Monday, 19 April 2010

Back on Track?

I have a to-do list that’s been eating at me for a couple of weeks. Time to stop procrastinating and just get on with it. I have a co-author book I need to write my chapter on, plus I have a novel I need to write. Easter threw me off course, so now I’m back on track and plan to write starting today.

She says…

Friday, 16 April 2010

Soul Keeper - Erotic Excerpt

By reading any further, you are stating that you are at least 18 years of age. If you are under the age of 18, it is necessary to exit this site.

An Excerpt From: SOUL KEEPER

Copyright © NATALIE DAE, 2010

All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.

Pressing her lips to his, she searched for his tongue. Rob’s arms encircled her waist, his fingers massaging her ass through her coat. The fabric an annoying barrier, she brought her hands between them and undid the top two buttons. His hands left her ass, came up to grip her wrists, and he broke the kiss.

“You’re taking your coat off?”

His widened eyes and the surprise in his voice pushed laughter from her, and she moved her hands down to the third button. His grip loosened, then he glanced back up the path before returning his gaze to her face. With shaking hands, he undid the fourth button and opened her coat. Rob sucked in a breath.

“You only have underwear on? Jesus Christ, woman!”

She laughed again, head thrown back, and his lips met her exposed neck. Shivers of delight wended up and down her spine, the heat of his breath and the cold winter air inciting a rash of goose flesh to pepper her skin. His hands snaked inside her coat, palms trailing up and down her waist, thumbs smoothing over her rib cage. Carrie lowered her head, watched him taking in the sight of her body, and fuck, she wanted him inside her now.

Shirking off her coat, she handed it to him. He draped it over one arm and, mouth agape, stared at her as she walked backward to the gate.

“Come on,” she said, the thrill of being so wanton, so daring, spiking her need.

Carrie turned her back to him and raised one foot, placing it on a gate rung. His sharp intake of breath made her want to laugh with the power she had over this shy, beautiful man. With one foot on the rung above the other, she hoisted her leg over and sat on the top rail, hands gripping it so she didn’t fall. She turned her head to face him, the cold metal heaven on her hot cunt.

“Are you game?” she asked, eyebrows rising.

“Aren’t you cold?” He stepped toward her, the coat held out so she could put it on.

Carrie swung one leg over and lowered herself into the field. Hand on hips, she sucked in her tummy and pushed out her chest. “You coming in?”

Rob hung the coat over his arm again, his mouth working to speak but no sound coming out. The streetlight at the far end of the narrow path enveloped him, lent his flushed cheeks a peach tinge. He blinked, eyes wide, and lifted one foot to the gate.

He shook his head. “You are crazy. What have I got myself into?” He smiled and climbed over the gate, dropping to the other side. Coat held out once more, he coaxed, “Come on, sweetheart. Put this back on. Please. I don’t want you getting cold.”

Carrie bent down to remove her shoes and sidestepped away from the gate.

“Love,” he said, “There’s probably cow’s shit in here. And you’ve got bare feet!”

An unstoppable giggle burst from her mouth, and she turned from him and ran along the tree line. His sigh of defeat chased her on the breeze, and soon his footsteps followed. She swung around and ran in reverse, toes digging into the wet, mulch-ridden ground. Out of breath from the exhilaration flying through her, she slowed to a stop beside a huge oak. Its branches stretched over them, the leafless limbs useless in protecting them should it rain. Backing up, she rested her ass and shoulders against it, the bark damp on her skin, its mossy aroma sharp in her nose. She dropped her shoes.

Rob caught up and stood a few feet before her, coat clutched in his fists. Carrie widened her legs, nestling her feet against roots that jutted from the ground. The cold air a balm on her hot skin, she brought one hand to rest on her stomach, the other to her lips. She sucked her index finger, then pulled it out, licking its length with deliberate slowness.

“God, Carrie. Stop!” Rob peered through the trees to the main road. A car whooshed by. “Someone will see us!”

“No they won’t.” She stared at him, lowering her finger to one breast, circling the nipple through the satin bra. Her other hand slid toward her crotch, and she cupped it, pressing the heel against her clit. “Come here.”

He looked from her to the coat and held it up, glancing around for a place to put it.

“Sling it on the ground and come and fuck me.”

Wednesday, 14 April 2010

Must. Wake. Up!

I stumbled out of bed this morning, literally, and, half asleep, visited the bathroom. A black ‘thing’ sat on the floor, and I whipped my foot back, holding in the scream of alarm because the kids were still asleep. Only to find the black thing was my sock-encased foot. Feeling rather silly, I did the morning bathroom efforts and staggered downstairs. Staggered sounds over the top, but stagger I did. I popped—and just then, still half asleep, I wrote pooped—a teabag and sweeteners in my cup and went outside for my morning cigarette. Finished, I came back in, drank 2 glasses of water, then poured kettle water into my tea cup.

“Oh, crap! I haven’t boiled the kettle.” Mumble-mumble-sniff.

Today has started out badly, as though I’m in a world alien to my own, where furniture isn’t where it’s supposed to be and things are off-kilter. I’m typing this and wondering when, exactly, I’m going to wake up. I’ve been busy lately, so being tired isn’t any surprise, but this tired?

Oh, dear God, please send me an infusion of wakefulness that changes me from this needing-matchsticks-for-my-eyes freak into Wonder Woman.

I can only assume I’ll either fully wake at some point or continue my day much like it began, the latter being a nightmare of cock-ups. I wouldn’t mind if the cock-ups made their way into my manuscript, because that would mean I’ll have completed a sex scene I have waiting in my latest book, but somehow I know it isn’t going to happen.

Hmm. This day holds unseen treasures, waiting to be tripped over, curses rolling off my tongue. Now, there’s one more prayer I must utter before I slap myself silly and wander around telling myself to get a grip.

Please, if I get edits returned today, give me the strength to complete them without making a complete and utter prat of myself. Thank you.

Dae's Dilemma

I’m seriously bad at blogging and promotion. Not something I should be admitting, right? But admit it I have. I think it stems from my personality of not being able to ‘push’ myself at people. I think there’s a fine line between getting on people’s nerves with promotion and getting it right. I prefer the ‘this is me’ approach, where readers get to know me over ‘hey, look! I have a book out! Go and buy it!’, although the I-have-a-book-out approach is also necessary for an author. Sigh. What to do?

I also know from past experience that to get your name noticed you’re probably better off blog-hopping. This is lethal for me. If I blog-hop, I end up writing nothing that day, and with no books to offer readers, it makes for a vicious circle, because if you don’t leave comments on blogs no one knows of your existence unless they go to your publisher’s site and see your name, and if you spend time reading blogs and leaving comments you don’t have any books to offer anyway.


Maybe the best approach is to have one day where I blog-hop. One whole day of poking around and reading other people’s posts. Heaven. But then the guilt would kick in…

I could have written 3K today, but I was indulging in blogland…

I guess I need to have a weekly plan. It would go something like this:

  • Monday: Write as Natalie Dae
    Tuesday: Do housework and write as Natalie Dae
    Wednesday: Write as Other Name 1
    Thursday: Write as Other Name 2
    Friday: Write some on a YA book, which, if accepted means Other Name 4
    Saturday: BLOG HOP! Yeehaw!
    Sunday: Day off? Roughly translates to BLOG HOP! (Oh, this is too bloody fantastic!)

Now, can I stick to that? Can I switch between writing four books? No! One book might grip me for days, and to leave it like a lost child in a supermarket would be too cruel.

Ugh! Such a quandary!

Okay, guys, I’m going to try this new regime. Try. How do you do it?