New Release!

 

Yep, you read that right. I have written a new novella, full of hot, hot, hot romance and featuring two wonderful characters who are finding their true love -- even if it does come a little later in life.

I know, I know. I said a few years back that Diana was done writing erotic romance. While it's true, I've been focusing on my epic fantasy (which is finished and has a title now! Threads of Earth and Sky, The Companion series, Volume I), sometimes one needs a little spicy romance to keep one's blood flowing.

So let me introduce you to Mary Elizabeth Flynn and Scott Henderson. Here's the blurb:

At sixty years old, Mary Elizabeth Flynn (Maisy to her friends) isn’t looking for romance.  The deep blue of the Mediterranean Sea, the coastline of Italy slipping by...what a wonderful, carefree way to spend a cruise. Maisy is grateful her friends talked her into joining them, especially when she meets Scott Henderson, tall, graying, and definitely handsome. Who is she to say no to a little shipboard romance?

ROMANTIC SEAS is now available for pre-order at Amazon and Smashwords (which has every format available, no matter what your ereader).

You want more? Oh, okay. Read on for a short excerpt:

Excerpt from Romantic Seas
by Diana Hunter
All Rights Reserved

Maisy’s thoughts warred with her libido as the two made their way to the Promenade. Was it only this afternoon she’d walked around this deck ten times? Now she took a leisurely stroll, her arm linked with a tall, handsome…Dom.

He’d used the word “Top,” but she didn’t think there was much more than a semantic difference between a Dom and a Top. She knew “Master” wasn’t the same—that title implied ownership. She’d read enough erotic romances to know what was what in that regard.

But reading and fantasizing were two vastly different beasts. She’d not been entirely truthful when she said she had the “occasional fantasy”—more like it was her only fantasy. One she’d never confessed to anyone. Not Peg, not Trish, not even the rare date she’d had while taking care of her parents. And certainly not to Tom. It was her secret, and hers alone.

And then Scott calmly shows her a picture of his wife and treats bondage as if it’s normal.

Well, perhaps it is for him, she thought, her gaze on the lights of a faraway ship. Not normal for me. Exciting…alluring…enticing, yes. Normal? Not even a little bit.

“You’re awfully quiet.” His voice interrupted her reverie. “If being tied up isn’t your thing, it’s okay. I still like you and would like to have you as a friend.”

“Oh, no, that’s not it. I like you, too.” She gathered her thoughts and pushed her libido to the side for a moment. “I’m just…It’s that…well, I don’t have any experience in the matter and I have no idea if I’ll actually like it, or if I’ll freak out, or what.”

“Would you be open to an experiment?”

“What kind of experiment?”

He didn’t answer, but pulled her close. With no preamble, he bent down and kissed her.

Her libido rushed to the fore once more as her knees grew weak and her arms went around his neck of their own volition. A whimper formed in the back of her throat, sighing out despite her attempt to stop it.

He deepened the kiss as his hand cradled her head, his fist tightening in her hair as his tongue touched her lips, seeking entrance. She opened for him, giving him reign.

His tongue touched hers and she slammed her knees straight lest they buckle, as her mind filled with thoughts of being controlled by the power he exercised. Gently, he moved her head, using her own hair to guide her mouth so he could take full possession.

He didn’t stay nearly long enough, however, breaking the kiss, dropping her hair, and stepping back to give her space, only keeping a single arm around her waist. She wanted to protest the sudden cool air that rushed between them on what, previously, she’d thought of as a warm Mediterranean night. But after the heat he’d created in her? The night was positively chilly and she gave a little shiver.

“Are you cold?”

“After that? A volcano is icy.”

Her voice had dropped in pitch and she had to give herself a shake to keep her limbs from going all languid on her.

“So what do you think? I controlled only two parts of you—were you okay with that?”

“Oh, yeah,” she sighed, babbling. “I mean…yes. That was okay.”

The outdoor lighting cast a shadow on his face, but she thought he smiled.

“No freaking out?”

Her voice firmer this time, she stood up straight. His arm dropped from her waist and, while she missed the contact, part of her was glad of it. She might be able to do this in only small doses. “No freaking out.”

Remember: ROMANTIC SEAS is now available for pre-order at Amazon and Smashwords (which has every format available, no matter what your ereader). Order now and avoid the rush!

OH! And once you have it in your hands and have devoured it, please return to the site where you purchased it and leave a review. We self-pubbed authors need them to be seen by others.

Play safe,

Diana

Catching up in the New Year -- Come on, 2022!

 

Missing some photos for my montage,
but here's our tradition!

   New year, new beginnings, new resolutions.

   Putting the old year to bed, settling accounts, and  looking back, however, needs to happen first. To that end...

   I did a great job keeping track of the books I read this year -- right through September, as per usual. In October, however, my reading came to an abrupt halt. Why? I had lines to learn! I went back on stage for the first time in thirty-one years.

   Understand, my undergraduate degree is in Theatre Arts. My husband and I owned a theatre company for eight years. I did my share of directing both community and high school theatre. I played many parts on stage, from chorus girl to lead.

And then I had kids.

Don't mistake me. I know many women who have kids and stay active in the theatre. It wasn't for me. Working a full-time teaching job (which I defy anyone to say is a 40-hour a week job!) left me with precious little time to spend with my babies. Something had to give - and it was the theatre. I became the audience (a much-needed part of the whole!) and left treading the boards to others.

My kids are grown now (my daughter is 30! When did I blink?) and the opportunity arose for me to take on a major role in a world premiere of Just Like Sisters, a play by Jay Hannigan. I played the role of Jolie, the more comedic of the three female parts -- and loved it. I had more fun (and anxiety -- not having used my memory muscle in thirty years meant some scary "what's my next line?" moments!) than I thought I would and am thankful for the opportunity to reconnect with a love of my youth.

But learning lines (I had a third of all the lines in the play) takes work (see "anxiety" above) and that left little time for reading. We started rehearsals at the beginning of October and the show went up the weekend before Thanksgiving. I managed to read the newspaper and some online news stories and that was about it.

December, however, brought a different story. The show was done, I had arthroscopic knee surgery on November 30th for a torn meniscus, which meant a lot of time sitting on my rump and healing. To that end, I read three books before Christmas!

My hubby came to me at one point in November and said, "I know you'd be happy with no other Christmas presents than books. Which ones are on your want list?" Can you see why I love him so much? I gave him a list of authors and books and figured he'd get me two or three. He got me twelve! Twelve!!!!

I've read two of them so far -- and am trying to take my time and not read so fast. I devour books, and am thinking maybe taking a little more time with each might be better for me.

