Selah March

February 10, 2009

Help. There’s a piano in my kitchen and I can’t get up.

Filed under: Family,Fictionwise,New release,Reviews,Writing — Selah March @ 5:05 pm

Let me ‘splain.

No, there is too much.

Let me sum up.

It’s not a large kitchen. Not for a family of five. Which makes sense, as it’s in the middle of a rather small house – too small to easily accommodate even relatively slight renovations like the refinishing of floors and the painting of rooms while said family is in residence.

And yet…

The piano? It doesn’t fit in any room that isn’t currently undergoing renovation. Except, of course, the kitchen. Which is also the only room where there is currently any seating. And the room where the dogs live. And the room where the kids do their homework, and my husband does charting late into the night.


It gives a whole new perspective on how the pioneers lived, which is to say ON TOP OF EACH OTHER.

Me? I like my solitude. Over the past ten days, when I’m not struggling to put a meal on the covered-with-sawdust table or fighting for three square feet around the sink to wash dishes, I’ve been locked in my bedroom – and sometimes my van – trying to write.


Another week and it’s all over. No more floor-sanders or paint fumes or workmen in their BIG, LOUD BOOTS. The piano returns to its rightful place of honor in the space that once was a dining room and is now a family room-slash-office. No more hot dogs served in the master bedroom because the kitchen table is unusable. No more drinking straight from the two-liter bottle of Coke Zero so I have fewer dishes to wash.

So to everyone whose emails and phone messages I’ve read and heard but didn’t have time to answer, and all my crit partners whose work I’ve neglected in the midst of my season in Renovation Hell, I apologize, and plead extenuating circumstances (several of which I haven’t mentioned here). I’ll get with you shortly and spill all the horrific details.

That’s not a promise. More of a threat, in fact.

In the meantime, YEAR OF THE CAT made Amber Allure’s Top Ten Bestseller list for January, and garnered a couple of really nice reviews.

4 Stars from Rainbow Reviews: “Year of the Cat is the tale of Etienne and Jacques, their adventures, and is, in the end, a tale of love and redemption. Full of densely woven images, [Year of the Cat] does not disappoint.” ~Carole, Rainbow Reviews

4.5 Nymphs from Literary Nymphs: “Selah March writes of love, betrayal, forgiveness and personal-growth in Year of the Cat. Etienne has lived in his books and has no ‘street smarts’. Jacques has lived, done what he must to survive and has no qualms taking necessary risks. From the moment they met, Jacques felt something for the younger man that he wasn’t ready to identify. There were moments where I wanted to hit Jacques with a skillet, but I had to remember this was Etienne’s adventure; his time to learn and grow. There were hard lessons and sacrifices made by both men, but love is a powerful tool. This is definitely a story you don’t want to miss.” ~Scandalous Minx, Literary Nymphs Reviews

Also, WILD HORSES is now available at Fictionwise.


One week. I hear that’s a century in piano-in-the-kitchen years.

January 25, 2009

Release day!

Filed under: New release,Writing — Selah March @ 3:55 pm



Genre: homoerotic romance/historical fantasy/shapeshifter/BDSM/fairy tale

Publisher: Amber Allure/Amber Quill Press

Purchase link:

Sweet-natured Etienne LeFevre must give up his birthright and flee into the snow-covered forest to save himself from the murderous greed of his brutish elder brothers. When Etienne ends up alone and hungry, with a ramshackle cottage his only shelter and a feral cat his only friend, he believes himself doomed to a sad, cold death.

But out of the shadows of the night arrives a visitor who brings comfort. He presents himself as a servant, but the man called “Jacques” spends the long hours instructing Etienne in the cruel delights of a disciplined passion.

Jacques is gone with the morning light, but Etienne thinks he knows the stranger’s secret. Will he tame the beast that lurks within his lover? Or will he find himself a victim of the bitter rage that rules Jacques’ heart?

Based on the classic French fairy tale, “Puss In Boots,” this story explores what happens when the servant becomes the master, and the master lives to serve.

* * *


Etienne struggled to find his voice. “I know nothing of passion. I am…untouched.”

