I’m guest blogging on Alternative Read.com today and talking about my Ellora’s Cave erotic urban fantasy, Mia’s Return, the second in the Destiny’s Trinities series.  I’ll also be giving away a copy of the first in the series, Beth’s Acceptance.

I just got a lovely review of Mia’s Return from Alternative Read today:

“Having read the first book I had some expectations of the second that were fulfilled in spades. I adored the tenacity with which Mia sought and found her man, the vivid scenes Ms. Ceagh painted so descriptively, but it was the bonding of the males that intrigued me the most. I must say this was a nicely rounded tale full of some very steamy lovemaking (notice I didn’t label it sex?) and I’m anxious to get the next installment as well as curious to see who the next victims are.”

–Witchgiggles – Alternative Read.com

Plus they’re chatting about it on Twitter, so come and join in, I’m feeling very chatty.

——

Ten years ago Alexander hungered for Mia Menendez and for a single day they had indulged that passion before tragedy struck. Now Mia is back, but she thinks Alexander died ten years ago, and no man has been able to stir her heart since. The truth could kill her.

Wyatt Whitacker, demon hunter, hates Alexander and all his kind.  But one look at Mia and her pulse-stopping curves and his scarred, angry heart begins to melt and his body to rouse in ways he’s long forgotten.

The bonding has begun…

Thank goodness for small miracles. It’s the end of November and NanoWrimo is coming to an end. Even though I didn’t make the 50k write goal, I did make it to 34k. Which was no small feat either. Juggling a full time job, wife and motherhood, I’m surprised I even made it that far. Make no mistake I’m still very disappointed in myself , but hope to try again next year.

So I’m now figuring that my next course of action will be getting Hellbound ready for submission. This will be, technically the first that I will be querying and I’m dying to get back into it. My original plan for Hellbound was to submit it into the Novella competition for Carpe Articulum, but  have since changed my mind and was thinking of trying my luck with Samhain Publishing. But then again, we’ll wait and see what happens during the editing process.

There have been many new idea’s that I have come up with in the meanwhile, and I’ve resorted to writing them down. I simply have too much on the go, and need to finish my other untitled novel which I started back in May of 2009. My protag for that one has been hounding me to get on the ball and get it finished up. By the time I’m done with that one, I’m sure more ideas will be rolling in for her follow up story.

As for some updates in the last month, I’d say I’ve read way too many books. From Julie Garwood, I read: The Wedding, The Bride and The Secret. And from Karen Marie Moning, The Highlanders Touch. What can I say, I’m a sucker for a good Historical Romance novel. I’m sure all this reading didn’t help with my writing, but it did a fantastic job in keeping my mind otherwise occupied from worrying about other things. What have you read this month and what do you recommend that I should pick up next? Drop me a line and tell me what you think.

Well I think that’s it for now, but I hope you’ll come again!

Thanks

Layna

LOVE LUST DECEIT ELECTRICITY
Short Fiction

A Sizzling Love Story

by

VIKRAM KARVE

There is a saying: “ If you decide to murder your husband you must never act in concert with your lover ”.

That’s why I did not tell Raj.

Or involve him in any way.

Not even the smallest hint.

I made my plans alone and with perfect care.

An “accident” so coolly and meticulously designed.

Precisely at 12:50 in the afternoon, the ghastly accident would occur.

And then my phone would ring – to convey the “bad” news.

And suddenly I would be a widow.

Free.

Liberated from shackles.

Released from bondage.

Then all I had to do was to keep cool, maintain a solemn façade, and patiently wait for Raj to return after completing his project in Singapore.
Then after the customary condolence period was over, Raj would propose to marry me – an act of chivalry, of sympathy, or even “self-sacrifice”.

First I would demur, then “reluctantly” succumb to the pressure from my friends and relatives, and accept – just for my children’s sake.

There would be nods of approval all around.

And soon Raj and I would be Husband and Wife.

The phone rang.

I panicked.

There is no fear like the fear of being found out.

I looked at the wall-clock. It was only 10.30 am.

Had something gone wrong?

I felt a tremor of trepidation.

The phone kept on ringing – it just wouldn’t stop ringing.

I picked up the receiver, and held it to my ears with bated breath.

The moment I heard Anjali’s voice I felt relieved.