Yeah, who am I kidding? I'll continue to devour, re-reading the ones I like the most, passing on the ones not worthy of my shelf space.

So what did I read?

Go Tell the Bees that I am Gone (Diana Gabaldon) - this is a definite keeper and will be re-read many times.

Dear Santa and Christmas in Alaska (Debbie Macomber) - how could I resist that second title when I spent a month there this year? Both have been passed on already.

The Awakening and The Becoming (Nora Roberts) - the first two in her new fantasy series. Brand new - first edition hard covers my hubby got me for Christmas. I'm liking the series and will keep these. Yes, that meant I had to remove two books from my shelves to be passed on (sorry, The Color Purple (Alice Walker) and The Chocolate War (Robert Cormier) -- time to find new homes!).

All told, I recorded reading 56 books in 2021. That's fewer than usual - mostly because 1) I finished writing my own big book (The Companion, Part I is done!) and 2) I was in a play. :)

So that's my look back. Looking forward, I'll keep a record of what I read this year (my resolution) and write more books (my new beginnings).

Happy New Year!

Sunset; View from my cabin
July 19, 2021

It's quarter to eleven on the night before Summer Solstice and all is quiet here at Storyknife. In fact, it's been pretty quiet for the past 19 days - quiet enough to get a whole lot of writing done, that's for darn sure.

I wasn't sure what to expect when six female authors of various backgrounds, ethnicities, and ages all came together in one location for an entire month. Those of you who know me, know I'm a quiet kind of person, one who prefers small groups of people over large ones, who likes her alone time, and who doesn't necessarily make friends easily. You can see why I might've been anxious.

My fears were unfounded. The women here are all wonderfully supportive and mutually helpful. From the stories they tell of other residencies, this one may have spoiled me for all others. Erin Hollowell, the Executive Director here (which simply means she's the one who has to fix the doors if they break and change out the batteries in the motion detectors -- as well as fundraise, organize, shop, and ferry us into town to shop/be tourists once a week), has explicitly told us, our job here is only to be. To exist. We can write if we wish, we can recuperate if need be, we can read, we can dance in the meadow...we are to simply be.

I cannot tell you how freeing that is. While we have a few "duties" to perform (we do our own laundry on our assigned laundry day, including washing our own bedding; we also clean up after ourselves after dinner), the remaining hours of the day are ours. Breakfast is available in the main house (Eva's House), lunch is delivered to our door, and we meet as a group once a day for dinner together around the dining table, where dinner is served to us family style by the most wonderful chef, Maura. It took us a while, but we've gotten in the habit of lingering over dinner with cups of tea (perhaps spiced with a dollop of honey whiskey), discussing whatever topics come to mind. Because of our diversity, the conversation is entertaining -- and intellectual.

It's that last I wish to stress for a moment. One doesn't realize how starved one is for high conversation until one has had a year of separation. I miss our Friday Nights on the Porch back home that a bunch of us started a few years back. Several among a bunch of former acquaintances (now friends) have large porches that are conducive to sitting on through a summer's eve. I look forward to continuing that when I get home. It's been wonderful to have it here.

Tomorrow is the longest day of the year and I'm not sure where we'll end up celebrating it, but if it ends up being huddled in blankets on the porch (they've had a cold spring - finally hit 59 today!), I'm okay with that. The important part is the spirit of Storyknife - a marvelous, peaceful bit of land filled with an idea that writing is important - and that women should have a place away from all else in which to do it.

I don't ever want to leave.

I will, of course. I miss my husband very much. I miss my children and I miss my comfy chair. But I also love the fact that they all encouraged me to come here (including the chair, which, I am assured will still be there when I return). I am being renewed. I am being strengthened. I am being.

Play safe,

Diana

Alaska, here I come!

Well, my bags are packed and I'm ready to go! And if you read/heard that line sung in John Denver's voice, you're showing your age. :)

Regular readers know where I'm headed: Storyknife in Homer, Alaska. This writer's retreat is the dream of Dana Stabenow made real and I'm thrilled to be in the first group of writers to stay in the cabins and fulfill my own dream of having time away from real life to do nothing but live in the world inside my head and write down what I see.

You know those Internet memes that picture some remote cabin and say, "Would you stay here with no Internet, no video games, no TV for one million dollars?" My answer is always a resounding "YES!" Actually, I'd do it for free. So this opportunity to spend time with five other writers, each in our own cabin, is perfect. We'll meet up each day for dinner and companionship, which I've learned over the years IS actually something I enjoy (although for a cool mil? I'd forgo it for a month), but spend our days on our respective projects.

And, unlike other writer's residencies I've looked at, there is no teaching requirement, no word output goal, no demand on our time. This is our time to spend as we each need to. A true luxury.

As for me, I'm setting myself a word-count goal of 3-5000 words per day. Yes, that's putting some pressure on myself, but the key here is: I'm putting the pressure on myself. No one else is. No one else is making me do anything (except my own laundry and I'm good with that - I do some of my best thinking while folding underwear. Really!). I just can't envision myself flying all the way across the country, from the Finger Lakes to Cook Inlet, spending an entire month away from home, and spending money on airline tickets only to come home not having written much. I feel I HAVE to produce SOMETHING.

And I can't wait. I leave tomorrow morning. My hubby is mending well (his partial knee replacement has been a huge success) and my son is here to take care of him. I didn't bother planting much of a garden this year - only garlic down at the cabin (which is another whole mess and source of stress that is a story for another time. Suffice it to say, the cabin is NOT a restful place right now. Evcn in the best of years, it still requires maintenance - which I will not have to do in Alaska. Another reason to be grateful for Dana's dream made real!).

See you in a month!

Play safe and get vaccinated,

Diana

Holiday spirit

 

Our lights are up on the house, the rooms are decorated with memories and flair from the past. Music sounds throughout the house, cookies are in the oven, and the tree will be up soon. All part and parcel of the holidays here.

The elusive “Christmas Spirit” that people talk of comes to me in spurts – always has. One day it’s not there, then I turn around and suddenly feel that lightness in my chest. My breath quickens and the world seems a bit brighter. I don’t always have it this early, but I get “moments” – small things that bring a smile to my heart: unpacking the Christmas glasses and finding the one with the chip that I always take as mine so no one else has to see it; putting the garland around the bay windows and attaching the red ribbons to the pull-backs to create a holiday framework with which to view the outside world; pulling out a plastic bell and mistletoe that used to hang in my grandmother’s house – these are what make December special, make the holiday special. And it doesn’t matter if no one can come visit, can come see the beauty that surrounds us this month. We can see it. I can see it, and the sights give me hope.