Jacques’ lips quirked in a sinister smile. “So sweet, like spun sugar. I fear you’ll rot my very teeth.”

The kiss Jacques pressed upon Etienne’s mouth tasted of salt and iron, and awakened in Etienne a delirious kind of hunger. He found himself clutching at Jacques’ shoulders, tearing at the sleeves of his coat with his sore fingers. When Jacques pulled aside the collar of Etienne’s shirt and licked at the line of flesh he’d revealed, Etienne stifled a moan.

“No, mon petit, let me hear your cries,” Jacques murmured, his words setting a heated buzz against Etienne’s skin. “Let me lap them from the hollow of your throat.”

Etienne fought, at war with his traitorous body. “Monsieur, please, I do not—”

“Hush,” Jacques whispered and caught Etienne’s chin in his hand. The pupils of his eyes had taken on a strange, slitted appearance as he gazed into Etienne’s face. “You’ll only tire yourself, and gain nothing for the effort.”

“But you said you wished to be my servant in all things, monsieur. Yet you would take me without my consent?”

“I would coax your consent from its hiding-place and make it sing out like the bells of Notre Dame on Christmas morning.”

His words sounded like nothing less than the simple truth. Etienne stilled himself against the hard cottage floor, his body not entirely limp with submission.

December 17, 2008

Update re: M/M Romance Goes Mainstream.

Filed under: blah blah blah,Excerpt,Industry,WIP,Writing — Selah March @ 10:38 am

Remember Running Press and their upcoming experiment with releasing m/m romance as actual romance? (

Looky! Covers!



Ah, spring…when a young man’s mind turns to thoughts of BOOTAY in BREECHES…

Congratulations to Erastes and Alex. April can’t get here soon enough.

NON SEQUITUR ALERT: So am I the last one in the known world to discover Erotica Cover Watch? Why didn’t somebody TELL ME?? I mean, aside from the obvious attraction of Man Candy Monday, the posts themselves are a freakin’ HOOT. Plus, Mathilde and Kristina make several excellent points, which I shall not list here and now because I’m supposed to be writing, and I fear my brilliant and ever-stylish crit partner may break out the flogging implements if I don’t send her…let’s see…yes, the breath-play chapter is up next.

But first, an excerpt from Chapter 4 of Year of the Cat, my WIP based on Perrault’s Puss in Boots, because I can write historical-buttsexin’-boys, too…except mine’s more pseudo-historical, and includes shape-shifting and BDSM and a spot of forced seduction. Details, details…


All evidence to the contrary, Etienne was neither a halfwit nor a fool.

Impractical? Certainly.

Guileless? Without a doubt.

But in one particular subject, Etienne possessed no peer — the study of the supernatural. Indeed, his late and deeply lamented father had often expressed concern over the hours his youngest son spent poring over tales of the gruesome and fantastical. From children’s fairy stories to the journals of long-dead sorcerers to grim accounts of witch-hunts and burnings, Etienne’s appetite for the otherworldly was insatiable. Paradoxically, ’twas from this investigation of the inhuman that Etienne developed his most apt observations of humanity — for how better to learn the ways of good, decent men than to study the depravity of monsters?

Therefore, by the time he’d lingered three-quarters of an hour in the company of the man who called himself “Jacques,” Etienne knew his visitor to be a scoundrel, a villain…and quite possibly not a man at all.

None of this kept Etienne from accepting Jacques’ apparent generosity. For ’twould take a halfwitted fool, indeed, to reject warmth on a freezing night, meat for an empty belly or a healing touch on bloody wounds.

But the blaze in the fireplace no longer seemed to burn so brightly — not when compared to the glittering amber of Jacques’ eyes.

“Pray, tell me,” he purred, “what do you know of passion?”

Etienne could only stare. He went on staring even as Jacques loomed over him, caught his face between his large hands and growled, “Tell me, mon petit.”

Etienne struggled to find his voice. “I know nothing of passion. I am…untouched.”

Jacques’ lips quirked in a sinister smile. “So sweet, like spun sugar. I fear you’ll rot my very teeth.”

