Archive by Author

Welcomed Confusion

19 Mar

The problem with being an author is that you can never predict what will be successful. Or so I’ve come to learn rather jarringly, over the last couple of weeks. Of course, I’ve had books that weren’t very successful, before now. But the thing about the unsuccessful books is: I always just assumed it was because I’m not a very good writer. Or because no one knows who I am. Or because I’m a complete and utter failure.

And then came Sheltered.

I don’t think it’s better written than any of my other books. When I read over it, it’s noticeably my style – whatever that may be. And I didn’t promote it more than other books, or have a suddenly bigger presence when it released. It’s not the magical tenth book that mystically makes your backlist pay off.

And yet it’s had more attention, more discussion, more adds on Goodreads and more reviews at EC than nearly all of my other books. The only two that exceed it are Past Pleasures (because it was free at ARE for a week, about a year ago) and Control (I think because it had the same title as a book that won a big award the same week as its release).

So there’s always been reasons, before, for the small successes of my books. Outside reasons, that have nothing to do with me. But Sheltered doesn’t even have that. I don’t know what it has. I’ve spent the last week and a half in a daze, trying to fathom a market I thought I already knew.

And here’s what I think I might have worked out:

1. Readers really, really, really like virgin heroines and punk heroes. REALLY. And though I knew this before, I don’t think I fully processed the idea that if I wrote a virgin heroine and a punk hero, people would want to buy my book, too. I still somehow thought that I’m just a nobody, and that no one would care.

2. Word of mouth is everything. Again, this is something I knew. But still – seeing it in action when applied to my book is something else altogether. I never thought one of my books would be talked about in the way I’ve seen this one talked about – though don’t get me wrong. There’s not been discussion up and down the internet. It’s just a small amount that’s big to me.

3. A big name author extending a hand (and a review) to a small name author can mean a lot. Which is why I’m now going to thank Katie Reus for being her gracious, thoughtful, wonderful self.

And that’s it. That’s all I know. I’m not sure what to take from this – is publishing just a crapshoot? Or is it a confluence of things that help make a book a (small) success? Maybe it’s just everything all together, somehow – or maybe I’m just dreaming all of this up. Could be that I’ve sold about three copies, who knows?

But either way, it’s been a very, very good, and very heartening week and a half. And if I can share any measure or any idea as to how this happens with everyone else, I will do. Katie Reus paid it forward to me. I’m going to pay it forward to anyone who will listen.


P.S. If you’d like to try a bit of virgin heroine and sexy punk hero for yourself, you can get Sheltered here:

Or on the Kindle:

I’m Yours

5 Mar

My big problem at the moment isn’t writing. It’s actually deciding what to write. Which I guess sounds like a small problem, until you realise how deep this rabbit hole goes. It’s practically reached China, by this point. It’s gone past China and is currently on its way to outer space.

I’m hoping it will meet up with a robot Michael Fassbender aboard the starship Prometheus, pretty soon, and then we can finish being in an Alien movie together. In my version there are very few xenomorphs, and far more shots of him wandering aimlessly around the ship while naked, in some sort of commentary on the loneliness of the human condition by way of his immense cock.

So really it’s just Shame, in space. With a side order of what I was talking about, before:

My inability to decide on a project, or a chapter, or a paragraph, or a sentence. Which I think is illustrated nicely, by the above digression. I start on one thing, and end up in another. I’m sure I want to talk about writing, then find I’m discussing an awful movie made by Steve McQueen.

Because it is awful. Just when I didn’t think he could cram any more prudery and disapproval of sex into one movie, he goes and paints some married woman as a scarlet temptress at the end. I wanted to gouge out the movie’s eyes with my fingernails.

And then remake it in a way that seems far truer to the way Michael Fassbender really appears:

Hooray, look at my giant cock! Yay, I’m a giant happy shark running around bonking everything that walks, hooray!

Which isn’t exactly an existential commentary on anything. I’m not even sure what it is, to be honest. The Imaginary Adventures of Michael Fassbender In My Head, maybe. The contents of his camera phone, perhaps.

It certainly has nothing to do with my struggles with knowing if I’m good enough. Because really, that’s what my indecision boils down to: it’s that sense that I’m not worthy. It’s a lack of confidence in my own ideas and my own words, and an inability to have faith that this…this is the right path.

Even though everyone around me seems to have all the faith in the world, in their own work. They have no problems putting their ideas out there, and having concrete coated steel-plated faith in their stories…whereas I…

I’ve never had that.

I don’t know what I have. I only know that my head is full to the brim with a million threads that lead here and there and everywhere – from Wonderland, to outer space – and I do want to follow them. I want to follow them.

Just to tell me where you want me to go, threads. Okay?