But these feelings, as I said, come in spurts. Other times I feel the weight of the world on my shoulders – even in years where there isn’t a pandemic raging and civil war isn’t threatening my country. We host a party every year that grew out of a small way to give back to our friends when we didn’t have much in the way of money. Throwing a Christmas party allowed us to cook and bake for them, give them an evening of fun and laughter that was better than a store-bought present. That first year, we had just bought a very small house in a neighborhood of old people (now that I’ve reached their age, I prefer the term “elderly” – but in your twenties, “old people” fits). I was worried that, with the half-dozen or so cars that would line the road, with the noise we might make, that they would call the police on us. So I took pre-emptive action.

I invited them all to the party.

It was a huge success – and mostly because of the “old folk” neighbors. Several hadn’t been to a Christmas party in years because they no longer drove. Now they just had to walk across the street. It was such a success that we repeated the party the next year. And the year after that. And the year after that one – until it became tradition and we’d given the party every year for thirty-seven years.

But not this year. Last year, over the course of the open house, we had over sixty people stop by for conversation, food, and festivity. This year there will be no one. The decorations will be viewed only by my husband, my son, and I on a daily basis and on Christmas Day, by my daughter and her significant other. No one else. As a result, I had a different reaction when I opened the bin marked “Party” – the bin where I keep all the fun dishes, the towels, the little serving utensils that grace the tables and hold the bounty we present to all who walk through the door for the annual party – whether we know them or not (I can’t tell you the number of times people have attended and I’ve had to turn to someone else and ask who that person is. Just because I don’t know them doesn’t mean they can’t grab a plate and have a slice of turkey – but I figure, as hostess, I ought to make sure they eat!).

But unlike opening the other bins, where each one hid a smile and a bit of holiday cheer, this bin brought tears to my eyes. There is no party this year, no gathering of friends. There is no need for the platters of cookies, or the snowman bowls of dips or the plates of fudge. I closed the bin and turned my back on it, surprised at the feelings of grief and loss that threatened to overwhelm me.

This morning, however, I realized I need a different approach. There is no party with friends, but I’m still here. My husband and son are still here. My daughter is healthy, her significant other is doing fine, as is his family. We have a great deal to be thankful for, and a great deal to celebrate.

So today, I’m getting out the party finery. My husband made fudge yesterday, I’ll put it on the Currier and Ives plates and have a piece to “toast” absent friends. Because in reality, that’s all they are – absent. With news of a vaccine on the horizon, there’s every reason to think this a one-year hiccup. We’ll not see our friends this year, so we can see them in the next. To do otherwise – to see them now and then possibly not ever again – is something I can’t even bear to think about.

Ah! There it is again! The lightening in the chest, the world looking a little brighter. The Christmas Sprit visits.

May your holidays be wonderful this month. In a time that’s not only the darkest time of the calendar, but in a year that’s been filled with stress, may your Yuletide, your Hanukkah, your Kwanza, your Christmas, be filled with the Spirit of Light. Hope still lives, as each of these celebrations remind us.

Play safe, everyone. Wear your mask, and drink a toast – or have a piece of fudge – to absent friends. You’ll see them next year.

 Happy Holidays!

Diana

These are last year's decorations, as this year we've not had
any significant snow. Let the lights shine out!

 I wrote this a week ago and have been sitting on it, unsure whether I should share it or not. My husband has convinced me I should. Turns out, I'm not the only one feeling this way.

2020: 

A retrospective, although why anyone would want to look back and reflect on this year is…confusing.

A year of extremes. From the wildfires in Australia in January to the wildfires on the west coast of the US in August and September. A hurricane season that ran out of names and had to go to the Greek alphabet. Social uprising long overdue, a virus that defied analysis, a divided political system that then divided the country – if I believed in a vengeful God, I’d think he had it out for the human race.

Except that the human race is stupid enough, self-centered enough, and just plain stubborn enough to make its own set of trouble. No need to blame it on God. We did this to ourselves.

I used to be an optimist. Still am, at the core. We will get through this time of trouble just as we (i.e. the human race) have gotten through tough times before. It might take a few years, but we usually come out having learned something and progressed as a society. I believe we will do the same this time.

But damn, living through the mess is hard. Steven and I have it easy right now. We have money coming in via my pension and our teaching. Going online to teach, while a little stressful, isn’t all that bad, especially because everyone’s thinking this is temporary. Buckle up and teach/take the courses this way for now and in a year we’ll be back to in-person, on-campus classes.

We also have a house that’s paid for, so our bills are low. I have good health insurance (that will change in a year when I have to go on Medicare – one bridge at a time, thank you very much). We are not sick and have begun to carefully open our social circle (not something I’m keen to do, honestly. I kinda like the solitude. A chance to read!).

And still, I find my jaw clenching for no reason. I broke a tooth – probably from grinding my teeth. I’ve gained weight because I tend to eat my anxieties. And every day there’s a new idiocy from the White House or at the Walmart. I look around and wonder, “Is this how it happens? We fall as a nation, as a society, as a people, because people truly just don’t care about each other?”

In the old days (last year – heck, last February), one didn’t know who you met on the street was stupid and who was a brainiac. It didn’t matter. You saw a stranger and smiled politely, nodded, perhaps exchanged a pleasant greeting, and moved on. No judgment, no negativity. Simplicity.

Now, however, there is a visible sign of not only their lack of understanding, but increasingly, of their political affiliation and, by extension, their morality. You see a stranger and he/she/they is not wearing a mask as you approach. I immediately know they don’t care about me – or anyone, really. They care only about their own comfort/beliefs/ideology. The rest of us can die. Literally.

And that’s the heart of 2020. What Mother Nature is throwing at us (murder hornets? Really, Mother?) is to be expected after years of ignoring warnings about the damage we’re doing to the climate. No, Mother Nature is pissed off and I get that.

But I don’t get willful stupidity. And that’s exactly what I see in those who are choosing to say, “Screw you. My rights are more valuable than yours.” I don’t get those who don’t understand there’s a people who have been systematically oppressed for generations and who are mad as hell and aren’t going to take it anymore. I don’t understand those who would rather kill their neighbor than have a conversation that – gasp!- might lead to understanding – on both sides.

So yeah, my optimism has taken a hit this year. I still hold out hope for the future, but if I had a genie and only one wish? I’d wish that I could have a peek at how this all turns out. A little certainty in this uncertain world would set my mind at ease.

70 degrees!

So much for Puxatawny Phil - he said a short winter this year and, while it was mild, it has lingered here in the Finger Lakes. Last snow was only a week ago. With any luck, that will truly be the "last snow" of the season, although May is shaping up to be colder than normal.