The kiss Jacques pressed upon Etienne’s mouth tasted of salt and iron, and awakened in Etienne a delirious kind of hunger. He found himself clutching at Jacques’ shoulders, tearing at the sleeves of his coat with his sore fingers. When Jacques pulled aside the collar of Etienne’s shirt and licked at the line of flesh he’d revealed, Etienne stifled a moan.

“No, mon petit, let me hear your cries,” Jacques murmured, his words setting a heated buzz against Etienne’s skin. “Let me lap them from the hollow of your throat.”

Etienne fought, at war with his traitorous body. “Monsieur, please, I do not—”

“Hush,” Jacques whispered and caught Etienne’s chin in his hand. The blacks of his eyes had taken on a strange, slitted appearance as he gazed into Etienne’s face. “You’ll only tire yourself, and gain nothing for the effort.”

“But you said you wished to be my servant in all things, Monsieur. Yet you would take me without my consent?”

“I would coax your consent from its hiding-place and make it sing out like the bells of Notre Dame on Christmas morning.”

His words sounded like nothing less than the simple truth. Etienne stilled himself against the hard cottage floor, his body not quite entirely limp with submission.


December 15, 2008

Kibbles and Bits III

Filed under: blah blah blah,Industry,Reviews,shameless bragging,Writing — Selah March @ 8:11 pm

“I’ll come ’round sometime and get that squeak outta yer door.” ~Roux, Chocolat

One of the most suggestive lines of dialogue ever uttered in a movie. Of course, Johnny Depp’s filthy smirk helps the innuendo along, as does the long, loving look he gives Juliette Binoche’s ass as he says it, but still it makes me positively puce with envy every single time. Why can’t I write a line as witty and sexy as that?

Chocolat is one of my favorite flicks, not only for the subtle use of imagery within its language, but also for its amazing visuals. Where else does the dipping of a ladle into a basin of liquid chocolate evoke a slow, sweet fuck between strangers?

I’m trying to capture that kind of imagery in my current WIP, Year of the Cat — a homoerotic, BDSM-infused retelling of Perrault’s Puss in Boots. (Wipe from your minds Antonio Banderas’ cutesy performance in Shrek 2. Adorable as he is, I’m going for something darker and more sexually menacing in a hero this time around. And as a matter of fact, Johnny Depp fills that bill nicely…though not the Chocolat version. I’ve dug out my DVD copy of The Libertine and I’m watching it compulsively…right up to the part where syphilis-stricken-Johnny’s nose starts to rot off his face. Then I hit rewind because we’re writing erotic romance here, and reality – no matter how historically accurate – need not apply.)

Anyway. The kind of visceral imagery found in Chocolat isn’t easy to translate to the page. I’ve tried before and failed. How does one capture the glint of moonlight off a devilish grin, or the exact shade of a pink in a young man’s (or woman’s, but this month we’re all about the boysexin’) cheeks as he offers up his virtue to a cruel, mysterious stranger?

Meh. I’ll keep trying.

In the meantime, this is verra verra interesting (thanks for the heads up from Karlene at RD):

“Running Press is getting into the fiction market with what it sees as a unique twist in historical romance — gay fiction written by and for straight women. The idea for the line came from Running president Jon Anderson and is based on what he sees as the growing interest in M/M stories reflected in the success of such projects as Brokeback Mountain and the television series Brothers and Sisters. Anderson has acquired the first titles in the line, which will be edited by Lisa Clancy, associate editorial director. The series will launch in April with Transgressions and False Colors. Two more titles are set for fall 2009.

Running v-p and associate publisher Craig Herman said the series will be positioned as a subgenre within romance and while the books will be ‘erotic, they will not be hardcover explicit,’ Herman explained. Running will promote the line through traditional romance outlets including advertising in Romantic Times and outreach through regional RWA chapters. Noting that the books will be shelved in the romance section rather than the erotica section, Running said the book will be ‘created to mirror romance novels, not gay erotica.’”

I’m pleased by this news, especially in light of a recent, rather discouraging discussion at RTB in which certain folks insisted M/M romance would never be a player in “traditional” romance publishing. And while Running Press isn’t Random House or Harper Collins, it’s a foot in the door, no?