“Why didn’t you come to the health club?” Anjali asked.

I’m not well,” I lied.

“Anything serious? Should I come over?” she asked.

“No!” I tried to control the anxiety in my voice. “It’s a just a slight headache. I’ll take a tablet and sleep it off,” I said cautiously.

“I hope Manish and you are coming over in the evening,” Anjali asked.

“Of course,” I said and put down the phone.

I smiled to myself.

That was one party Manish was going to miss. Probably they would cancel it and would be right here offering their condolences and sympathy.

I would have to be careful indeed.

And to hell with the health club and the painful weight loss program. I didn’t need it any more.

Raj accepts me as I am – nice and plump and on the “healthier” side, as he calls me lovingly.

Not like Manish who is always finding fault with me.

I know I can always depend on Raj.

He really loves me from the bottom of his heart.

I looked at my husband Manish’s framed photograph on the mantelpiece.

Soon it would be garlanded.

My marriage to Manish had been a miserable mistake, but soon it would be over and I would be free to live the life I always wanted.

I wish I didn’t have to kill Manish, but there was no way out – Manish would never give me a divorce, and if he came to know about me and Raj, he would destroy both of us, ruin our lives; for he was a rich and powerful man.

Also, I prefer to be a pitied widow rather than a stigmatized divorcee.

The plan was simple.

I had programmed a Robot to do the job.

The huge giant welding robot in Manish’s factory.

At exactly 12:45, when the lunch-break started, Manish would enter his pen drive into the robot control computer to carry out a maintenance troubleshooting check.

And then he would start inspecting various parts of the robot – the manipulator, end effectors and grippers – to cross-check their programmed movements.

It was a routine exercise, and I knew Manish had become quite complacent as the robot had never developed any faults so far.

But today it would be different.

Because I had surreptitiously reprogrammed the software last night.

This is what was going to happen.

At precisely 12:50 all safety interlocks would be bypassed, and suddenly the robot would activate and the welding electrode would arc 600 Amperes of electric current into Manish’s brain.

It would be a ghastly sight – his brain welded out and his body handing like a pendulum, lifeless. Death would be instantaneous.

Manish had been a fool to tell me everything and dig his own grave. A real dope – he deserved it!

It was a foolproof plan and no one would suspect since the program would erase itself immediately. I had ensured that. It would be an accident, an unfortunate accident.

Condolences, compensation, insurance – soon I would be a rich widow, with one and all showering me with sympathy and compassion.

And then I would wait for Raj to come back from Singapore.

And then, after a few days I knew he would propose to me, and I would ‘reluctantly’ accept and we would live happily ever after.

I looked at the wall clock. It was almost 11 O’clock.

Suddenly I began to have second thoughts. Maybe I should give Manish a last chance.

All I had to do was pick up the phone and ask Manish to rush home.

Feign a sudden illness or something.

But no! I tried to steel my nerves. I had crossed the Rubicon, and there was no going back. The tension of waiting was unbearable, but I must not lose my head.

I tried to divert my thoughts to Raj.

The first time I suspected that Raj loved me was when he didn’t attend my wedding. Then he disappeared abroad for higher studies and I almost forgot him. And one fine day, after almost fifteen years, Raj suddenly reappeared to take up a job in my husband’s factory.

And when I learnt that Raj had still not married I realized how deeply in love with me he was.

At that point of time I was so disillusioned with my marriage that my daily life was rather like sitting in a cinema and watching a film in which I was not interested.

Raj and I began spending more and more time together, and somewhere down the line emotions got entangled and physical intimacy followed.

Did Manish suspect?

I do not know.

Was that the reason he had sent Raj to Singapore?

I don’t think so.

We had kept our affair absolutely clandestine.

I looked again at the clock.

11.45 am.

One hour to go.

I began to have a feeling of dread and uneasiness, a sort of restlessness and apprehension – a queer sensation, a nameless type of fear.

So I poured myself a stiff drink of gin.

As I sipped the alcohol, my nerves calmed down.

Today was the last time I was going to have a drink, I promised myself.

Once I married Raj I would never drink – there would be no need to.

In my mind’s eye I could almost visualize my husband Manish sitting in the vacant chair opposite getting steadily drunk every evening.

Manish was an odd creature with effeminate mannerisms that became more pronounced when he was drunk.