Tell me, and I’ll go wherever you lead. I’m yours to command, yours to take into battle. Show me the door, and I’ll open it. Give me the sword, and I’ll fight with it. Tell me the codes for the starship Prometheus, and I’ll fly it the ends of the universe.


Attack Of The Giant MS Paint Penis

9 Jan

Oh dear. Somehow I seem to have not posted in my regular spot for about a hundred years. And although there are many things I could use as an excuse, here – Christmas, intense deadlines, Prince Charming forgetting to come and snog me awake – I know it’s all my fault. I let myself succumb to turkey comatose, and then trifle comatose, and then finally some weird buffet thing that could be filled with pureed frog for all I know comatose.

And as for the deadlines, well…we all know what happened there. I said yes to about eight things, then had to write them all at once. My hands are now keyboard claws and for about a month I went around with hair like an explosion in a wasp factory. It’s no wonder Prince Charming didn’t want to kiss me, and not only because I didn’t really specify where he had to do the kissing.

Yeah, you know where he had to do the kissing. Just to be clear: it’s not anywhere on my face. Or my top bit. Or my bottom bit. It’s really sort of more around the middle of my body – that’s right! You’ve guessed it!

I was looking for belly button. Belly button.

But anyway I totally digress about vaginas that kind of look like belly buttons, when what I really wanted to talk about was how much I want to make it up to the one and a half people that read my blog posts here. So without further ado, I present a million orsum things, to atone for my terrible absence:

Armie Hammer’s fabulous shoulder bits. Hooray!

A random nipple – ooooooh. Who could it belong to?

Now, here I wanted to have a picture of Michael Fassbender’s penis. He’s gone full frontal in a movie that’s been out for over a month, so reasonably speaking there should be some evidence of this online. Alas, however, there is not, which makes me wonder if seeing Michael Fassbender’s penis is kind of like watching that video tape in Ring, and if it happens you get a telephone call, and then a week later it crawls out of the TV and tries to kill you.

In which case, it’s perfectly understandable that some greedy fangurls would want to keep this information all to themselves. So instead, I’ve just got you this artist’s rendering of what the offending article might look like:

Disclaimer: looking at the MS Paint version will not make Michael Fassbender’s penis attack you through your TV. Apologies for any inconvenience this may cause, to your vagina.

And finally, here is a picture of Alex O’Loughlin’s now frankly enormous tramp stamp. Of course, we all know what that means, don’t we, ladies? Yes, Alex O’Loughlin is, in fact, an enormous tramp.

Orderly queues start somewhere around Bristol, so be prepared to walk underwater for several thousand miles.

And that is the end of my make-up post. I hope you’ve forgiven me. If you haven’t, then just stay tuned for my next post in two week’s time: Michael Fassbender’s Actual Penis.

P.S. My new novella, Doubled, comes out on Wednesday. Hooray! If you’re at all interested in gigantic hunky twins focussing all of their immense sexual prowess on one lucky girl, it can be found here:

Love Amongst The Zimmer Frames

17 Oct

It’s the weirdest thing. When I’m in the middle of writing something, I get bogged down. I start hating this bit, or that bit, or you know. All of it. But then once I’m done – although I convince myself that the finished article is so horrible that my editor is going to burn the pages and salt the earth afterwards, just to be sure the demon is exorcised – I start to miss it.

I miss my characters, as though they’ve become real people, in my head. It’s almost like I went on a vacation with them for a couple of months (or longer, depending on how willing I am to look in my edit file and uncover all the cuts and drafts and agony I went through, for these books), and now I not only have to say goodbye, I have to kind of kill them off.

They don’t exist, anymore. Their story is done. I can’t go on vacation with them same time next year, because they’ve faded away like David Bowie at the end of Labyrinth, to be replaced by people I don’t quite know yet.

It’s disconcerting. I mean, I’ve never been one of those writers who thinks they’re married on the astral plane to their characters. I’m not Anne Rice. But this time, the feeling’s been very strong. I just want my heroine to go back and party with the twins from Doubled all over again.

Though of course when I say party, I actually mean: go back and let them have sex all over her a hundred times. Not even a hundred times – a million. I just want it to be one big endless book, like The Neverending Story only without a giant penis-shaped dragon and that bit where he lets his fooking horse die.

No horses would die in the ongoing saga of my twins and the lucky girl they’re obsessed with. Though I guess I’d have to introduce at least some fantasy elements, because realistically I can’t have them all going at it in a retirement home. So I dunno…maybe they could all be secretly immortal?

Yeah, they’re all secretly immortal, and they stay forever gorgeous and more importantly: limber. I mean, I could have them all having sex in a retirement home at the age of ninety. But if I did so, I’d at least have to recognise how hugely limited I’d be with regard to sex positions.

