RAW. This means the final edits on this piece have NOT been done. Why is she that crazy? I don’t fucking know. She believes that raw writing is a lost art or some shit. Ask her. I just want to be finished writing this, I got important shit t’do. Matter of fact, I am done. Here it is, a snippet of “FOR YOU” coming SUMMER of 2015. It’s when I first meet Ridomie… (laughs). B.Ryker P.S. Yes this is RATED R. Why are you here if you’re not a fucking grown-up? And yes there are mistakes in the below, ignore them for now. What writer doesn’t have mistakes in their work before edits? There will be shit you don’t understand, just go with it and enjoy. Okay? Last, S also says to let her know which of this piece you DON’T want cut, or forever hold your peace
“Hello? Captain Ryker, sir? I’ve come to help you dress sir.” I wait, but there’s no answer. Did I mention how much I hate certain Rykers? I knock several more times, but when he doesn’t answer I admit myself. I’m not taking the rap for this Ryker. No way. Never in a million years. The anteroom is empty; I look around curiously, but not for long and move to the door of his bedroom. I knock and have to knock twice before I hear a muffled “Hmmmmph…” I decide to take that as come in, even if I’m sure it sounded more like a ‘get lost’. I open the door. The new Ryker is face down on his bed, completely naked. I begin sweating, my cock is hard, I need to have him; it’s uncontrollable. Seriously, what’s wrong with me? I do my best to restrain all of the feelings I’m having, but it’s almost impossible. My face is contorted into my pissed off look. I look anywhere but his perfect ass that I want to bite and claw and suck… I move to his closet; he needs clothes pronto. I think I’m going to be in the clear, but everything goes downhill from there. “Who the fuck are you?” I hear his voice croak from the bed. “I’m Cap… I mean, Lieutenant Ridomie, sir…” I trail off as I turn around. I should not have turned around. I almost drop the pants I’m holding. Ryker stands there in all his Ryker glory with one of the nicest cocks I’ve ever seen. I can’t take my eyes from it and he’s seen me looking at it. Just kill me now… Someone please, just kill me now. He smirks knowing exactly how awesome his penis is. “See something you like?” I scowl and turn away. “Oh c’mon. I’m joking around—are all of you as fucking anal as that fucking Major dude? I sure as fuck hope not.” Did he just call the Major a… Dude? What’s a Dude? And he swears just as much as the Major. Actually, he looks a helluva lot like the Major. “Here are your pants, sir.” I tell him when I turn around and make sure not to look down. But that means I have to look at his eyes and I get lost there. His cock is great. I don’t want to down play it at all—I mean it’s really awesome—but his eyes, they’re this beautiful rich azure blue. The Lord Ryker has eyes that color, but I’d never got lost in them. I’m staring again. He doesn’t seem to notice this time. “Why are you calling me sir?” He asks looking curiously at the pants I’m holding up, “and don’t I need some boxers or something? Or am I expected to go fucking commando?” “Boxers? Commando?” What is he talking about? He looks at me curiously. “I guess everything’s fucking different here. Boxers, like underwear? The thing you put on before your pants? And Commando’s an Earth term for not wearing them.” I have no idea what he’s talking about, but at least his inane questions are distracting me from his body. “Here, I’ll fucking show you.” He moves past me and into the closet. He’s got a few bruises on him I hadn’t noticed ‘till now. I have to ball my fists and grit my teeth to restrain myself. I’m turning animal again—someone else has marked him, nobody should mark him: Except me. “Who put those marks there?” I didn’t meant to ask it, but the words come out of my mouth all the same. “Huh? Oh yeah. I’m a little bruised up from that Dickhead you guys call Major, but I’m alright, thanks. They’ll heal up quick. Feels nice to be able to say that.” Oh Ryker, then he smiles. Ryker smiling is like… It’s like… well there’s nothing in all the universes that’s more interesting to me. “Here they