He was always picking at an absurd little moustache, as though amazed at himself for having produced anything so virile.

How I hated the mere sight of him.

The very thought of my husband made me gulp down my drink.

I poured myself one more drink and gulped it quickly to steady my nerves. Then I had one more drink; and one more, when my cell-phone rang.

I shook out of my stupor and picked up my mobile phone. It was an unknown number. I rejected the call.

The cell phone rang again; same number. I looked at the number. 65….. – it was from Singapore.

Was it Raj? From Singapore? My heart skipped a beat. I answered urgently.

“Hello,” I said.

“Hi Urvashi, how are you?” it was Raj’s voice.

“Where are you speaking from? Is this your new number?” I asked.

“No. This is Rajashree’s cell-phone,” Raj said.

“Rajashree?”

“Yes, Rajashree, she wants to talk to you,” Raj said.

“Hi Urvashi,” a female voice said, “Raj has told me so much about you.”

It was strange.

Who was this Rajashree?

I knew nothing about her!

So I said, “But Raj has told me nothing about you!”

“I know,” Rajashree said, “it all happened so suddenly. Even I can’t believe it could happen so fast – Love at first sight, whirlwind romance, swift wedding.”

“Wedding?” I stammered, shocked beyond belief.

“Yes. We, Raj and I, got married yesterday and we are on our way to our honeymoon, on a cruise liner.”

“You bitch! Give the phone to Raj,” I shouted, losing control, the ground slipping beneath me.

“Hey, chill out. What’s wrong with you?” Rajashree said calmly, paused for a moment, and spoke, “Raj has gone to the embarkation booth. Hey, he’s waving to me. I’ve got to go now. Bye. We’ll see you when we come there.” And suddenly she disconnected.

I stared at my cell-phone, never so frightened, never so alone.

I felt as if I had been pole-axed.

I looked at the wall-clock.

12.55.

Oh, My God!

The deadline of 12.50 had gone.

It was too late.

My blood froze.

The telephone rang.

I picked it up, my hands trembling.

“There’s been an accident, madam,” said the voice. It was the company doctor. “We are rushing Manish Sahib to the hospital. I am sending someone to pick you up.”

“Hospital? Tell me the truth,” I shouted hysterically into the phone, “Tell me, is he dead?”
“No. He’ll survive.”

Manish did survive.

I wish he hadn’t.

For his sake. And for mine.

For till this day he is still in coma.

And I know I will have to live with a ‘vegetable’ husband all my life.

It was a small miscalculation.

600 Amperes wasn’t enough.

But then the Robot is a machine.

My real miscalculation was about Raj.

LOVE LUST DECEIT ELECTRICITY

Short Fiction

A Sizzling Love Story

By

VIKRAM KARVE

Copyright © Vikram Karve 2009

Vikram Karve has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.
vikramkarve@sify.com

http://vikramkarve.sulekha.com

I got my official release date for Kiss Across Time yesterday.  May 4, 2010.  Just under six months away.

I guess that’s the drawback for writing for a house series.  Everyone gets pooled together at the speed of the slowest common denominator.  I have a feeling I’ll have other titles coming out between now and then.

Anyway, I thought I’d celebrate by splurging with an excerpt, as they seem to be well received by everyone.

But first the blurb, of course!

Taylor Yates just got fired from her university for insisting that the 5^th Century British poet and playwright, Inigo Domhnall, existed. When she hears the poet’s lyrics in a death metal song, she engineers a meeting with the dark-eyed, dark-haired lead singer, Brody Gallagher. An unintended kiss sends them spinning back to the poet’s time, when Saxons were pillaging King Arthur’s Britain, and a warrior expects a proper farewell from his woman before he sets off for war.

Brody’s all for kissing her again.  More, he’d like her to try kissing his friend and lover, Veris, just to see what will happen.  His blond, tall, blue-eyed Saxon friend Veris.

_____________

Excerpt

The bathroom door opened and the singer stepped out, wrapping a silky-looking bathrobe around him. He halted when he saw her, his eyes narrowing.

“It was you,” he said flatly.

Her heart squeezed. It was him. Breandán. In the vision, dream, whatever it was that she’d had when this Brody had kissed her. Long hair and everything.