Somehow,  I can’t quite imagine ancient versions of my characters doing piledrivers and reverse cowgirls, after they’ve had their seventeenth hip replacement. But I can imagine them eating a lot of ginger biscuits and talking about Downton Abbey, which while interesting is not half as sexy as the scene where the twin fook my heroine up and down the bed.

You see what you’ve done here, Jane Rylon? Yes, it’s Jane’s fault that I’m even considering all of this. There I was on Twitter, merrily missing my just finished stories in an oh well sort of way, when along comes Jane. “That’s what series are for!” she says.

And since she’s a genius, I have to obey. Look out for my next twenty books, ending in the obvious Booker Prize winner: “Love Amongst The Zimmer Frames”.

P.S. If you’d like to see a little snippet from my twins book – you know, just to reassure yourself that I’m not actually writing about ninety-year-olds performing sexual gymnastics – I posted it here:





Married Life

3 Oct

I’ve always liked writing stories about married couples. Maybe because there are set boundaries, then, and I like either a) messing with them or b) reinforcing them or c) doing both somehow at the same time.

Or possibly it’s because writing about a married couple means you don’t have to deal with any long and potentially yawnsome build-up. You can just wade right into the filthy stuff, because it’s not as though it’s weird when a wife turns to her husband and says hey, fancy piledriving me through the floorboards, tonight?

In fact, I’d say that’d be a point in said married couple’s favour, if they actually had conversations like that. It doesn’t look slutty or man-whorey or like they’ve just maybe lost their minds in front of a stranger who definitely doesn’t want to be piledrived. It just makes them adventurous, cool and still into each other.

Which is absolutely a positive, in a sexy book. I mean, conversely, no one wants to read about a married couple who are not adventurous, cool and still into each other.

Well – some people might. but those people were probably looking for the section of the book store labelled either “Get Me The Fook Out Of This Marriage Now” or “Gritty Realistic Literary Stories For When You Want To Have A Cry”.

Said people were probably not looking for exciting erotic romance, that might start out with a couple stuck in a rut, or maybe even a bit of Get Me The Fook Out Of This Marriage, but has to progress into YAY SEXY TIMES. I mean, that’s just a rule. And it’s a good rule, I feel, because I love writing about sexy times.

Which is why I wrote All Other Things, my MMF/MFM tale of a married couple who are maybe a little bit bored and a tiny bit stuck between sections in the book store, until a kinky Irishman swaggers into their lives and mixes things up a bit.

Books are thrown everywhere. Piles are Driven – and no, I’m not talking about anything to do with haemarrhoids. I’m talking about full on, balls to the wall filthy fun, that you can get right here:


Oh, and by the way – if you fancy having a go at pitching an actual Ellora’s Cave editor, the pitch contest starts today! Don’t miss out, because I happen to know that this editor is magically delicious and totally amazeballs.

Good luck!




Mythical Beast

19 Sep

So there I am just merrily writing this story. It’s a good one, I think, and I’m enjoying writing it. Plus the heat level is through the goddamn roof and into next door’s garden, which always pleases me. Sometimes the heat level of my stories just sits in an easy chair and wants to eat a sandwich, and that’s never a good sign.

But no – this story is going okay. I like the characters. I like the heroine. I like everything about it except for one pretty big thing that I can’t seem to avoid no matter how hard I try…

It’s about guys who like to bonk each other, but also like women. Yep, that’s right. It’s my almost first foray into the world of bisexual delights, which I guess doesn’t really sound like a problem until you consider that almost all of the universe seems to think male bisexuality doesn’t actually exist.

I mean, all you have to do is traipse around the internet to see that. Bradley Cooper? Married a woman, dated many more, grabs boobs like there’s no tomorrow: gay. Can’t be bisexual. Bisexuality is just a thing people use to kid themselves, apparently.

In fact, you look at any sexuality rumour of some random celeb and the conclusion is the same: everyone is gay. No-one is bisexual. Bisexuality is like some Mythical Beast that haunts the IMDB message boards, frightening the children when they least expect it and devouring everything gay and straight in its path.

People scream when they see it coming. So my question is: are they going to scream when they read my story?

I just can’t shake the feeling that it’s a completely unrealistic fantasy, to imagine two guys experimenting in college, one guy getting married, and then all three of these characters having some fun years later. And not just because of the whole “could a married couple really invite a third person into their marriage and not implode” element.

It’s the Mythical Beast I keep coming back to. I like things to be as real as possible in my stories, and this great big many-limbed partially see-through thing keeps stomping all over things like sense and veracity. The Mythical Beast howls into the night: this is just a fantasy of Charlotte’s! She’s a pervert who wants to see Brandon Routh and Armie Hammer getting it on!

And that’s before I even getting into the fact that I’ve based my heroes on the aforementioned fellas. Because seriously:

Are you going to tell me the world wouldn’t collapse in on itself if these two got together? I’ve got to believe that something bad would happen. That’s just too much hotness for the world to deal with. I’m not even sure they could stand in the same room together without causing a seismic shift in the space-time continuum.