are,” he says holding up some kind of tiny white pants that are cut short. “My mama told me never to wear dirty underwear, but looks like I’ll have to.” He slips them on, thankfully covering his ass and his cock, but it might be worse than naked. Those ‘underwear’ things look really good on him. He grabs the pants from me and throws them back at me. “Tell the Major if he expects me to dress like a fucking clone, he can come do it himself, because I sure as fuck am not going to wear that shit.” He goes back to the closet and comes out with some clothes I’ve never seen before and starts putting them on. I feel like an idiot. I was stupid enough to begin to think that this new Ryker wasn’t like the other Rykers; I’m realizing this only now after he’s said that comment. Except he’s the same as the other Rykers: A cloneist Asshole. I watch him not able to speak, as he puts on the strange clothing and even though I hate him for what he’s said, I can’t help but admire how good he looks in what he’s put on. The ripped, blue pants he’s put on are almost scandalous and there’s no way I want him walking around for the benefit of the other clones in that. I can see his funny little white pants for Ryker’s sake! “You can’t wear that,” I say without thinking. I’m not supposed to talk to him like that. I’ve lived all these years and I’m going to be ended by this little Ryker punk. He looks like he wants to strangle me to death with his bare hands. “Who the fuck do you think you are, anyway?” He is right. I shouldn’t be speaking to him like that, no matter how much of an Asshole he is. Derek Ryker is an even bigger asshole and I’d never speak to him like I had this Ryker. “I’m sorry, sir. You’re right. I’m no one, just a worthless clone. Shall I head to the incinerator?” “Incinerator? What the fuck is that?” He doesn’t know? “It’s where defective clones are sent to be burned to ash.” “As in burned alive?” “Yes, sir.” Why does he have a hard time understanding this? Am I not explaining it right? “That’s fucked up! No! Don’t go be burned alive. Jesus Christ! What the fuck kinda place is this?” He thinks the incinerator is… wrong? I have to bite my lip. I want to smile, but I don’t want to get too excited. He must be taunting me, somehow. Derek would do something like that, I have to assume for the time being the new Ryker will too. He’s still shaking his head though. “You’re not going to do that right? Fuck. Okay, I didn’t mean to be an Asshole. I’m a real Asshole sometimes, but Jesus Fuck! I’d never send you to be burnt alive! You don’t think that’s crazy?” I don’t know what to say now. Is this some kind of a test? He seems to genuinely not like the idea of the incinerator. Of course I think it’s crazy. I’ve watched too many of my friends and brothers burnt alive. I hate thinking about it. But it’s the way of things here, it just is. “I… It saddens me, sir.” I feel it best not to lie to him. The Major said he’s clever, I don’t know what he’d do to me if he figured out I wasn’t telling him the truth—the truth is a big deal to us clones. “Well I tell you, it fucking infuriates me,” he says. He looks like he wants to punch something and his beauty goes up a couple of notches for me. He’s crazy beautiful angry. I try again. “What I meant, sir, was the Major wants you dressed for battle. You’re the new Captain. I’m your first Lieutenant. He’ll be angry if you show up like that.” “Me? Captain? That’s a riot! I don’t know shit about battles. I’m not Captain, you can be Captain.” He may be right about his skills, I’d never seen them, so I don’t know, but it doesn’t matter; a clone can never out rank a Ryker no matter how unfit he was for the position. If it were ranked by skill, I’d be Colonel and not Derek Ryker. The Major is at the top of that list of course. He’s the General Major, and definitely is fit for the category, but he prefers to go by Major. Because of that, no one else is a Major—simply because he says so—though technically they could be. I don’t know why the position even exists anymore. “I can’t be Captain, sir.” “Is that why you keep calling me, sir?” “That and because you’re a Ryker, sir.” “Look, let’s clear something