“You even have a scar on your chest,” she said and lifted her hand to touch, just under her own left breast. “Just like Breandán did.”

His eyes widened. “Jesus,” he breathed.

After a second or two he stirred. “I guess I don’t have to ask if you experienced what I did out there, then.”

She licked her lips. “That isn’t…usual, then?”

He gave a low laugh. “God no!” He lifted a hand to her face but hesitated just before he touched it. “May I?”

She appreciated his sensitivity. “Yes.”

His thumb stroked her cheekbone. “Your name is not really Toiréasa, is it?” His voice was low.

She shivered. He’d been there. He’d really been there with her.

“Taylor,” she said.

“I want to kiss you again, Taylor. I want to see what happens this time.”

She focused on his full lips and she remembered him sliding his cock into her. Even though it had been a dream or a vision, or whatever it had been, she recalled it like it had actually happened. She could feel it. Her clit throbbed.

“Don’t be afraid,” he said. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Curiously, she believed him. She nodded.

His mouth touched hers hesitantly and she knew there was a pocket of fear in him too. Then his lips grew firmer, more demanding and his tongue thrust into her mouth. She forgot about visions and daydreams and simply enjoyed the kiss. Brody was a damn fine kisser and she hadn’t been kissed in a long, long time. She threw herself into the kiss, letting herself be seduced by its power. She pressed up against him, enjoying the pleasure of simply being held by a man, the scent of a man. She wound her arms about his neck and rubbed herself against him with a soft little moan.

He gasped and lifted his head up, looking at her. “No visions,” he said softly. “But both of us experienced it, the first time.”

“Yes,” she agreed. Then she realized that she was draped against him. Worse, his cock was beating between them, signaling his arousal in the most obvious way.

She tried to stand up but he held her still. “Wait,” he said. “There’s no rush, is there?” His hand was stroking the back of her thigh, making it quiver.

“I have to go home.” She tried to make it sound convincing. But she really wanted to stay right where she was and continue kissing him. She had no idea who he was. She didn’t even know his last name. But she already knew what his cock looked like and what it felt like to fuck him. And if the vision they had shared had any sort of truth in it, he had loved her once.

Before she had been fired two days ago, Taylor had been within half an inch of being a history professor. She hadn’t believed in past lives and all that sort of bullshit. But right now she was willing to grasp it in order to give herself enough justification just to fuck the brains out of this man because kissing him felt so damn good. But that wouldn’t make her feel any better tomorrow morning.

She bit her lip. “I can’t stay,” she said regretfully. “I would love to. I would. But that isn’t a good enough reason.”

Brody held up his hand. “Before you go,” he said. “Would you do me one small favor?”

She stepped away from him. “It depends.”

“I want you to kiss my friend. I want to see if it works on him.”

Taylor laughed. “Why on earth would it?” Then something in Brody’s expression registered on her. “Oh…he’s your lover, isn’t he?”

Brody lifted a brow.

“A very long-term lover,” Taylor concluded with growing wonder. She tilted her head to study him. “What is his name?”

“Most people call me Veris, because they can’t pronounce my real name.”

She whirled around to face the voice.

He was sitting on the arm of the chair where the suit jacket had been a few moments before. Blond hair, blue eyes, six foot two inches of self-assured, very broad-shouldered male.

“You!” She struggled for the name. “Dr. Gerhardsson. You consulted with me last week, about the Domhnall plays.”

“Jesus, you son of a bitch,” Brody said behind her. “You went and did it after all.”

Veris smiled. “I did.”

Brody brushed past Taylor and threw himself into the lounge chair. He looked at Taylor. “You’re a history professor?”

“I nearly was,” she said flatly.

“You don’t look like one,” Brody commented.

“Neither does he,” she said, pointing at Veris. He was wearing leather pants and a sleeveless white cotton overshirt that made the most of the tanned, rounded caps of his shoulders and the bunches of muscles of his arms. Veris crossed his arms over his chest, which just seemed to multiply the amount of tanned muscle on display. His blue eyes twinkled.

Brody seemed more than mildly pissed about Veris’ consultation, which had been utterly professional in nature. Dr. V. Gerhardsson had not indicated by so much as an inch that he even recognized that Taylor was a woman.