So, yes, I’ve decided to be heartened. Mock my optimism at your peril, for ’tis a hormonal sort of day here at Dubious Virtue.

In other news, I’ve finally crossed over to the Dark Side that is LiveJournal. (See?? The color-scheme sort-of-almost MATCHES. But I have yet to receive my promised cookie.) And I’m on Goodreads, too, which is (apparently) like Facebook/MySpace, except less with the random hookups and more with the reading.

Finally, Whiskey Tango Foxtrot continues to accrue strokes and nuzzles and hair-pats from the romance review community. Me LIKEY.

“Readers who love a good horror story are going to find Whiskey Tango Foxtrot by Selah March to be a custom fit. This is a spine-chilling novella that puts its characters through a wringer and doesn’t let up on them for the duration of the story. Tom Mulvaney is somewhat pompous and arrogant, but he has a hidden insecurity that the entity is able to ferret out and use against him. Leo, who Tom calls a “brooding psychic Wonder Boy”, is a very reserved man with a stutter. When the evil spirit takes over his body, he loses the stutter and becomes much more aggressive, and this transformation is fascinating to watch as is the effect that it has on Tom. As the story progresses, the tension mounts to almost the point of combustion. Ms. March has portrayed evil very well, and this reader stayed glued to the story in horrified fascination until the very end. Well done!” ~4 Angels from Whitney at Fallen Angel Reviews

“Selah March has a written story that is sensual, exciting and chilling all at the same time. There were times when I was truly scared while reading Whiskey Tango Foxtrot. The haunted house takes on a life of its own. The sexual chemistry between Leo and Tom is exciting and very hot and I also enjoyed following the development of their relationship as they grow closer. This story had me on the edge of my seat until the end.” ~4 Blue Ribbons from Christina at Romance Junkies

March 14, 2008

Move along, little doggies.

Filed under: blah blah blah,WIP,Writing — Selah March @ 8:26 am

Nothing to see here. Today is a writing day, and that’s stupendously boring for everybody except my two angsty cowboys who may or may not be getting busy down by the pond behind the bunkhouse.

But over HERE, you can read how my brilliant and ever-fashionable crit partner, Barb Caridad Ferrer, did a lovely thing for my upcoming b-day (which I was trying to ignore, but whatev).

And over HERE, you can read her Romancing the Blog column, which is a little sad, but not so depressing that you’ll want to crawl back into bed or add a shot of Jack to your morning decaf.

Other than that, it’s all angsty cowboys, all the time ’round these here parts, I reckon. You have yourself a nice day. *tips imaginary Stetson, looks longingly at bottle of Jack*

February 5, 2008

DAY 54: Watch her wallow.

Filed under: blah blah blah,WIP,Writing — Selah March @ 4:50 pm

Can’t eat (unless you count the chocolate I’m not supposed to touch). Can’t sleep (unless you count three hours of dreams in which I’m chased through dark streets by evil monks). And the moon, she is on the wane, which means my body is deep in the Ninth Circle of Hormone Hell.

I’d go for a walk to clear my head, but it’s thundering. In the Northeast. In effing FEBRUARY. (But Global Warming is a mythical lefty construct, so I guess I’m just imagining that phenomenon, and so are my poor dogs, with the panting and the drooling and the trying to fit their big, furry butts under my chair.)

And the Book That Would Not Die? Is now, officially, UNdead. And haunting my ass (hence the dreams about evil monks). Even the kinky smut is hard going. Heh. I said “hard.”

My kingdom for a thousand decent, usable words a day. I’m lucky if I get five hundred.

My next book? Something MUCH lighter: More sexy cowboys doing each other in the hayloft. I can’t wait.

At least the cat is cute. – Romance of Dubious Virtue

October 31, 2007

Compare and Contrast: War of the HALLOWEENS

(Looking for the “Don’t be a Halloweenie” contest? Scroll down to the previous post.)

All righty, class. Today’s lesson is on the relative merits of remakes of classic horror movies. Would anyone like to address this topic?

Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?

