Is there no love?

(Psst - permission to repost, pimp out, and blab to your friends - GRANTED!!!)

I. Am. Heartbroken.

Well, not really...well, yeah I am.

Maybe I don't know enough about publicity, maybe I don't know how to market myself.

Maybe I should have put up what the prize is?

But when I check my inbox, it's empty. Not a word. Not a story. Nothing.

I have no entries for my first ever contest. *sniff sniff*

Now, I KNOW there are some great writers out there. I've participated with them in Alison Tyler's contests.

But what am I doing wrong?

So, here we go. Today was SUPPOSED to be the deadline. But since I can't have a contest without entries, I'm extending it. For the weekend.

Yeah, I realize that it's a long weekend, and no one really wants to be writing when they can be outside enjoying the lovely weather.

But it's only 500 words. And I know that most of you can pound those out in your sleep.

So, once again - here are the details (and they're copied straight from the post so I can't sue myself for copyright infringement. LOL)


Inspired by my iPod, which has been known to have a sick sense of humor sometimes, here's your assignment, should you choose to accept it.

It's summer time. Sunshine, beaches, water, patios, cottages, drinks with little umbrellas - and lots and lots of wonderfully dark, romantic, sultry and sweaty places to have sex. Oh, and music. Cool music. Loud music. Bopping music that seems out of place in the dreary, cold grip of winter.

So, pick your favourite summer song. Use it as the title. Give me no more than 500 words. Make us moan, make us sweat, make us sing.

Anyone can enter. If you've sold 10,000 stories, or are just entering the world of erotica, I'm taking all entrants. No discrimination here.

EXCEPT...


... the usual "NSW" rules apply. You know, no sex with - anyone under 18, animals (as per usual, shifters don't count), things or people that are dead (supernatural beings are ok though, as long as they're over 18). No snuff. No scat. Anything that is sent in those categories is automatically deleted, no matter how good you may think it is.

The prize? I'm not quite sure yet. But rest assured, as a frequent participant in these contests, I know the value of working for something worthwhile. So I shall, indeed, make it worth your while.

What am I forgetting? Oh right! Deadline and where to send it. D'OH.

Have it in by midnight (EST if you please) on July 11 to angell dot brooks at hotmail dot com.


And I know it's completely uncouth to beg (but I've never claimed to be couth hehe), but please, please, PLEASE - help a girl out.

Let's celebrate summer and shiny, sweaty bodies together.




CHEERS!

I CANNOT call myself a smut writer...

if the sight of these two men, on stage, TOGETHER, doesn't inspire me.

Fortunately it does. He he he.

Ladies, Tim McGraw & Luke Bryan. How seriously nom nom nom are these two?

Saw their tour last night. And, not only were they TOTALLY inspirational (Luke looks so good in jeans it should be illegal and I had a great view from behind all night. I could wax poetic for DAYS on his thighs alone...), but the music wasn't half bad either. And there was this one absolutely ADORABLE roadie...all in all it was an inspirational night.

LOL. I'm horrible.

But seriously. It reminded me that country music is a summer staple around my house, and that reminded me that there are only TWO MORE DAYS until my Hot Fun In the Summertime contest comes to a close.

So please...I'm hoping for this to be a serious success. If you haven't thought about entering already, why not? Five hundred teeny, tiny words that make us all hot, bothered, and looking for a cold shower.

It's not that *ahem* hard....

And for further inspiration - check out the boys performing together on their current tour.



TWO DAYS PEEPS. Get cracking!

Drawing a blank...

So to speak anyway.

See, I'm like most of the writers I know. I have several WIP's. Characters screaming at me to let them out. And so I do.

Trouble is, unlike the other writers I know, I'm not quite as disciplined at moving them forward past the initial introduction stage. Which explains why I've been working on the same screen play for the last fifteen years (yes, you read that right).