Even so, Taylor had been left feeling edgy and weak-kneed after the evening consultation and had fallen into bed and indulged in a rare session of masturbation that featured Gerhardsson and his blue eyes and broad shoulders and various parts of his magnificent anatomy, over and over again.

Brody glared at Veris now. “I can see now why you came home in such a muck-sweat that night…the seventeenth, right?”

Taylor jumped. That was the night.

Veris just shrugged a little. No pride lost there. “I have no objections to kissing the lady now, if that’s what you want.” He smiled a little but his eyes were dancing with merriment.

Brody glared for a moment longer, then gave up. Taylor knew he had tabled the argument for later. He sat forward on the seat and spoke to Veris. “I told you what happened during the concert. I want to see if it happens to you when you kiss Taylor, because of our bond. If it does, then we’re going to have to tell Taylor.”

Veris glanced at Taylor. “And that won’t have tipped her off at all,” he said.

“Like consulting her about the Domhnall plays won’t have?” Brody shot back.

Veris grimaced. “I see your point.” He got to his feet and walked toward her and Taylor knew that the equivalent of a nuclear explosion would have to go off before she would move from the spot.

Veris stopped in front of her. “May I?” he asked. He seemed to tower over her five-foot-six frame, even with her spiked boots.

She thought her knees would give out. “Yes,” she said, her voice hoarse.

He slid his hand around her waist and the other under her hair. This close, his blue eyes were mesmerizing and she could feel her heart thundering. It hurt as it slammed against her chest. She gripped Veris’ shirt almost convulsively, suddenly afraid.

“It’s all right,” he whispered, his lips brushing hers, his breath fanning her. “I have you.”

He kissed her.

_________

So…what do you think? 

]]> http://romancenovellas.wordpress.com/2009/11/26/more-free-romance-ebooks/ Thu, 26 Nov 2009 07:20:43 +0000 Genevieve http://romancenovellas.wordpress.com/2009/11/26/more-free-romance-ebooks/

Dear Quickie readers and romance aficionados,

I had some requests to post another link to free EBooks and so your wish is my command! Technically it’s Redneck Romance Writer’s command but we’ll let that slide. I found this list of thirteen links on her blog, so go check it out for some good reads. FYI, her post is over a year old and one of the links was broken but the rest were still there and awesome quality. If you want a steamy short read, check it out here!

xx,    Genevieve

First Published: Liberty Magazine (3 instalments), 1933
Edition Read: Vintage Crime, 1989
ISBN: 0-679-772265-3
Subtitle: A Novel of Dangerous Romance

Though beautifully written, this novella is primarily interesting for what it says about the sort of hero Hammett thought he was creating in his writings. This time he incarnated that hero as a woman.

In “The Simple Art of Murder,” Chandler famously compared the hard boiled sleauth to a modern day knight. Hammett clearly thought slightly differently, because whatever Sam Spade in The Maltese Falcon is, he isn’t a knight. He sleeps with his partner’s wife, after all, and has one of the most cleverly written suppressed mean streaks I’ve ever read. Where Chandler wanted to evoke the idealism in a man who understood just how far from ideal the world is, Hammett was more content to write about seriously flawed real people who did the best they could.

When he transfers those characteristics to a woman, he put in a number of characteristics that will certainly make people groan. Luise sells her body to get through life. Perhaps that’s not so different from the more traditional male protagonists of hard boiled novels who certainly seem to get beaten and tortured and generally subjected to considerable physical danger and violence on a regular basis. Still, for whatever reason, we’ve always thought of selling yourself for sex as quite different from selling yourself to take someone else’s beating. Whatever that reason is, I’m not convinced it’s a good one, but it’s certainly a true description of our cultural attitudes. However, like the male heroes, Luise has her limits. The action of the book is driven by the fact that Luise is trying to leave her current boyfriend/employer because she has decided that he is too low for her. The parallels here are pretty easy to draw. Spade won’t work for the man who killed his partner, not because that man is so much worse than others, but because a partnership means something even when you’re sleeping with the guy’s wife. Chandler’s Marlowe gets more beatings from the people he won’t help than from the people he will. Perry Mason and Nero Wolfe refuse to have guilty parties as their clients (with limited exceptions). The key to maintaining moral fibre in the world of the hard boiled novel isn’t that you don’t sell yourself, it’s that you choose who you sell yourself to. Your limits are imposed, not by the outside world, but by yourself on yourself.