WatcherDon! Go for it, dude.

“About two and a half years ago, Halloween began to frighten me again. The very word was enough to fill me with dread, but it wasn’t a spooky type of fear. It was one borne of a certain amount of dismay and tinged with despair. Rob Zombie was going to remake…no, wait…reIMAGINE the original John Carpenter classic “Halloween.”

Carpenter’s film was one of the only movies that ever really scared me when I was growing up. It remains, in fact, the only film that has ever given me nightmares, and it gave me quite a few of them over the years, especially as a teenager. It was one of the only movies that touched on my own fears and awakened my own sense of mortality. After all, if you didn’t want Jason Voorhees to hack you up, you could just stay out of the campsite with the awful reputation. If you were concerned about getting attacked in the shower, don’t stay in the creepy off-highway motel with the lonely manager. Stay away from the big house on top of the hill, the creepy castle, the graveyard at midnight. All of these seemed fairly logical ways to avoid sudden and terrifying death, right?

But “Halloween” brought it right into a suburban/small town neighborhood. Right into the home. Carpenter’s Michael Myers…or The Shape, as he was called in the shooting script, was Evil on two legs and he was hunting in living rooms and bedrooms that looked a lot like your own, on sidewalks and streets that could be right outside your door.

The other thing that terrified me about Carpenter’s little low-budget movie was the fact that it wasn’t as simple a matter as it’s so often described. Veteran producer Moustapha Akkad, who financed the first film and kept the series going through the years often repeated the initial pitch for the movie – “The babysitter to be killed by the bogeyman.” True, but there was another whole side to it.

Unlike Jason or Freddy, who typically had only their teen victims to contend with, Michael Myers had the machinery of authority out to stop him. The police were looking for him. His psychiatrist, arguably the single man who knew him best, was out to stop him. To me, this added a weight of realism that the other slasher films just didn’t generally have. After all, if a mad killer was stalking my neighborhood, I would take some comfort in the fact that the local police were on the lookout for him. But…they were looking for Michael…and it didn’t help.

As I grew older, of course, the sequels came along, some of which did their very best to undermine the effectiveness of the original. More kills, more blood, more “inventiveness” served largely to put Halloween adrift in the same sea of gore where all the other slashers lurked.

And now they had turned it over to Rob Zombie. The thought alone was enough to make my blood run cold. What would he do to my cherished childhood nightmare?

For those of you who avoid such things, Zombie has built himself an interesting reputation as a filmmaker. Like Tarantino, his interest is firmly embedded in the schlock of the grindhouse cinema, and his previous films House of 1,000 Corpses and The Devil’s Rejects were monuments to B-movie excess. Profane, guttural, gory, but handled with a to-hell-with-it attitude that forces the viewer to play along for the ride. Subtle, he’s not – and the subtlety of Carpenter’s version was always one of the things that made it work.

Recently I was able to acquire a workprint copy of Zombie’s “Halloween.” Please do not contact me to ask where I got it, because I am not at liberty to say. The workprint is substantially different from the theatrical release, and there is some hope that it will be released on DVD with the theatrical cut in a bonus package, but the details are still under negotiation. That being said, the workprint appears to have been Zombie’s original intention for the film, and the changes made to the theatrical version seem to reflect studio involvement afterward.

Carpenter’s original and now classic opening takes us from the point of view of the killer as he stalks and murders a teenage girl. The reveal at the end of the sequence shows that the killer is a six year old boy with a perfectly normal, almost angelic appearance.

Zombie sets out to take on all comers with his own opening. Michael is now about 10 years old, a misfit in a heavy metal tee shirt with a predilection for harming small animals and a simmering rage that threatens to boil over at any moment. His mother (played by Zombie’s wife, the beautiful but earthy Sheri Moon) is called into the school to meet with child psychologist Dr. Samuel Loomis (Malcolm McDowell.)

McDowell’s portrayal of Loomis is markedly different from Donald Pleasance’s obsessive and almost campy take on the role. McDowell’s Loomis is pompous and phony, a Rasputin-like character who spends the opening third of the film attempting touchy-feely methods of reaching young Michael before giving up on the young man entirely and embarking on a speaking tour to promote his book on the “evil” that lives behind Michael Myers’ eyes.