Long-time readers know my husband and I bought a cabin over a decade ago and spent a great deal of time fixing and repairing. I've spent many a weekend (and longer in the summer) crafting novels while listening to the birds and basking in the solitude.

This year, however, I have no such need to get away from the hectic pace of life. No need for the quiet (the park across the street from our house is closed, so no kids screaming!). No need for the solitude (haven't been out of my house much the past six weeks...you?).

Our front porch (pic taken May 2019 - I forgot to take one
weekend but it hasn't changed!)

Still, my husband and I went down yesterday to open it up for the summer. We cleaned up fly wings (not too many yet...give it another week and the spiders will have made short work of all the flies who are just waking up), dusted and swept, and in general, reclaimed the house from the field mice that watch over it during the winter.

This morning, as we discussed what still needed to be done, my husband said something I found curious. He said, "It doesn't feel any different."

I had no idea what he was talking about. He clarified: "Out there, the world is different. Here it's the same as it always has been. I thought it would be different; since our lives have changed, this place would've changed. But it hasn't." (For the record, I'm paraphrasing.My husband doesn't speak in semicolons.)

I got what he meant, then. Our main purpose in both purchasing and visiting the cabin has been to "get away" from "normal" life. But right now, our whole life has gotten away from "normal" (there I go, putting it in quotes again!). We have solitude, we have quiet, we have no busy-ness at home and don't need to go to the cabin to get it. So does the cabin still have a purpose?

Short answer: yes.

The lane leading to the cabin (the cabin's on the
right of where I'm standing to take the pic)

Longer answer: still yes, but with explanation. We live in a small town and have neighbors we still wave to, still talk to (while maintaining distance), still see. There are people who walk by on our sidewalk (some with masks, some without - but that's a different post for a different day), there are still cars that drive through our 4-way - some who even stop at the stop sign. So even though we are alone, we are not.

At the cabin, we are. Our nearest neighbor is a quarter-mile away and they weren't down this weekend. Our next nearest neighbor is over a mile in the opposite direction and we never see him - ever. Our only companions were the birds (one very horny woodpecker, an evening grosbeak, and a bluejay), the flowers (my yellow primrose are blossoming, as is the periwinkle), and ourselves.

So the cabin's original purpose: that of a way to remove ourselves from society for a short time, still holds. It's still a way to visit Mother Nature and to renew. It will remain a place for my husband to paint (which he did this morning) and a place for me to write (which I did not. Read a Nora Robert's novella instead).

New cover! You like?

On a totally different note: the Smashwords sale continues through May 20th. Well, actually, it continues through May 30th, but my prices will go up on May 21st. Currently, they are 60% off as part of the Authors Give Back special - and they will go to 30% off on May 21st. If you haven't already done so...head on over and pick up a title or two!

Watch this space for news coming later this week... (teaser!)...and in the meantime, check out the new cover for Remembered Love - one of the stories you can get for free from Smashwords.

Play safe - and stay safe - wear a mask!
Diana

I'm not panicked...

To say the last few days have been a whirlwind is to discredit the life-upending capability of a whirlwind. You know that ancient curse? The one that goes, “May you live in interesting times?” Guess what…these days are certainly interesting!

I’m not one to panic. When reports of toilet paper and hand sanitizer shortages hit the airwaves, I was more puzzled than concerned. Until we were down to our last few rolls of toilet paper and I went to the store to buy more. There were fewer than a dozen packages on the shelves. I bought one 12-roll package, knowing it would do us for a few weeks and hoping there will be more when these run out.

The hand sanitizer also puzzles me. Doesn’t that kill bacteria? And COVID-19 is viral. How is that going to help? Seems to me the Clorox wipes are more useful there. And soap. Thankfully, my husband decided to try his hand at making his own soap this past fall, just because he wanted to learn the process. We’re well-stocked as a result.

But the changes have been coming fast and furious. This is my favorite of the memes and feels like my current mode of operation.

To date:

On Wednesday, classes were moved online at Finger Lakes Community College, where I teach. I spent most of the day getting one class discussion up and ready to go when the students return from spring break – which has been stretched to two weeks instead of one. So one less three-hour session in which to get everything across.

Also on Wednesday, I went to do my normal grocery shopping (see “toilet paper” above). Again, not panicked, but because it was my shopping day. Decided it might be wise to get a package of cold medicine, just because we’re out. Bought both the kind I like and the one my husband prefers. One of each. Stocking up, not hoarding.

My husband, who has spent much of his adult life as a theatre director, took some time to tread the boards in a local production for the first time in several years. The play: Metamorphoses (a dramatization of Ovid’s work of the same name), the part: Midas. It’s been cancelled. The cast met together last night (Thursday) for the last time – on the set that had been built yesterday.

My daughter lost her job this afternoon (Friday) She is an assistant stage manager at Geva Theatre in Rochester, NY – and they just cancelled all performances of both stages. She’d already lost a job she was to start in a few weeks because the University of Rochester has shut down. Unemployment, anyone?

Both my Dad and my brother live in assisted living facilities. They’ve shut down and are allowing no visitors other than the one appointed caregiver (me, in both cases). I’ve made sure they have what they need, but won’t be going to visit unless needed as I don’t want to carry anything to them.

Because that’s the kicker. I could be carrying the virus right now and have no idea. THAT’S the real reason for all the cancellations and postponements. The virus may already be here…and may not. There is no way to tell. By the time you have the chills and fever, you’ve already given it to a hundred others.

So I’m staying home, writing, reading, getting a few of my quickies put into a print book format, playing games on my computer, and teaching from my study. Am I a carrier? Probably not. Do I want to risk infecting others? Absolutely not. Staying home helps “flatten the curve” so our health care system doesn’t get overworked and I’m good with that, too.

Here’s hoping our times get just a little less interesting soon!

Play safe, and buy a good book!

Diana

Storyknife

Wouldn't it be wonderful if there were a place a writer could go where all her needs were tended to and all she had to do was write? Where her time would be uninterrupted by phone calls, doctor appointments, the need to buy groceries or to fill the gas tank? Where food magically appeared and she didn't have to prepare it?

What if I told you not only does such a place exist, but that I am lucky enough to be visiting it this summer?

Yep. Storyknife, a writer's retreat in Homer, Alaska, is opening this year for it's first year of in-house authors - and I'm going to be one of them. Six cabins, six authors at a time. I go in July and I am excited, thrilled...and just a wee bit nervous. Okay, a lot bit nervous, and I'll tell you why.