the fuck up. My last name may be Ryker—though I’m seriously considering changing it after this little family vacation—but I am not a fucking Ryker. Stop calling me, sir. If you need that to be an order then I order you to stop calling me sir. Jesus. Do I look like the Major?” Does he really want me to answer that? Because my answer would be yes he most certainly does. Either way, I’ve calmed down a little. Maybe I’ve misunderstood him. The Major had also said he was different. “What should I call you, s… What should I call you?” “Name’s Briggland, and you are?” I’m freaking out inside. I can’t call him Briggland. Lord Ryker will incinerate me if he hears that. “I’m Lieutenant Ridomie.” “Ridomie, huh? Cool.” He flops back on the bed. “Look, if I don’t dress in that shit, will the Major, uh, incinerate you?” I want to lie, so he’ll just change, but he’ll find out. “No he won’t.” It’s hard to leave off the sir, but I don’t call him Briggland. His jacket creaks with every move, he looks like sex and I want to climb on top of him. My cock is beginning to hurt; I’m going to have to find someone to fuck. I’ll leave poor Vallee alone. I don’t think his ass can take anymore. Maybe Rex, I’ll find Rex… “Not changing then.” That’s no surprise, but it is a surprise that he actually cares what might happen to me. I’m so confused. “I will be in trouble,” I try. “Anything you don’t do, or do that the Major doesn’t like will be blamed on me.” “You look like the kinda guy that can handle trouble, so long as you’re not being burnt alive, I can live with that,” he winks. Okay, so he’s still a cocky Ryker Asshole, but he’s not quite like his Ryker predecessors. “I’ll have to go get the Major, sir… I mean…” I can’t say it. “Briggland. Why can’t you say my name?” “I could get incinerated for that, sir.” I give up. “By the Major?” “No, sir. By your father, sir.” “Fucking Asshole,” he huffs. I look around because you cannot say that kind of stuff around here. He doesn’t seem to notice me looking. “Fine, okay. What about, Ryker? Can you call me that?” “I’ll try, Captain.” “Ryker, say it.” “Ryker.” “Good. And, you can go get the Major. I’ll handle that guy.” Rykers. Always thinking they can handle way more than they can. “I don’t know…” “Are you calling me weak Ridomie?” I don’t hear my name often and when I do it’s a Ryker saying it, but when he says it, I wish I could hear him say it over and over again, while I shove my cock in his… I have to stop thinking like that. “No, Ryker. The Major’s pretty strong though.” “You got that right.” If he agrees then why isn’t he moving to change? This Ryker’s frustrating. If he were mine, I’d… I have to stop thinking like that. I’ll repeat that until I understand that Ryker will never be mine. But maybe he’ll want to fuck in the least. Derek fucks all of us clones as some point. Yeah. I could live with that. “Please Ryker.” I’ll beg him if I have to. I’d prefer not to disrupt the Major—he’s been in a really bad mood for weeks now and I’ve pissed him off on my own enough. Looks like Briggland—did I just call him Briggland?—has too, if those marks around his torso are anything to go by. “Fuck, no. Sorry, buddy. This one’s between the Major and I.” Stupid Ryker arguments; I was always getting caught in them. “Okay, Ryker, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Fuck my life. At least I’m able to leave his presence. I can’t take it anymore; the testosterone’s built to an unhealthy point. Once I’m out the door I have to undo my pants and stroke my cock—I can’t wait and I have to cum. Now. It doesn’t take long in the unusually empty hallway. I don’t care who sees me, really, only that I’m doing this outside of Ryker’s door. Testosterone spikes in us clones at the most inopportune times; it’s not unusual to find clones jacking off in hallways at any time of the day. It just doesn’t happen to me. Ever. I can normally control myself until I find another clone to stick my cock in, but ever since I set eyes on Briggland Ryker… I cum hard. It’s satiates me, but only a little. I can still feel the speed and strength of testosterone running in my veins. Damn it. I hate him. I hate Briggland Ryker.