Despite being a woman who sells sex, Luise is definitely a heroine. She’s tough and smart. It’s true that the the major male character – Brazil – tries to protect her but, for the most part, he fails. She succeeds at protecting him. I don’t want to read too much into a title, but the novella is called Woman in the Dark and I don’t think it is too much of a stretch to think that the Dark in this case is the world that Hammett and the other hard boiled writers of this era inhabited and struggled against. It’s very rare to read a book in which a woman is allowed into that world as a full participant.

I guess the only other thing I want to say about the book is that it is worth reading for some of the character sketches. When we first meet Brazil in his cabin, we get a wonderful picture of a hard and broken man without any description of him being necessary. It’s one of the best instances of evocation through sparse writing and distance you can find in such an identifiable moment. It’s artful and just glorious writing.

It’s out!  It’s out!

It’s finally out!

Of the three books in this series, Mia’s Return edges out slightly ahead of the pack as my favorite.  Not huge amounts, just by a nose.  The others have their elements that endear them to me, but overall, Mia has…symmetry.  Which is unusual, because most authors always struggle with the middle book of a trilogy because of the famous saggy middle syndrome.

The emotional intensity and conflict in this one just fell into place and went “click” and the book wrote itself.  So much so that I sweated for two days to bring it down under the word count limit.

But it’s out.

It’s out!

Click here to read more about it on my site.

Click here to buy it.  (awww, come on, I have to do this, I’m a poor author!)

I’m finished!  Sadly, no, not with the novella, but today (actually yesterday by the time you read this), I knocked out the last of my lectures for the theories of personality class I’m teaching next semester.  That’s TWELVE, count ‘em, TWELVE lectures researched, written, scripted, and PowerPointed in 6 weeks.  On top of the Evil Day Job and the Less Evil Side Teaching Jobs.  My primary NaNo goal is complete!  Granted, I still have to animate and record said lectures, write all the quizzes and exams, write the discussion questions, write the syllabus, create the course calendar, upload all materials to the course shell, set due dates, and write announcements, all before January 6th.  Yeah, I could do the rest as I go along, but the entire point of this insanity was to make next semester easier on myself.  So I still have a lot to do, BUT the rest of it (other than the test writing) won’t take NEARLY the brain power that lecture writing for a class I have never taught requires.

So tonight (last night actually), I did a full re-acquaint me read-through of the six written chapters of the novella.  There was chocolate.  Wine was considered.  It’s offended that I ran off and left it this long, so I’m having to coax it past feelings of abandonment and rejection.  But the good news is that I still love it.  I’m very happy with what I have so far (despite the assortment of bracketed notes on world building stuff I still need to make up).

Then I came up against The Scene.  The one I’ve been balking at for three weeks.  It just wasn’t working, even though it was the next logical step in the plot.  If you’re gonna storm a secret military base, you have to do reconnaissance, or you’re just flat committing suicide.  But no matter how I set it up, whose head I put it in, or what details I included, it just wasn’t working.  So for the heck of it, I decided to whip out the tarot cards and do a reading to see if that jarred any of my creative juices loose.

All signs point to skipping the reconnaissance mission and moving on to the next scene in which an unexpected access point presents itself.  Okay, that’s fine.  I just have to decide if this happens after a failed reconnaissance mission that can be summed up in a line or two of dialogue, or if they just never got that far.

And yet rather than buckle down and start on that scene, I have tweeted about the arrival of my new nephew (Gideon MacArthur, 7 pounds 7 oz. at 7:32 PM), I have done dishes, I have painted baseboards and cabinet doors in my bathroom, I have graded finals and calculated the probable curve I can pull off in both classes, I’ve sent off email, and I’ve sat down to write tomorrow’s (today’s) blog post.

It’s official.  I have page fright.

„Számomra visszatérő motívuma volt a kötetnek, hogy milyenek vagyunk mi emberek ha érzelmileg valaki más próbál meg közeledni hozzánk, legyen az holló, sellő vagy egy tó. Nem tudunk mit kezdeni a helyzettel, nem is értjük meg, fel se fogjuk, micsoda szerencsénk van és kicsúszik a kezünk közül ez az ajándék. Vagy éppenséggel túlságosan emberien viselkedünk és tönkretesszük amit kaptunk.  Azt hiszem elmondható, hogy Csilla novellái, még a fantasy elemeket tartalmazó, vagy csak úgy gondoljuk, hogy azokkal operáló meséi igazából érzelmekről szólnak. Csak esetleg a helyzet különleges, amiben találkozunk vele.”