So, come hell or high water, on my foray into cottage country next week (yes I am FINALLY taking some serious ME time - sort of) I am determined to finish at least TWO of the shorts I have going right now. It's going to be difficult, as my trip involves a bunch of women at my aunt's summer "home" and that also involves a hell of a lot of drinking and goofing off. They usually never leave me alone, peering over my shoulder as I'm writing, with a slurred "What'cha doin'? Writin' more porn?" Now, I don't know about the rest of you, but that is annoying as all hell to begin with when people are sober - but at least then you can explain to them that the writing process is private, and they will understand.

Try explaining that to a bunch of middle-aged booze hounds, (and since they're my family I can call them that) most of whom haven't gotten laid in a few months. (yes the conversations ALWAYS lead there - and then the topic switches to the purchase of bedroom aides and when will I take them shopping? Answer: NEVER!)

Although it's always a good time, this year, following the death of my father, and a whole bunch of personal stuff that is going on, I do anticipate there being quite a few tears. And a few more hours of me on the sun porch away from the crying and sniffling.

So, here's hoping for a successful self-imposed deadline.


ANNNNND....speaking of deadlines. There are exactly four more days to get your entries in for my Hot Fun in the Summertime contest. I expect to see a few familiar faces, as well as some new friends.

So what are you waiting for? GET WRITING!

Anticipation...

My body's hot, my thighs slick, as I sit here, watching the clock, waiting for you to slip out of your cubicle, down the hallway, and into the ladies room. There's a bonus to being the only woman in the place - this is one of them. MY washroom. All for me to use at my leisure. And by use I mean, entertain.

I see a flash of blue as you walk by my desk, like a heat seeking missile. It's been timed perfectly. The others are out at the coffee truck - no one will witness your foray into forbidden territory.

When they come back, I mention that my stomach is bothering me. I shoot to the bathroom, doubled over, so no one asks too many questions. And no one will follow. I smile as I see you standing by the sink. I flick the lock, ready, waiting.

I’d love to strip you down, and take that hard cock of yours in my mouth. But instead I settle for unzipping those polyester nightmare uniform pants. You’re ready to stroke it for me, because you know it would turn me on so much that I wouldn’t be able to think. But I stop you, and take you in my mouth. You taste of sweat and hard work, and your scent is that combination of musk and hormones that drives me primal.

Mmmm, you’re hard, and hot, sticky and sweet at the same time. I flatten my tongue and use it in broad strokes up and down the shaft, taking time to use the tip of it around the ridge of your head. The skin is smooth, and I playfully nip at it. My other hand reaches up to play with your balls and your fingers tangle in my hair, keeping my head steady as you fuck my face. I open my mouth wider, swirling my tongue around you as you bang against the back of my throat. My pussy’s wet, and hot, and I’m dying to be fucked. The smell of my arousal fills the small bathroom, and my juices are dripping down my thighs. I squirm, trying to move my thong against my clit, to provide even a little relief.

You can read it in my eyes that I want you. But you shake your head, smirking. I’m not getting off today. Only you are. My cheeks cave as I suction your dick. You keep my head pistoning up and down on your rod, pausing long enough to flex one strong hand. One finger gently traced along my jawline, and you smile, releasing my hair and easing me back.

I stay on my knees, knowing what’s next. I remove my shirt, and my bra, and start massaging my tits, offering them up to you, like a sacrifice. But what’s going to happen next is no sacrifice. It’s going to get me even hotter, if that’s possible. You fist yourself, jacking your cock with a somber look on your face, your eyes never leaving my face. I tweak my nipples, rolling them between my fingers, pulling at them, as I stare, mesmerized by your hand. It moves faster, and harder, and I can hear the moan in the back of your throat that means you’re ready.

You throw your head back, and I watch, as if in slow motion, as white hot jets of relief spurt out of your hard on. Your hand continues, and you groan loudly, not caring at this point if anyone knows that we’re in here, that we’re fucking around. Ribbons land on my tits, and I massage it into my skin in some places, and allow it to bead in others. I lean in, sucking on the tip, tasting you, taking whatever’s left.