Because now the pressure is on to produce. Every single one of my excuses is gone. There are no rooms that need cleaning, no errands to run. I get my own breakfast, but lunch is delivered to my cabin and dinner is provided in the main house, prepared by a chef hired specifically to feed us. Internet service is spotty, so no games or emails, no Facebook or world news. My procrastination tools will all be stripped away.

I'm also a little nervous because this is the farthest away from home I've ever been by myself. I've flown to Alaska before, but was with family. This time I'm making all my connections myself with no extra set of eyes to help me navigate. Not terrifying, but a bit scary. And exciting. If I can do this, I can do anything!

Of course, Homer is in the Ring of Fire and there are several volcanoes in the vicinity. In fact, our welcome packet includes information on what to do when an earthquake hits, so I'm pretty sure those pretty snow-covered mountains are quite active. But those of you who know me, know that volcanoes and I have a history. This does not make me nervous, however, because I am resolute!!!! No broken bones this time!

I have to say, I love the name of this place. Storyknife. Stories both cut away at the human condition, exposing truths non-fiction cannot express, and we, as authors, cut away at our writing, crafting sentences that sing, and stories that soar. Excellent metaphor for a place where writers gather and work.

Expect to hear more as we get closer to July,

Play safe,
Diana

Time flies!

Lilacs out my window, 2018

Wow, we're a third of the way through May already! It is my favorite time of year and lately I've decided May is my favorite month - mostly because of the flowers. From the crocus that announce spring commences through the tulips with their rainbow of colors to the lilacs that are already blossoming in Highland Park (mine aren't yet, but will be soon - the picture is from this time last year), the earth brightens and the world is renewed. And did I mention the bright green of new grass? Definitely my favorite time of year.

April, however, is a bit gloomy and unpredictable here in the Finger Lakes. We've had everything from snow and ice to rain to sun - all to prepare us for May, but gloomy nonetheless. Which is why I spent most of April indoors, reading and writing.

To that end, below is my April reading list. It's still extensive, although May's will be considerably shorter as I've already spent much of it outdoors. In fact, my hubby tried to call me on both the house phone and my cell phone yesterday to tell me he was bringing wings home for lunch, as I found out when he got home with the wings. He asked me why I didn't answer either phone and I told him, "I was outside, first hanging the laundry, then scraping the balcony (which is a sorry state and truly needs some TLC), then sweeping the walk, then daydreaming about the containers I would plant next week." He asked why I didn't take my cell phone with me and I said, "Because I was enjoying the outside!" Who needs to be disturbed by a phone when I was listening to the birds?

Here's my April list, a little late:

Star Trek: Vulcan's Forge	Josepha Sherman & Susan Shwartz	science fiction
Star Trek: Shadows of the Sun	Michael Jan Friedman	Science fiction
Star Trek: The Three-Minute Universe	Barbara Paul	Science fiction
Warrior's Bride	Gerri Russell	romance
Border Lord	Haywood Smith	romance
A Play of Dux Moraud	Margaret Frazer	mystery
Angel Mine	Sherryl Woods	romance
Gentle Warrior	Julie Garwood	romance
The Gift	Julie Garwood	romance
A Play of Knaves	Margaret Frazer	mystery
A Play of Lords	Margaret Frazer	mystery
A Play of Treachery	Margaret Frazer	mystery
Guys and Dolls	Damon Runyon	fiction

I have a lot of Star Trek books I've collected over the years and am working my way through them. Most of them can be read in a day, although that in no way detracts from their enjoyment. Same with the romances. The Margaret Frazer books are absolutely delightful and the Damon Runyon book is just plain fun. To be honest, though, I'm not finished with it. May happened, so you'll see it again on my May list.

Go outside and enjoy the newness!

Play safe,
Diana

What I've been reading...

It will probably surprise no one to discover I spent most of February immured in my chair with the blanket pulled up and the heater on...reading escapist romances. The wind was howling (some small branches down but no major damage), the temperatures in the single digits (Fahrenheit here, so at least they were on the plus side), and the snow came in big flakes that would be perfect for Christmas, except it was February and I'm so over snow...

So, what did I read? Here's the list:

This Matter of Marriage	Debbie Macomber	romance
Wishes	Jude Deveraux	romance
Montana	Debbie Macomber	romance
Ever After	Jude Deveraux	romance
True Love	Jude Deveraux	romance
For All Time	Jude Deveraux	romance
Lavender Morning	Jude Deveraux	romance
The Librarians & the Pot of Gold	Greg Cox	fantasy
Devil's Daughter	Lisa Kleypas	romance
Philomena	Martin Sixsmith	biography
Heartwishes	Jude Deveraux	romance
Mystic Warrior	Tracy & Laura Hickman	fantasy

You'll notice a lot of Jude Devereaux in there - she was one of my mom's favorite authors. Since I'm still working on the books in my mom's TBR pile at the time of her death, most of what I've grabbed and curled up with have been romances. Several of these books all took place in the same town.

You'll note a Librarian's book in there - I LOVED that series. Erudite, funny, well-written - it was a must-see for us every week. It got cancelled this year but I'm still holding out hope there will be a few more movies. The series started as three movies, so it can end that way, too, right? In the meantime, there are books - and I need to find more of them. This one was a Christmas present.

Philomena is also on the list: this has been on my own TBR pile for over a year. I haven't yet seen the movie and didn't realize how serious it was, but am glad I read it. Its going to be a bit before I can see the movie, though. Let me give you a warning: this book deals with some serious issues and will make you very angry. Very. Angry.

The Hickman's have written a LOT of books (the Dragonlance series, for example), and I'd gotten this one several years ago when I asked for books for Christmas. It's the first in a series and after reading it, I'm not interested in reading the rest. 

Yes, I've also been writing - and scrapbooking and doing family tree stuff. I'm not teaching this semester (one class cancelled due to low enrollment and one taken away and given to a full-timer who didn't have a full load due to a cancellation. Sucks to be low man on the totem pole). Not teaching has given me a taste of what true retirement will look like. I have to say...it ain't a bad place to be!

Read on and play safe!

Diana

New Year, New Resolutions

Some wonder the worth of making New Year's Resolutions. They tend to fall by the wayside before the month is out anyway, so why bother?

I'll tell you why - and how to be successful at keeping them. One, putting a resolution down in writing makes it real. Seeing the words helps solidify the thought and desire in your brain. Two, it's also helpful if there aren't too many. You can only work on so much of yourself at one time. To take on too much is to set yourself up for failure.