A teljes cikk elolvasható Lobo olvasónaplójában.

It’s part of the book tour, but I only found out less than 48 hours ago that the date was confirmed, so I’ve barely managed to get it up onto the book tour page and the guest post written…but I’m there, and it’s there, and if you’re reading this, this post is there, too.

So…deep breath, everything fell into place as it should.

I’m over at Love Romance Passion today, kicking off the first date of my double-header book tour.  Come and chat, and be in the running to win a copy of Beth’s Acceptance, and impress the hell out of Love Romance Passion with how many people actually come and chat with me, as this is my first time there.

MARRIAGE A LA MODE

Fiction Short Story

By

VIKRAM KARVE

Dear Reader, I am sure you have heard the saying: Absence makes the heart grow fonder

Now, please read this fiction short story:

At exactly 8 PM her cell-phone rings in her hand. She’s expecting the call – that’s why she’s holding the cell-phone in her hand. She looks at the caller-id, accepts the call, moves the mobile phone near her ear and says, “I love you, darling!”

“I love you, Sugar!” says her husband’s voice from half way around the globe. On his bed beside him, sprawled with arms and legs outstretched like a fallen statue, the woman is still asleep, her breathing untroubled.

It’s a long distance marriage, and the ‘married bachelors’ have been following the same drill for quite some time now – two calls every day at exactly the same time (Eight in the morning she calls him up just before leaving for work and eight in the evening she receives his call from half way across the globe just before he leaves for work. And both of them start their conversation automatically with the words: “I love you, darling! Or, I love you, Sugar!” He’s her ‘darling’ and she’s his ‘Sugar’!)

“How was your day?” the husband asks.

“Hectic. Lot’s of work. Deadlines to meet!” the wife answers. She steals a glance at the handsome young man sitting beside her in the darkened lounge bar.

“It’s terrible here too,” the husband says, “It’s killing – the work. Too much traveling. Sales meets, seminars, conferences. One hotel to another. Living out of a suitcase. I’m feeling exhausted.”

It’s true. The husband is indeed feeling exhausted; a relaxing, satiating kind of exhaustion. He gets up and opens the window and allows the early morning air to cool his body, then turns around and looks at the marvelous body of the woman on his bed. She looks lovelier than ever before, and as he remembers the ferocity of her lovemaking, he feels waves of desire rise within him. Not for a long time has the mere sight of a woman aroused the lion in him to such an extent. He smiles to himself. He feels proud and elated; it was a grand performance. Spontaneous lovemaking at its best; not like the planned and contrived “quality” lovemaking with his wife, full of performance anxiety, each performing for the other’s gratification, putting on an act and both faking pleasure thinking the other would not know.

“Yes, darling. Poor you. I can understand,” the wife says, and sips her potent cocktail. It’s her third. She wonders what it is – the mysterious but deadly intoxicating cocktails her companion is plying her with, and she is feeling gloriously high.

“I’m just waiting for this hectic spell of work to be over so we can meet,” the husband says. He sits on the edge of the bed and looks at the sleeping woman. Mesmerized, marveling. It is difficult to believe that in a few hours from now they would be addressing each other formally again.

“Oh, yes. It’s been three months and I’m dying to meet you. When are we meeting?” the wife asks.

“I’m planning a fantastic vacation. I’ll let you know soon. We’ll go to some exotic place. Just the two of us. Quality Time!” the husband says to his faraway wife and at the same time looks yearningly at the gorgeously sexy woman lying so close to him.

“That’s great! We must spend some Quality Time together,” the wife says to her distant husband while she snuggles close against her strikingly handsome colleague. He presses his knee against hers. She presses hers against his. He moves his hand around her over her soft skin and pulls her gently. She feels an inchoate desire. He gently strokes her hair, and she turns towards him, her mouth partly open as he leans over her.  Fuelled by the alcohol in her veins, she can sense the want churning inside her like fire. And as she looks into his eyes, and feels the intensity of his caresses, she can sense her resistance melting.

