Julie is a good friend, one of my first crit partners and a very talented writer. Today she joins us to talk about her latest release CLOSE ENCOUNTERS, a collaboration with one of her childhood friends, current crit partner, and fellow writer, Kathy Love.
What’s more, Julie is giving one lucky commentor a free copy of Close Encounters! So don’t be shy, de-lurk and say Hi.
Edited to add: BH Dark has picked a winner! Dee, Julie will get in touch with you (or vice versa) so see what format you prefer. Congratulations to you Dee…Thank you to everyone who participated and WTG, Julie and Kathy on your debut with Samhain!
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Weird Questions, by B. H. Dark
I’ve been a writer for a little while now and while it’s still the best job in the universe, I sort of forget how generally weird it is. For example, this afternoon I went to a kid’s birthday party and was standing around with the other moms, talking.
“What did you do this morning?” one of them asked, and everyone else answered stuff like, oh, we went to the park, or the library, or shopping.
I said, “I waited until my kid took a nap and then I wrote a sex scene. Oh, but in the middle of it I had to call this cemetery to ask if the crypts would collapse if people got up on top of them.”
Fortunately my friends are used to this sort of thing from me, but it does tend to remind me that other people just don’t have to think this way. For example, I’m pretty sure normal people don’t sit around wondering what would happen if you were abducted by aliens, pumped full of pheremones, and forced to have sex with a total stranger against the wall of a blue tube. Like…what would you talk about with this person, afterwards? The weather?
Here’s a little excerpt from our book CLOSE ENCOUNTERS, out tomorrow, which examines this very question:
“Are you in pain?’ Beau asked.
“I’m fine.” Cassandra’s voice trembled.
“I’m so sorry. I don’t usually grab total strangers and have sex with them against a wall of a blue tube. Especially if–” He tried to think of a tactful way to say it, but he couldn’t. “You were a virgin, weren’t you?” He winced at his own words.
In answer she peered around the room. “How do you think we get out of here?”
“Damn!” He slammed his fist against the outside of the blue tube. “Cassie, I am so sorry.”
“Stop apologizing!” From her expression, the loudness of her voice startled her, too.
He didn’t say it. But he thought it. This was all his fault.
Okay, there was no way he could have known she was a virgin, what with the hot kissing and her hands all over him. She was beautiful and passionate and horny, and those attributes didn’t scream “Beware! Virgin Alert!’ in his head.
But he’d felt the barrier, the tearing, and he hadn’t stopped. Or not for more than a split second, and then he’d been pumping away at her like a horny hound dog. No finesse, no tenderness. Only lust.
“Are you–you’re not engaged or anything, are you?” he asked. There. That wasn’t an apology.
“Do I look like an engaged person?”
“No.” She looked adorable, and confused, and upset, and too small for his leather jacket. But she didn’t look engaged.
“You’re not like in training to be a nun, though, right?”
She glared at him. “I’m a Unitarian.”
What’s the weirdest question your life, writing or otherwise, has led you to ask, lately?
For a longer excerpt go here.
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