And third, the more concrete the resolution, the more apt one is to actually make it happen. "Lose weight" is a great resolution - "Lose 20 pounds" might actually happen because you can see yourself moving toward that goal each time you step on the scales. Last year, I made a "lose 20 pounds" resolution in April and 21 weeks later, had accomplished that goal. I set a new one and by Thanksgiving, was down 30 pounds.

So here, written down, are my three VERY concrete goals for 2019 (in no particular order):

- Lose another 30 pounds by September (which will put me at my pre-pregnancy weight).
- Write 100,000 words on The Companion, my fantasy series and Work of My Heart.
- Finish repubbing the last few Ellora's Cave novels by June (I haven't counted them up, but there aren't that many left).

See? Doable!

Play safe - and make sensible resolutions,
Diana

P.S. Okay, so I do have one more...to really keep track of what I read this year. I've successfully done this in the past, so I know I can do it. I just have to remember!

Of libraries, great books, and career paths...

I discovered the library when I was in second grade. That was the Big Year we were allowed to visit the Bookmobile and take out books. Somewhere in those early years, I found Harold and the Purple Crayon – and I took it out as one of my two choices as often as I could. I loved that book, although I couldn’t have told you why. At least, not then. Now I suspect it had something to do with creating one’s own reality – much the way I love to do when I write stories.

By fourth or fifth grade, my dad was taking us for weekly visits to our local library branch on Winton Road in Rochester, NY (my hometown). This was a brand-new building with a large children’s room and more books than I’d ever seen in one place. I loved it. My dad would let my brother and I go – and being off the leash, I suspect, was part of the allure. We were free to roam throughout the room and read as many books as we wanted while he sat down and read the newspaper – or chose books of his own from the “Big People” room (as I thought of the main reading room). When he came into the children’s room, it was time to show him the two choices we’d made and take them up to the desk to get them stamped, just like an adult. Heaven!

Somewhere in fifth grade or so, I discovered the Sue Barton books in the children’s section. Sue Barton, if you’ve never heard of her, was a nurse. Throughout the seven books in the series, you followed her all the way from her first moments in training (Sue Barton, Student Nurse), all the way through getting her cap, getting married to the handsome young intern she met at the start (now a doctor, of course), through her adventures as a Visiting Nurse, a Superintendent of Nurses, and eventually, a staff nurse. I read them all. Over and over again, to my mother’s chagrin. “There are other books in the library, you know,” she told me when I restarted the series for the third time.

“I know,” I told her. “But I’m going to be a nurse…and these are good books!”

Well, my dream of being a nurse took a nosedive in 6^th grade when we were shown a 16 mm print of a cornea transplant. I stopped re-reading Sue Barton, and by the time I got to 7^th grade, the Winton Road Library had a new section: Young Adult. There I discovered Ray Bradbury, Arthur C. Clarke, and the whole new world of science fiction. Sue remained a favorite memory, although I didn’t take her books out anymore.

Time marches on, the newsreels tell us, and I found other parts of the library as well (an entire section dedicated to plays!). New genre, new interests, and eventually, new libraries to explore – all of which left the children’s room at the Winton Road Library in the dust.

Recently I had cause to go through some of the boxes of books in our attic, most of which contain books I had from my childhood. I’d kept them for my own kids, but discovered (as all parents do), that my reading tastes were not theirs. In order to make more room on my study shelves, I’d boxed up all their books as well as all my own. In an effort to streamline (and make more room in the attic), I decided to hoe out some of those books. Time to pass them along.

And who should I discover in the dark recesses of the attic, and my equally cobwebby memories? Sue Barton! I’d found four of the books by Helen Dore Boylston at a library sale before my kids were born and had bought them out of my remembered love of them. But I hadn’t re-read them at that time. For whatever reason, they had simply gone into the boxes for storage.

Now, however, I couldn’t resist. With some (okay, a LOT) of trepidation, I opened Sue Barton, Student Nurse. What if it didn’t stand up to the test of time? Would it be as wonderful as I remembered? How disappointed would I be if I discovered it was terrible?

I read the first few pages, pages that were brown and fragile with age. Then I read a few more. And just one more chapter…I was hooked. The writing is still engaging, still fresh, and still pulls me in after all this time. While dated (it was written in 1936 and medicine has made some advances since then), its still a wonderful story about a red-headed nurse and the adventures she has along the way. While we no longer have hospital wards and nurses no longer have to wrap their own bandages, nurses still wear soft-soled shoes and work harder than anyone realizes. The books still stand as a testament to a profession that deserves our respect – and our thanks.

So thank you, nurses – and thank you Winton Road Library, for allowing me to take those books out over and over and over. You gave me a love of reading – and reading takes me to new worlds and shows me new ideas. I passed by you not too long ago, and wished I had time to stop in. Would you, like Sue Barton, have withstood the test of time? Will you still have that new building/old books smell that I came to love? Will people still be sitting around reading and will the children’s room still hold magic? I no longer live in your neighborhood, but I do believe I may have to visit and see.

Play safe,

Diana, who is feeling nostalgic – and who will proudly admit she read not one, but TWO Sue Barton books that day. Two more to go! J

She's dead. I killed her.

Apologies to The Wizard of Oz, but yes, I have killed today.

Damn, that was hard.

In my current fantasy work-in-progress, I have set up a system of rules for how nature behaves. It isn't tremendously complicated, but the rules are strict and the turning point will depend on those rules being immutable. Much later in the book, the characters (and hence, the readers) will find out why those rules were put in place and may find themselves in agreement with the need for such rigidity. Or they might not. I don't know, I haven't written that far yet. I'm sure my protagonists will have decided opinions - when we get to that point.

Unfortunately, one of the rules in place meant a character that I'd had a lot of fun developing, a character who will quickly become a favorite among readers (because that character has become a favorite of mine) - well, that character had to die. Please note, I am not using gender pronouns here so as to not give who it is away.

I so much wanted this person to live that, months ago, I wrote a chapter ending that allowed him/her to live. Because of the nature of this particular book structure, I didn't get back to that part until today when I wrote an entire scene rejoicing in the fact that this person had done something and not died! Hooray! Happy ending to that part of the adventure!!!

Except, letting that character live, broke the immutable rules of the world. Letting him/her live would ruin the whole climax of the turning point. He/she had to go.

And so, for the second time in a week's time, I've had to kill my darlings. First was a section that took the story in the wrong direction and today, it was a character I truly loved writing.

Sometimes being a writer sucks.

Play safe,
Diana

Shh....its a Secret - in fact, it's TWO Secrets!

After two years of being out of print and unavailable, both SECRET SUBMISSION  and SUBMISSION REVEALED are both re-released into the great, wide world!