July 14, 2014
Here it is, Monday again folks! I threatened S and told her I was going to post something racy to goad her into coming by and blogging herself… And it worked! Here she is again. Tris xo If you are self-publishing, and planning to publish MANY books, you will eventually have to hire an Editor, ’cause let me tell you, doing it all is TIME CONSUMING and your time is better spent marketing your book. But how to choose your Editor? First. As writers we innately exist as both the writer and the editor. We cannot escape ourselves, so this battle is one we must face with every piece we write. Sometimes we want the unencumbered voice of the writer and other times, the wise but often paranoid voice of the editor. We haven’t a thing we can do about this, really. We have to accept that we will naturally critique our own work to death, and try to keep it to a minimum. But (and, second, for those of you counting) we do have a choice when it comes to an editor we choose from outside world. Choosing a good editor is vital. The editor can either make your book flourish, or make it die a slow, monotonous death of and this’s and that’s and forget that, hey, use a bloody comma once in a while! I’ve come up with a list of requirements for any future editor I hire from this point out based on mistakes I’ve made in the past hiring editors. I’ve wasted a lot of dough on editors who could sell themselves spectacularly, but when push came to shove they well… They sucked. Unfortunately, I have no personal positive experiences to draw on thus, since I’ve not found my ‘ONE’, my NEO of the editing world. But I know MANY authors that have, so I know they are out there and am hopeful that he’ll come prancing into my life soon. Below is a list meant to help protect YOU from the ‘not-so-good’ Editors. It’s not too happy a list atm, but it will save you money and time. If you have any questions about choosing an editor, please email me. I think I’ve made every mistake in the book! I definitely know what to avoid now.
1) Have an NDA that is for YOU ONLY. The NDA is to protect YOU and YOUR work. It is NOT your responsibility to protect the Editor.
2) You are NOT required to give a residual on your work when you are self-publishing. END OF STORY. You can if you want, but I do not advise it. The Editor may try to tell you otherwise, they are lying.
3) Read something they wrote RATHER than something they edited.
4) Find out which authors they like to read. This one sounds weird, but it’s important. As writers, we tend to be influenced by the writing we’ve read and it will show up in our work. Natalie Goldberg says “Writing is a communal act.” I agree. You want your Editor to be able to recognize and like the style you’ve adapted from other authors. If not, they will try to edit it out–seriously, this has happened to me. Best to have your Editor like a particular style in the first place, so you can keep to your vision and natural voice.
5) REQUEST TO SEE WHAT THEY’VE DONE ON YOUR BOOK EACH WEEK. Maybe that one should have been number one, but hopefully the capital letters will get you to take notice. I once had an editor dog me along for seven months on a project that was meant to take 6-7 weeks. The Editor would report to me what was done each week, but was protective over actually allowing me to see it. When I finally began demanding to see what was done, the Editor was forced to admit that the specified tasks were not done. It cost me BIG time. None of my deadlines were met. It put the book an entire year behind and I ended up having to rewrite the bloody thing.
6) Make sure the Editor has proper editing software. This one seems obvious but isn’t. You do not want the Editor changing ANYTHING in your book (I’m talking down to a single, solitary comma) without your approval. Proper Editing software allows you to see their SUGGESTED changes. REMEMBER, only you know your characters… How they talk, what they do… etc… Some Editors will make their suggestions made on political and/or grammatical correctness, which may or may not be right for your story. It is going to be a lot of work for you if you have undo everything they did when it is wrong. And I’ve got to say, nothing has ever made me so sick to my stomach than watching someone else attempt to puppeteer my characters and do it poorly. Do not let an editor make direct changes to your book.
7) Take the Editors critiques lightly. Giving your work to someone else to review is terrifying. Especially if you’ve never done it before, but have faith in your story enough to stand up for parts of your book that may not be ‘nice’ or ‘politically’ correct. Some Editors will want to erase these things because they do not understand them. These are the things that give your story life–don’t let anyone tell you different.
8) Choose an Editor with a similar level of life experience to your OR MORE. The Editor is making suggestions based on his or her life experiences. If they don’t have much to offer in this area, you’ll find that they will not understand much of your book, especially if it’s racy. They will be challenging to work with.
9) Make sure they are well read in the genre you are writing. I once had an Editor replace Starboard (as in the right side of a ship) with Stardeck. I later found out they had never been on a boat they thought I had made a spelling error. The Editor should be conferring with you anyway (especially when they do not understand something) but it makes things a helluva lot easier when they are already familiar with the things you are going to be writing about.