Like almost every male character in the picture, the younger Dr. Loomis sports scraggly, shoulder-length hair that appears to be a Zombie trademark. Everyone has it – Michael’s abusive stepfather, Michael himself, his sister’s boyfriend, male victims, even the sheriff. Loomis, however, appears to be making a statement with his locks, perhaps because he wears a short cut later in the film. With Loomis, it feels inauthentic, as if it’s part of his schtick, another piece of fakery, this one designed to show how hip and non-conformist he is even as he dribbles pop-psych pablum from his lips.

Young Michael’s simmering rage boils over on Halloween, 1978 (a nod, no doubt, to the year of the original film’s release) with a rampage that sends him to Smith’s Grove Sanitarium and destroys his entire family. Zombie once again diverges from Carpenter by putting so much emphasis on the backstory. For Carpenter, Michael is terrifying because he is so mysterious. Zombie makes an earnest effort to illustrate the care and feeding of a serial killer, including the known circumstances and warning signs that appear to be linked with real-life cases. Michael is an outcast at school, preyed on by bullies. He has conflicted and disturbing feelings of sexuality brought on by his mother and her career as a stripper. He is abused by an alcoholic stepfather, robbing him of a positive male role model. He abuses animals. He is filled with violent rages. He feels the need to conceal himself behind masks and locked doors. He is a ticking time bomb, and young Daeg Faerch delivers a powerful performance in the role.

Michael is then locked away in the sanitarium, but while Carpenter picks up the story immediately with Myers’ escape, Zombie takes his time. We see Loomis attempting to reach Michael. We see the effect his incarceration and madness have on his mother.

The escape sequence in the workprint is different from the theatrical release, and both are more violent and gruesome than the original. From here on, most of the film mirrors the original release, but it’s not unlike Frank Miller’s take on Batman in “The Dark Knight Returns” – everything is exactly the same, but it’s all completely different. Dr. Loomis trails Michael to Haddonfield. There is a sheriff, this time played by a woefully underused but still brilliant Brad Dourif. And there is a night of terror on Halloween. Along the way, Zombie takes time to offer alternatives to some of the plot gaps in the original – the iconic mask has an origin, for example, and this Michael does not somehow learn to drive during his incarceration.

The original trio of girls – Laurie, Annie, and Linda – are back, but they are rougher around the edges. While Annie and Linda were prone to drink some beer or smoke some weed and fool around with boyfriends, there was a teenaged innocence to them. Not so with their newer, more profane and outrageous counterparts. Linda is actually unlikable in this new version, and Annie is saved from being detestable only by the charisma of Danielle Harris (who returns to the series after two outings as young Jamie Lloyd in Halloween 4 and 5.) Scout Taylor Compton is at first shrill and irritating as Laurie, but she eventually settles down into a somewhat dorky but endearing character who is miles away from Jamie Lee Curtis’s quiet, repressed take on the part.

In the end, however, the hairdos and the Tarantino-like profanity are merely window dressing to cover the real difference between Zombie’s and Carpenter’s treatments of the story. It all boils down to Michael, and Zombie’s conviction that making Myers more “realistic” in terms of what we understand about the psychology of the serial murderer can serve to make him even more terrifying.

I have to say that it doesn’t, although I give Zombie top marks for his effort. It is interesting and fresh to look harder at the psychology of such an iconic character, but in the end, Michael is less frightening when he’s easier to understand. Zombie’s Michael Myers is evil, yes, and brutal – but he is also somewhat tragic and human. There are reasons, however twisted, for his actions, and those reasons strip him of the essential randomness that made a 12 year old boy wake up in a cold sweat. This Michael never made me wonder if somehow I might be next, and while that makes him more complex in the long run, it makes him that much less scary.

Rob Zombie’s Halloween workprint gets three and a half pumpkins out of the original’s five. “

Thank you, WatcherDon. Very impressive. You get the extra cookie.

Give yourself a Halloween gift and check out Don’s fiction here.