Doc Brown would definitely come and Great Scott us, for that shit.

And yet I’m writing it anyway. I want to write it. I don’t care if people think male bisexuality doesn’t exist – it exists in my head, okay? And for far too long men have gotten away with putting together the most ludicrous FF fantasies in the name of their loins, so I don’t think I’m really overstepping some uncharted mark.

I hope. I think. Oh God, what if I am?


Threesomes and Moresomes

5 Sep

Of all the popular genres (MM, BDSM, cowboys, werewolves), I’ve got to say – menage is my favourite. I mean, I’ve tried to write BDSM. But the problem is I write it backwards. I write it with some guy on his knees wearing a collar while crying, while most readers seem to want the opposite.

They want a girl tied to the headboard, while all I dream about is Brandon Routh squirming and begging my heroine not to. I’m weird like that. And I’m weird in that I’m not particularly taken by cowboys, either. Don’t get me wrong – I can get into a good cowboy story. I love Emma Holly’s Top of Her Game.

I just can’t write it, because really, what do I know about cowboys? I live in West Yorkshire. The nearest we’ve got to cowboys is the guy who failed to gravel your drive properly and then nicked off with your 500 quid.

It’s not the stuff fantasies are made of.

And though I do love a good werewolf (ahhhhh, Michael Sheen), I doubt my fave werewolf fantasy would score high on anyone else’s dance card. I realise that werewolf fantasies are usually about some big beast man taking you hairily on a windy moor.

Whereas mine are a little more…some big hairy woman taken Armie Hammer beastily on the bed she’s chained him to. You know. Because he’s a danger to himself and others, and if she lets him stop having sex with her he’ll maraude around York city centre.

But then we get to menage. Threesomes. More than two people! Hurrah! A genre I can write! Because oh, I love menage. I love tangling bodies up until I can’t remember who put which leg where. I love accidentally having the heroine’s bra taken off twice, because there are so many men wanting to do it I forgot that it’s already happened.

I love mouths everywhere, hands everywhere, and more importantly and honestly:

Cocks everywhere.

I mean, if one cock on its own is truly excellent and sexy, than what’s two cocks? What’s three? Does the bliss just multiply, exponentially? I think it does.

Which is why I love writing threesomes, and probably also why I have two books out this week which feature varying degrees of cockage.

On the one hand, we’ve got Guarded. It was written for the Bollywood theme that Total-E-Bound did, but really it was just an excuse to do a full on, Arabian nights, hot steamy sexing fantasy world threesome with a Princess and her two bodyguards.


Here’s the blurb for it, if you fancy taking a look:

Their duty is to protect and guard, but their desires want more…

When Amina is captured by the Maharaja of Hadad and forced to read his prophetic scrolls, all she can think of is escape. But then Ashan and Orin are assigned to guard her, and they’re giving her some thoughts she’s sure she shouldn’t be having.

They’re both big, they’re both handsome, and they’re both sworn to protect, guard and be by her side at all times – something which proves increasingly difficult as the steamy nights get longer and their desire for each other reaches boiling point. When she next runs, they’re right on her tail, and this time they have more for her than bound hands and stern words. They’ve got their own needs, and they mean to satisfy them…

And the link:

Where you can also find an excerpt, along with other amazeballs stories under the Bollywood theme from such luminaries as Justine Elyot and Victoria Blisse!

And now shameless promoing part two:

My full length foursome novel, Telling Tales. And yeah, okay, the foursome includes a girl. But it’s all just girls getting it on with dudes and dudes getting it on with dudes and the occasionally foray into dudes getting it on with dudes and dudes and dudes because I never mentioned MM as one of the genres I don’t want to write, did I?

Oh no I did not.

It’s not the official release of Telling Tales (that’s November 17th), so you can only get it on the Kindle and at ARE at the moment. But at ARE you can get it for $4.99, currently! Bargain!

Here’s the blurb:

Allie has held a brightly burning torch for Wade since college. They were part of a writing group together, and everything about those days with him, Cameron and Kitty fills her with longing. All of her old and most decadent fantasies are coming back to her as though they never left, and when their former Professor leaves them his rambling mansion in his will, it’s a chance for them all to reunite.

But there’s more than friendship bubbling beneath the surface. As secrets are revealed and relationships rekindled, the stories get dirtier and the stakes get higher. And now Allie’s realized that she isn’t quite sure who she wants…fun-loving Wade, or quiet, restrained Cameron.

Neither of them have been honest with her about their feelings. And now all four have the chance to act on the tales that ignite their most primal desires.

And the links:

And now I’m going to go have a release day party! Cheers!

ETA: If you’re interested, I’m having a competition at my blog to win copies of the above books! Just stop by and comment.

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