10) Professionalism. I once had an Editor write me an email telling me how much he hated one of my characters for something the character had done, so he decided to take it upon himself, to write that act out of my book. This is NEVER okay. And is unprofessional. It is not the Editor’s job to like everything about the book. It is their job to talk with you, see YOUR vision and make YOUR vision the best it can be DESPITE their own opinions. This is called PROFESSIONALISM. Enough said. Working with someone who is not is a stressful headache. One I’m certainly glad to be rid of.
11) DO NOT enter ANY contracts with them. You are hiring them to EDIT and that is all. They have no other part in the publishing process. They have no other rights to your work. This is a tricky one. Because the Editor has such a close relationship to your book for an extended period of time and because they lend some of their own creative thoughts to the book, they feel a right over it. Allow me to repeat: THEY HAVE NO RIGHTS OVER IT. Think of it like hiring a designer for your home. The designer comes in and lends his creative talents to making your living room look like it belongs on Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous, but he has no part in the deed to your home. Think of the Editor like the home design person, they are there to help make your book look good, you pay them for this service then they leave. At the end of the day, your editor should be seeking to enhance what you’ve written. They should want to make YOUR voice better. And if not, D.Trump their ass! S. Legend
July 7, 2014
Today’s a special day. You get to hear from S herself! Without further ado… Tris xo
I wanted to give some words of encouragement to other authors out there who have a book inside, but just can’t seem to get pen to paper. Whether you’ve had formal training, or not, just start. When I began writing, I was bursting with stories to tell, but I didn’t know how to write them. I had taken some writing courses, but nothing in the creative writing realm. I was terrified and now I can’t imagine why; I wasn’t even planning on showing anyone my work! My first pages were absolute rubbish. I look back on some of my old stories and laugh… Even today, I still write a lot of rubbish; most of it actually, but the fun thing about writing is that you get to re-write any damn paragraph you want to. I spend hours writing to get my real gems. One of my favourite techniques to use is layering. I don’t know if that’s a real term, but it’s the term I use, so let’s go with it. When I have a scene in my head and I can’t get the details down fast enough, I write the big actions, characters, events, etc… down first then I go back over it as many times as I want, adding in the details. No paragraph is perfect on the first write. If that’s what you’re hoping for, you’ll never write anything. So start with something, anything, get your story out, go back to change as needed. Remember this: Writers, write. This seems obvious, but I’ve talked to many fresh, budding, authors and when I ask them how long they spend writing each day, I get blank stares before they respond with “each day?” Yes, each day! Write a little something each day, even if it’s complete junk, if you’re serious about pouring out your first manuscript. Spend at minimum fifteen minutes everyday. Have I said everyday enough? EVERYDAY! Write anything, seriously. Describe your coffee mug, your computer desk; tell a mini-story about your trek out of bed this morning (Title that one: Mission Impossible) write down your thoughts and feelings about your neighbour’s wife’s new boyfriend (yes you read that right) just write whatever comes to mind. Take that piece and try the layering technique with it. Go back into the scene, see what you missed, add, add, add! I’m on your team routing for you if no one else is… I love to support new authors. Happy Writing! S.Legend
July 4th, 2014
Happy Birthday America! Alright, I finally convinced S to put something out a little more sexy. She’s not pleased with me, she said, “the whole book will be out before it’s out.” What I’m trying to tell you is, enjoy this little tid bit because it will probably be the last for a little while. Enjoy! And cover the eyes of the kiddies. R rating below. “His words make me shiver and my already hardened cock begins to ache. Damn him for being attractive and sexy in every way. In moments he’s sitting up beneath me, and his mouth is on my neck, hungry and possessive, as he teases the skin with his teeth. A moan escapes from my lips. My vow not to have sex with him long forgotten, I join my lips with his and open them to make way for his tongue to claim me. His hands wrap around my body and pull me to him. I press my cock along the curve of his belly, and his hands find my ass and squeeze my cheeks hard. I moan again, but this time into his mouth. He sucks me into a kiss, hard, and I can’t breathe until he releases my mouth; I end up panting as I look into glowing purple eyes. With one sharp tug, he flips me on my back and the glowing, ultra-violet eyes pin me in place. “Alvin is nothing to me, and you are everything. Never doubt me again.” I swallow, and nod as I fist the cotton sheets and he attacks my mouth again. I feel the wetness of my pre-cum leak from my weeping cock and want him to just fuck me already—but I won’t say it… Yet.” Tris Kanes xo
June 25, 2014
Did you know, in most of S’s books, LGBT is the norm? That’s right, no one blinks an eye at her characters, who like men, women, or anything in between. And why should they? The people who do in real life are ridiculous, in our humble opinion. Anyway, moving on. S finally agreed to this. She’s so protective over her work. It’s all copyright and everything, but she doesn’t want to give too much away before the big day. I didn’t expect this, but she’s given us a saucy little something to celebrate that the state of Utah can no longer deny marriage licences based on gender. Yeah!