And don’t be a Halloweenie! Enter the contest. – Romance of Dubious Virtue

January 10, 2007

I saw Mommy maiming Santa Claus…

Filed under: blah blah blah,Deadlines,Family,WIP,Writing — Selah March @ 10:59 am

Okay, this is the deal: Christmas — and, in fact, the entire 2006 Holiday Season — tried to eat my face.

It was a bloody battle. I nearly surrendered when the fully-decorated tree fell down in the middle of the living room — FOR THE SECOND TIME IN THREE DAYS — an hour before my parents were due to arrive. I completed my shopping on the 24th, and my wrapping with literally moments to spare. The ham was overcooked, as were the green beans, because I was worried about the eggnog.

And that was just Round 1. Christmas with the inlaws in the wilds of Western Pennsylvania was Round 2, and if you’ve never driven six hours through the pouring rain in weekend traffic with three bickering children, a brewing migraine, and broken windshield wipers? I recommend it as a test of a mother’s love. Mine is in damned fine shape, as proven by the fact that all three spawn continue to breathe without the assistance of a tube.

And heaven bless patient editors. If I ever again undertake to meet two deadlines within days of Christmas? Well, never mind. It’ll never happen. I think my husband will see me buried under the house first.

“I don’t know, officer. She was here last night. Telling me about her brand new story that’s due on New Year’s Eve. Seemed real excited about it. Then — poof. She was gone. Left her van, her clothes…even her purse. Don’t know where she went, but we sure will miss her. Eggnog? It’s really good. Yeah, she always did make great eggnog. Oh, mind the tree. It’s a little wobbly.” – Romance of Dubious Virtue

November 2, 2006

Butter my ass and call me a biscuit!

Filed under: blah blah blah,Freebie,Reviews,RT,Writing — Selah March @ 8:44 am

A few months ago, I went all twitchy because I’d just submitted LIE TO ME to Romantic Times Book Reviews and was unsure about its reception there. This was my first go-round with the magazine, and as much as all review submissions are a crapshoot relying on subjective opinion (is that a redundancy? I think it is.) I was especially nervous about this one given its potential to affect sales. Erotic romance told from first person point of view isn’t altogether common, and my heroine is not what you’d call “likeable” right off the bat. I was prepared to receive 3 stars, and was steeling myself for 2.

Damned if Leigh Rowling, RT’s “Erotica” reviewer, didn’t up and give LIE TO ME 4 whole stars.

She says:
“With its fast start, good suspense elements and strong erotic tone, March’s story will keep readers well entertained.

Drew Donnelly and MJ Peters are about to get up close and personal. The question is, does Drew know MJ’s secrets before he seduces her? Also, what will she do when she discovers the truth about Drew? This smart-mouthed, sarcastic woman has good reason for the secrets in her life. Before Drew showed up in her small town, she was doing pretty well. With him in her bed and now in her head, all that is about to be shaken up.”

To celebrate, I immediately went online and bought a two-year subscription to the magazine. And had some tequila.

Not necessarily in that order.

If you get a spare minute, check out the free story (titled Dark of the Day) I’ve posted as part of the 2006 PBW Ebook Challenge. It will be a permanent part of my website, but it’s specially written for this time of year…the dark, windy days of November in the northern part of North America. (Those of you living in New Zealand and Australia can maybe pretend it’s May.)

Have a lovely Thursday. 🙂 – Romance of Dubious Virtue

October 19, 2006

Nothin’ Like a Kick in the Ass

Filed under: blah blah blah,Writing — Selah March @ 7:20 am

So PBW made her usual Thursday-ebook-challenge post this week on the topic of slackers like me.

Read it here.

Subtle she ain’t. But reading it at 5:30 this morning was a more effective jolt than a triple-shot of espresso.

Today? Is a writing day. Four thousand words, if it kills me. And if does kill me, I’ll go with a sense of satisfaction and a determined grimace on my puss.

Yeah, yeah, I know. EVERY day should be a writing day. I’m working on it. Way of the Cheetah, indeed. Most days, I’m lucky if I attain Way of the Box Turtle.

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