“I love you, Sugar!” the husband says.

“I love you, darling!” the wife says.

Their lovey-dovey conversation completed, both the long distance spouses disconnect their cell-phones, focus on their present objects of affection, and, with renewed zeal, carry on the passionate amorous activity presently in hand. After all, a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.

At the beginning of this story I had quoted a famous saying: Absence makes the heart grow fonder.

Now I am temped to say: Absence makes the heart grow fonder – for someone else.

MARRIAGE A LA MODE

Fiction Short Story

By

VIKRAM KARVE

Copyright © Vikram Karve 2009

Vikram Karve has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.

http://vikramkarve.sulekha.com

vikramkarve@sify.com

For those of you with Kindle’s the good news is that Smashwords has just done a deal with Amazon to sell its books through the Kindle Store. That means both of my novellas will be available from Amazon early next year. To quote the Smashwords press release:

Los Gatos, Calif. — November 23, 2009 — Smashwords, a global publisher and distributor of independently published ebooks, today announced it will supply ebooks to the Amazon.com Kindle Store. Kindle is Amazon’s wireless reading device that allows customers to downloads books, blogs, magazines and newspapers to a crisp, high-resolution electronic paper display that looks and reads like real paper.

Smashwords’ decision to distribute ebooks to the Kindle Store follows recent Smashwords agreements with Barnes & Noble, Sony and Shortcovers.  The relationships further democratize access to distribution for the world’s independent authors and publishers.

Let’s hear it, two cheers for democracy! And congratulations to Mark Coker at Smashwords who is turning that company into something of an indie publishing sensation. I’m very happy to be associated with this exciting and dynamic organisation.

Coming soon to a Kindle near you!

I got a great review from Amber over at AmberKatz Book Blog today.  I’ll be guesting there on Sunday to talk about Mia’s Return, but she reviewed Beth’s Acceptance — this was a bit of a bonus, as I gave her the book just so she could keep up with the series in general as they’re so tightly entwined.

“Beth’s acceptance is just the right read to heat you up on a cold Winters night! The heat radiates from the story from start to finish and the bits in between come close to bringing the reader to melt down in delight. I am not a huge fan of erotic stories but this one really got my pulse going and the storyline kept me intrigued enough to read till the end.

The paranormal elements were well thought out and I am interested to see what happens in the next two books in this series. Luckily I have them waiting for me and I am already feeling the pull to check out the sequel Mia’s Return.

The Destiny’s Trinities are technically only novella’s with their size of 100 pages but with the vampires and other creatures filling the pages who cares? These are just the right size to curl up with when you need a little time alone and a little excitement.”

Click here for the full review.

You may have noticed a series of posts delinearated by roman numerals and that these posts have a bit of a narrative vibe about them.  That would be because they do indeed represent a narrative, a growing one, an experiment. The idea is that i try really hard not to think about this story except for when I sit down to write another, small, part of it. This has nothing to do with NaNoWriMo and is more a way for me to blow of steam concerning the novel i’m writing, which, as i have mentioned previously, I’m all pent-up over lately.  It’s something I can just sit down and do without any thought for the overall narrative, or for characters, just to see where it goes.  This way I feel like i’m being productive even when I’m not working on the novel. Like today, for instance, i have a bunch of stuff to do that doesn’t involve writing, so i have no time to sit down for the 3-4 hours that i would normally reserve for the novel. But i can still do those things whilst ocassionally sitting down to write a paragraph for this experiment, see? That way the writer in my head doesn’t feel like a slackerbitch loser. Plus, being written in short bite-sized segments makes it easier to read online.

Anyway, hope you enjoy it.

I dress shakily, pulling whatever first comes to hand over my clammy naked body. With coffee in hand I sit on the single rickity chair that passes for furniture in here. My hand is shaking so much I have to put the mug down on my equally rickity desk.  Both desk and chair were recovered from skips on one of my many expeditions through the city,  items discarded as being unfit for their primary use. Nearly everything in the bedsit had been thrown away by somebody else and claimed by me.

When I find something, in an alleyway, skip or simply dumped on the side of the road, i get all tingly with excitement; like xmas in reverse. I am the vengeful ghost of christmas past and my revenge is the gift of life for things which have been left for dead.