behind-the-book-with-emma-petersen

Hello SFC and Company,

For those of you who don’t know me my name is Emma Petersen. I write inspirational contemporaries, paranormals and eroticas. Okay, so maybe not eroticas. And maybe my contemps and paras aren’t “inspirational” in the traditional sense but I’d like to think my work is still rather inspiring.

I’ve been writing with the intent of publication for about 2 years now but always remember loving the written word throughout my life. My first published story, Branded was released in August two years ago and with that story I started on my journey to my journey to a career as a novelist.

I say Branded started me on a journey to get to my ultimate journey, because like my heroine in Branded, I was a novice. Unlearned, untied, pure. (Ha. Okay, not pure. I don’t think I’ve ever been pure.) I came into this like a baby colt unable to get my legs under me to take the first couple of necessary steps. (What is up with me and these analogies? Seriously. Baby colt?)

It’s now two years later and what has that little green girl who wrote a dirty book about barnyard sex learned?

1. In this genre you either bend or you break.
2. The only thing consistent in this genre is change.
3. And nothing worth having comes easy. (Le sigh. I have a dirty mind because writing the words comes and easy together made me snicker. Don’t pretend you didn’t too. Okay, so maybe you didn’t. You’re probably a little or lot more mature than I am.)

These are the best lessons learned in my journey because to be honest, I don’t easily bend, am extremely resistant to change and haven’t really had to work for a damn thing in my life.

But ooooh boy have I worked for this writing thing. I’ve put in work (hehe) like a drunk guy at a Applebee’s. (Forgive me. Tasteless inside joke.) I’ve put in work and I’ve bent and I’ve changed. At times I wanted to throw my hands up and quit. Whine that it was too hard, too random, too unfair. (Hell, who am I kidding? I have whined about it. Ask Amie.) And even though I’ve quit a thousand times something keeps calling me back. Because in spite of the self doubt, fear of failure and success (Hush. I know I have issues. And no my therapist doesn’t help.) I can’t stop. Believe you me, I have tried yet…

I can’t quit you. Well, not you, the writing. I’m sure if I loved you as much as I loved (hated.) writing I wouldn’t be able to quit you either. And it’s amazing because despite the rejections, slap downs and general fucknuttiness (Can I say fucknuttiness?) this genre can put a person through, this is who I am. What I am. A romance writer and whether I never make it to New York (I am going to make it to New York.) I’ll keep on writing. I’ll keep on changing, evolving and I’ll keep on enduring the fucknuttiness because that’s what I was born to do.

Whew, that was a long post wasn’t it? And what was up with all the parenthesis? Anywho, once again I’d like to thank the spicy, crunchy chicas for welcoming me into their home. Before I go, please share with me. What have you learned in your journey?

This post has been brought to you by the letter F (fucknuttiness) by parenthesis ( ) and the insanity that is Emma Petersen. If this post scared you and you’d like Emma to continue therapy you can support her by buying her dirty inspirational little tale, Master of the Game. Coming from Ellora’s Cave July 18th. You can read an excerpt here. Leave a comment (today only) and you’ll be entered to win a copy of her upcoming ebook, Master of the Game. Visit Emma Petersen here.


Blurb:

Never particularly adventurous, Erin’s used her single mom status as an excuse to not live her life. But her sonmasterofthegame_sm.jpg is away at school and suddenly she finds herself in the middle of a “Pain and Play” party with her best friend. Leather, floggers and bare skin as far as the eye can see.

Promising Nicci she’ll stay at the party, her outfit malfunctions and she needs a place to hide. She finds refuge in an empty pool house, but it’s not really empty. It’s occupied by Liam, a sexy dominant. Tall, gorgeous and dangerous, he’s just what Erin needs, though she doesn’t know it. Until he shows her, along with several other dirty, naughty things.

Excerpt from Chapter One

“I don’t normally do things like this.”
It wasn’t the first time Liam had heard those words, but it was the first time in a long time he believed them. “Like what, love? Talk to strange men in candlelit pool houses?” he joked, trying to put her at ease. He could see the indecision in her eyes, the rational side no doubt telling her to run and that was the last thing he wanted. “Do you want to play a game?”
A frown creased her brow at his abrupt change of subject. “A game?”
Liam nodded. “It’s called Master, May I.”
Her brow winkled and he knew she was trying to figure out what the game would entail. “Master, May I? I’ve heard of Mother, May I, but never Master.”
“Do you want to play, Erin?” He didn’t know why he was pushing. He hadn’t played the type of game he had in mind in a very long time and the last time he had, it had left him cold and unsatisfied. But this time, with this woman, he knew it would be different.
“Ho-how do you play?” The tremor in her voice was endearing, but it was also hot as hell because it meant she was already well on her way to where he wanted her to be.
Leaning down, he buried his face in the soft curve of her neck and breathed in her scent. His cock twitched as she stiffened and then, with a low moan, relaxed against him. God, she smelled good—subtly of jasmine, sandalwood and something spicy he couldn’t place.
“All you have to do is remember three rules.” He licked the side of her neck, groaning as her pulse sped up beneath his mouth. Clutching her hips he pulled her closer to his body. “One, until we’re done playing, my name is Master.” Another lick. “Two, anytime you want to stop all you have to do is say the word apple. And three, you can’t come until I say you can. If you think you’ve reached the point where you don’t think you can hold off any longer, all you have to do is ask.”
Pulling back, he looked into her eyes, trying to gauge her reaction. They were wide, her full lips parted, her breath coming in soft pants. She was with him. Hell, she was more than with him—she was a little ahead of him.
“Now what will you say when you want me to let you come?”
Her soft brown eyes fluttered shut and color rode high on her cheeks. “Master, may I?”
“And what will you say when you no longer want to play?”
“Apple.”

Liam swatted her bottom, enjoying the way her breath hitched as the flat of his hand connected with her ass. “Good girl.”