You wash your hands, leaving me on my knees. You turn and help me up, handing me my bra and t-shirt. I put them on again, still painfully aware that I’m horny as hell and need to come. I look in the mirror and see the t-shirt sticking in places. We smile at each other, knowing that I’m taking you with me back to my desk.

And I’ll be thinking about you all day, waiting for quitting time.

Then, it’s my turn.




©2011


PSSSST - don't forget to enter my first contest! 

Craving the cover...

To all authors out there, I have a question. And I'm pretty sure Alison Tyler covered this at some point, but I'm asking again anyway.

Have you ever written a piece simply for the fact that you knew what cover you HAD to have?

Because I have the perfect cover idea that I'm dying to use. The right spot, the right male model in mind (I'd love to be the female but my hips are just WAY too big), the font (no title yet though). I know the lighting, the image fading...god I can see it all in my head.

But I don't have a fitting story to go with it. And that's the frustrating part!!!!

How about you guys? Has this happened to you? Any advice on how to pluck the perfect story for the cover from the swamp of ideas that is my mind?

Ummm...help?

I did it. I finally did it.

But CAN I do it?

I registered my website. I'm so happy with myself for finally taking the initiative to get it done. It's the first step to starting my career.

But I don't know how to design a website!!!! GLEEP.

So now I'm panicking. What was I thinking? Why did I think I could do this? There's no way...

I mean, I have SOME idea on how to do it. Back in the day (oh...about nine years ago) two friends and I had our own website, and we designed it all. Learned how to do html and everything and damn were we proud of ourselves.

But things have changed since then. Now there's flash, and macro, and ... see? I'm not even sure of all the terms! I'm. So. Screwed.

I look at my domain, I know what I want to do...and yet I find myself reaching for a paper bag to breathe into when I think about where to begin.

So, I'm putting the call out to any and all smut-writers/geeks/nice philanthropic peeps who have a clue about all this who wouldn't mind donating time/advice.

And in the mean time, PLEASE don't forget, I'm hosting my first ever contest and am hoping that my fave scribes are taking ten minutes to scribble something together to enter.

I thank you, my nerves thank you, and my overworked nervous system especially thanks you.

Hot Fun in the Summertime CONTEST

I'm stealing the torch. Ok not so much stealing, as borrowing. I figure, Alison Tyler isn't using it right now....

See, our lovely Trollop is a busy beaver these days (giggle - yes I said that on purpose). And I know that there are writers out there who are just itching for another contest. So, I figured I'd do one myself.

Inspired by my iPod, which has been known to have a sick sense of humor sometimes, here's your assignment, should you choose to accept it.

It's summer time. Sunshine, beaches, water, patios, cottages, drinks with little umbrellas - and lots and lots of wonderfully dark, romantic, sultry and sweaty places to have sex. Oh, and music. Cool music. Loud music. Bopping music that seems out of place in the dreary, cold grip of winter.

So, pick your favourite summer song. Use it as the title. Give me no more than 500 words. Make us moan, make us sweat, make us sing.

Anyone can enter. If you've sold 10,000 stories, or are just entering the world of erotica, I'm taking all entrants. No discrimination here.

EXCEPT...



... the usual "NSW" rules apply. You know, no sex with - anyone under 18, animals (as per usual, shifters don't count), things or people that are dead (supernatural beings are ok though, as long as they're over 18). No snuff. No scat. Anything that is sent in those categories is automatically deleted, no matter how good you may think it is.

The prize? I'm not quite sure yet. But rest assured, as a frequent participant in these contests, I know the value of working for something worthwhile. So I shall, indeed, make it worth your while.

What am I forgetting? Oh right! Deadline and where to send it. D'OH.

Have it in by midnight (EST if you please) on June 30 to angell dot brooks at hotmail dot com.