Secret Submission began life as a series of short pieces I wrote when I couldn't find any BDSM stories online that showed a loving relationship. All I could find back then (the early 2000's) was porn. Now, don't get me wrong - porn has its place. But it wasn't what I was looking for. When I complained to a friend, he suggested I write my own - and Secret Submission was born.

A few months later, I was looking for a home for an historical I'd written (Hardship and Hardtack) and came across a back page for Ellora's Cave. On it, was the email addy of their new Senior Editor. It got me thinking about that sequential series of stories I'd written that explored a woman's struggles to understand the BDSM lifestyle and why she was so attracted to it.

I sent off an email (which sounds so cavalier - in reality, it took me over an hour to write it as I agonized over every phrase!) - to my surprise, I got an answer about three hours later - on a Sunday night, no less. Response? She wanted to see my manuscript!

Not only was the quick reply unexpected, but I was so used to rejections for my historical, I didn't really expect anyone to want to see anything I'd written. Problem was, the manuscript wasn't organized into chapters, it wasn't even formatted well and it could use a good spellcheck - and it was nearly 10:00 on a Sunday night. What to do?

Call in sick to work on Monday, of course! I took the morning, whipped the first three chapters into shape and wrote a synopsis, and then stared at my responding email for a good twenty minutes before I summoned enough courage to hit "Send." I knew better than to get my hopes up - and the website said there was a 4-6 week period before getting responses, so I promptly attempted to put the whole thing out of my mind. The next day I went off to school, taught all day, came home and opened my email without expectation.

So you can imagine my surprise when there was an email from Ellora's Cave, offering to buy my book. I had pitched it as a two-book series and admitted the second book wasn't written yet, although the outline was. Because it was going to be two books, the first book didn't actually have much of an ending. The editor told me I had to change the end of the first book to a Happily Ever After. And they were only buying the first book. When I wrote the second, they'd consider it.

I was ecstatic! No problem in changing the ending to the first book, since I hadn't written it anyway. Oh, I'd made up an ending for they synopsis, but hadn't actually written it. My husband and I discussed a pen name since he is quite well-known in the community and I was teaching high school English at the time. Neither of us was in a position to let it be widely known I was about to be published as an erotic romance author.

I spent every evening and the weekend finishing the book and putting the rest of the short episodes into chapter form. By the following Sunday night (a week after that first email), it was ready to send to the woman assigned to be my regular editor - Pam Campbell. Pam was wonderful and we worked together on almost every book I wrote for Ellora's Cave. I miss her guidance.

Submission Revealed, which was always planned to be the second book, and for which I'd written the synopsis back in that quick week of May, 2004, didn't actually end up getting written until four years later and was released for the first time in May, 2009. Too many other stories crowded in between, demanding they be told. EC's art department was in transition at the time and I never liked the cover they provided. Secret Submission's cover was striking - and I never could figure out why they didn't do a visual tie-in with the covers so readers would know the two were related.

Hence the new covers for both books. While the design of Secret Submission is much the same as the original, the photo is different (I could've used the original, but the photo quality wasn't sharp anymore, so I replaced it). Submission Revealed's cover now aligns with the first book in the series, so you can tell they're partners.

So here they are, re-covered and re-released - all bright and shiny and new again. Both are available in all ebook formats. Happy reading and, as always -

Play safe!
Diana

PS. Submission Revealed is also available in print. Secret Submission is coming soon in print format.

To write or not to write

I'm trying to decide if I feel guilty for not writing. For not editing. For not doing diddly-squat on my writing career. I'm trying to decide if that career is also over or if I'm on an extended break.

I certainly haven't sold anything worth talking about for the past year. EC's closing put a huge damper on my income, too. But did I write to sell only? Or did I write because I enjoyed the creative expression?

Both, actually. I liked creative expression, even if I got tired of the genre a long time ago. Seemed I could only sell erotic romance stories and I have more than that in me. I have two fantasy novels begun and one historical that needs some major revision. But I've been putting off even opening those files. Why? Because I don't think I can sell them. Why bother if no one is going to read it?

Yeah, that's defeatist, I know. But that's what the lack of sales does to one. And when you don't publish for a while, people (readers) forget about you and you have to start all over. And that takes energy, energy you can't spend on writing your next novel because you have to be promoting your last one. Again. And your preparing your backlist for publication. Again. And...and...and...

I used to enjoy reading. A lot. I read book after book after book. But once I had kids, I was lucky if I got to read an entire magazine article. And then my husband gave me the time to write and instead of reading the books, I wrote them. Kids grew up and needed me less, I finally retired from my day job and, this past month, I've rediscovered the joy of going from book to book to book. No more, grab a book, read a chapter, go do something else, read a few pages, get interrupted, read a little more, go to the grocery store.

No, I'm talking, the past few weeks of starting a book, reading straight for HOURS, getting up only to use the bathroom and eat. I've gained two pounds (so I walked this morning because, you know, a single three-quarter mile walk around the block to catch Pokemon is going to help so much) and am more relaxed than I have been in two years.

So, should I feel guilty about not writing? About taking time off? Still not sure. The Short Story Challenge started Friday and I have until next Sunday to write a 2000 word story and submit it for the contest. I started it this morning - and remembered how hard it is for me to write openings. I've written 500 words or so and might set it aside and begin again later today.

But for right now...I'm going to go start reading another book.

Play safe, 

Diana

A milestone reached - and passed

One million published words, baby! One million words!

Actually, 1,269,800. That's published in books and stories words. It does not include any blog posts either here or as a guest author on anyone else's blog. It does not include any of my academic writing or letters to friends or posts to Facebook. Nor does it include the dozens upon dozens of stories I've started but not finished.

Nope. That's 1269.8K-- PUBLISHED -- in stories and books since September 2003. That was the month Secret Submission came out as an ebook and launched my career.

And I owe it all to my husband's comment years before that.

I'd been working on a fantasy novel for nearly two decades. I had scraps of it written on all sorts of paper (the back of bank notes, backs of receipts, pieces of cardboard from the paper pads that had run out of paper--whatever was at hand); these all were shoved into a folder in no particular order. In 1991, my daughter was not quite a year old and he looked at our finances (and my mental health) and said, "I don't think you need to get a summer job this year. Why don't you write that book instead?"

I kissed him. Hard. And a lot.

What happened between 1991 and 2003? I learned a lot about writing books. That first novel? The fantasy one (working title: Discoveries)? It's still on my computer at 95K and counting (and no, that number isn't in my one million + figure!). I made a lot of mistakes and to rewrite it would take a great deal of time. Time I'll get too one of these days. :)

I also had another child (who just got married!) and wrote Hardship and Hardtack, a Civil War historical fiction based on the real Lieutenant Richard Bassett and his brother, Erasmus (Rass). That book collected several rejection letters before I self-pubbed it when that option became available (that 68.6K is included in my grand total).