Here you go: “I turn wild eyes on him and strike, meeting his lips like swords meet in battle. He’s surprised, but only for a tiny second—I’ve caught him off guard—but once he’s figured out what’s going on, he dominates our kiss, grabs me around the waist, and pulls me into him. I can’t back down now, and have him coo at me again, so I try to get closer and press against his bare chest, I fight for dominance. That’s when I feel his tongue slide into my mouth; like a dare—he’s onto me. If he thinks he’s going to win this battle, if he thinks I’ll just roll over, and obey him then he’s just married the wrong Kanes. I may be leashed to him through duty, but what he’ll find is that leash is attached to a Dragon Warrior, and I’ll not be easy to tame. I slide my tongue inside his mouth and tangle it with his sinewy Elven one. He tastes like man; I like it. My cock perks up from inside its cage, jolting me back to where I should be: at the ceremony. I pull away, and push at his chest in one move and finally look into his eyes after avoiding them this entire time. I’m taken off guard; he’s smiling—I was beginning to think he wasn’t capable.” ~TRISTAN PAGE 28, S.Legend~ Bye for now! Tris Kanes
June 15 2014
S decided to self-publish under her very own publishing company SLegendFiction, rather than ‘get published’. She’s a little like Corrik, she is: She wanted total, utter control over the editing, and promotion of her works. Below is a quote from her favourite, Seth Godin. For all you other aspiring authors, S urges you to try your hand at self-publishing and says to get your story out there! You are welcome to email me with questions and I will relay them to her. She’ll even answer you! “Think really hard before you spend a year trying to please one person in New York to get your book published by a “real” publisher. You give up a lot of time. You give up a lot of the upside. You give up control over what your book reads like and feels like and how it’s promoted. Of course, a contract from Knopf and a seat on Jon Stewart’s couch are great things, but so is being the Queen of England. That doesn’t mean it’s going to happen to you. Far more likely is that you discover how to efficiently publish (either electronically or using POD or a small-run press) a brilliant book that spreads like wildfire among a select group of people.” ~SETH GODIN~ Tris Kanes
June 12, 2014
I’ve got a treat for you. Meet Corrik: “That was when I saw him for the first time. The power of his features came from what wasn’t there, rather than what was. The man was devoid of imperfections; not one thing about his face or his body hinted to a deficiency. I could see no weakness in his impenetrable demeanour; the man was used to winning, and getting what he wanted. His cold purple eyes knew no warmth, or sunshine, and sat as sentinels atop the high bridge of his patrician nose, complementing the supercilious manner he carried about himself. Without a smile on his face he looked cruel, and stony. At the same time there was no darkness in him whatever. Gold hair flowed long over silver robes, that were open to reveal porcelain white skin; unmarred, and solid. The breezy, pretty robes did nothing to diminish the restrained force of his chest and abdomen muscles—he seemed to dominate the effeminate attire, as if he’d already defeated it. Not a body built for field work, but for blood—war.” ~Tristan pg 4, S.Legend~ Tris XP
June 10, 2014
Hello all! We’ve moved over here, but we will still be all around the web. Of course S has me hard at work as usual. I manage her Facebook and Twitter accounts already… And now her website! There may be some changes to her site as we go along. We’ll see. For now, we’ll keep updating you on the book. S is fastidiously editing away everyday now. Aren’t you excited? In the mean time you can read Episode one of: Alpha Omega House @ http://www.fictionpress.com/~slegend Tristan Kanes