All-in-all, I have written and published 36 titles (short stories, novellas, novels and poems). There are at least 55 stories in my "story starts" file - ranging in length from a few hundred words, to ninety-five thousand. I've written writing workshops and hundreds of blog posts over the years. Maybe someday I'll count all those up, too. Today, however, I'm celebrating!

I broke the one million mark. Here's to the next million!

Play safe,

Diana

New release, as promised!

I told you this book would be out before the end of the week and I made my self-imposed deadline right on target.  HER MASTER'S VOICE (Book2) is now available on Amazon, Smashwords, and at A1AdultEbooks in all formats (well, except at Amazon where you can still buy only in the Kindle format -- silly Amazon!).

I started these two books on June 30th. Well, I started a book on June 30th. But it got towards the end of July and I realized these two had more story in them than just the one volume. They kept talking, so I kept writing. The result? 99,000+ words between the two volumes of hot sex, intriguing characters and some controversial topics.

Don't forget to leave a review on whatever site you buy the book from. Good, bad, indifferent, reviews drive the numbers, so the more, the merrier!


Play safe!
Diana

PS. If you want to check out Mystic's other books, she has her own page right here.

Getting ready

Less than a month to go for our trip but not spending much time this week thinking about it. We’ve already chosen our luggage, weighed it and I’ve packed and unpacked twice trying to decide what stays and what goes. I have a list started that lists “Needs” and “Wants”. When we come to the wire, the “Needs” go into the suitcase and, depending on the room and weight left over, I’ll have to prioritize my “Wants.”

But this week another event has superceded all thoughts of leaving. In four more days, my son is getting married. I love the woman he’s chosen to be his wife – she’s a true sweetheart. That doesn’t mean I don’t mourn the departure of my son, however. He moved out of the house eight months ago, so I’ve had some time to adjust, but there’s a permanence about a marriage ceremony that puts a period on his childhood. And that gives me bittersweet feelings.

Bitter because he’s left us. No, bitter is too strong a word. Sad. Melancholy. Both of those are better words. After being a huge part of our lives, day in, day out for two decades, his presence in the house is gone. I’m not picking up after him, or nagging him to do anything, nor am I getting a daily hug or a quick, “Love you, Mom” as he heads out the door. We don’t share music anymore, he doesn’t fill me in on the latest games I should be playing or how his favorite League of Legends team is doing in the finals.

Sweet because I know we did a good job. Like most parents, we screwed up sometimes but, in the end, he turned out to be a good man. Yes, I used the word man. He hasn’t been a boy for quite some time and I’m proud of the man he’s become. His soon-to-be wife is getting a wonderful, caring, loving human being and I take just a little of the credit for that.

So the trip has taken a back seat this week as life gets turned on its head in a very happy way. I celebrate the addition to the family and am thrilled to the very core of my being that he found a woman who loves him as much as we do.

And, if I’m very, very lucky, I might even be ready by Sunday to give him away.

Play safe,

Diana

on flogging

I have now started this particular post four times. Five, if this one is successful.

I had great qualms about watching the 6th episode of Outlander on Starz. I knew, because I’ve read the book, that this would be the episode detailing how Jamie’s back came to be so scarred. Gabaldon shows her mastery of storytelling in this. In the books, we are not told all at once. It comes out in pieces, hints here and there...and then the full telling in all its horror.

I first learned about flogging from reading pirate romance novels....where someone (usually the heroine) was always being threatened with it, but it never happened. There’d be a lurid description of the cat-o’nine-tails with the knots tied into the end for maximum damage, but it wasn’t actually used on anyone. The threat alone was enough to maintain order.

And it was always pirates. Or the British Navy. I loved reading about Horatio Hornblower’s adventures. But even there, everything was muted. The horror hinted at, the blood implied. Gabaldon pulls no such punches. She gives it to you right between the eyes and adds a gut punch to the heart for good measure.

So why the unease at watching it play out on the screen? The answer is twofold. First, I was concerned it wouldn’t live up to the images in my head from the reading of it. Alfred Hitchcock made an entire career out of letting our imaginations make the scenes far more terrifying than if he showed us exactly what was going on. He’d give hints...the blood running down the drain...and let our minds fill in the horrible blanks. And my mind has. I have seen Jamie’s flogging in my head. Heard the sound of the skin tearing, seen the pain on his face mixed with determination, felt Jack Randall’s arousal. How could such terribleness be shown without destroying what I “saw’?

And second, what if it did live up to the images in my head? Could I stand to watch what Jamie bore?

I witnessed my first flogging from a Dom who knew what he was about. The thongs were made of soft deerskin, a gentle suede that massaged rather than cut. The sub told me later, the slap of the thongs on the skin warmed it, but didn’t hurt at all. Even as the Dom switched floggers and moved to one with stiffer ends, no damage was done. The endorphins were released without harm to the body.

I've been trying to figure out just why this is so important to me and it finally came after I'd written the rough draft for this post and gone to bed. Flogging is an important part of my books. All of my books have a flogging scene in them. Most of Mystic’s do, too. They are sensual, erotic, arousing. The act is the perfect symbol of the Dominant/submissive relationship. The bottom gives their body, the Top gives his/her restraint. There is a beauty to them, to the journey the two take together.

It's a journey Jack Randall perverts. He, too, is aroused by the power that flows down his arm. But its the power of destruction, even if he calls it (in the TV series) “art created by his arm on the lad’s back.” There is nothing beautiful about it, nothing freeing. It is pain given for punishment, true punishment.

To the general public, say the word "flogging" to them and that is the one they see - the painful, bloody one made sensational by dozens of pirate novels and the British Navy. It was outlawed by the US Navy in 1850, partly because of Herman Melville's description of such an incident. Flogging in the British Navy was pretty much stopped by 1881, although it was still an allowed punishment on the books until 1948.

Why am I moved to make this distinction between flogging for sexual release and flogging for punishment? I don’t know. Maybe because I still feel a need to justify writing stories with BDSM kinks. I’ve met many in that lifestyle who do no harm to one another, in fact, quite the opposite. The love and bond they share is one to be emulated.

But seeing a device called by the same name that brings pleasure bring such destruction...there's a line here that unnerves me and makes my heart hurt.

Play safe, everyone.

Diana

edited (again!) to add this link. The producers, directors and actors of Outlander were equally concerned about filming that scene.