My Writing Process - Part 1

I've been asked to share my writing process today. I'm not sure why anyone would want to hear me write about writing, but I do love to write, so I'll share my somewhat strange process.

I've been writing since I was a kid but didn't take it seriously until high school. A wonderful English teacher told me she looked forward to reading my published works. (Sorry, Mrs. L--it took me longer than I'd planned!) Then there was the history teacher (I adored Mrs. R) who was sure I'd plagiarized a real book for my spring project until she talked about it in the teacher's workroom and my English teacher vouched for me.

Now I write romance, a little suspense, a little steaming hot sex, a little paranormal (coming soon).

For me, every story begins with a loosely arranged premise and an opening scene that's popped itself into my head due to a comment someone made or a location I was dropped into and couldn't leave.
For example, my hubby likes to go to trade shows (mostly hunting and fishing) and a few years ago, he took me to a gun show. I, of course, sent him off to peruse the wares while I hunted down the jewelry tables. With his credit card, of course. Unfortunately, there was only one and I was left leaning against a wall while I waited for Darling Hubby.

If you've ever been to one of these events, you know there are people of all kinds-mostly dressed in camouflage-walking up and down the isles. After a few minutes of no cell reception, I thought of myself as completely stranded at the gun show.

An idea popped into my head: two women taking their friend to the gun show to help her ex-boyfriend plead his case and win her back.

I pulled out the only piece of paper I had in my purse: a sticky note with a phone number at the top.
Many notes later, and a few brainstorming sessions with fellow writers, I had three stories, one for each girl.
I'll add to this tomorrow. 
Now, I want to introduce you to another author --Joe Parr.

Bio – Joe B. Parr is a North Texas based Mystery Suspense writer. As a native of the Fort Worth, TX area, his novels are crime dramas based in and around DFW. Residents of the area will enjoy the familiar sights and sounds. For others, he provides a virtual tour highlighting the area’s feel and diversity.

His current release, The Victim, is available in both paperback and ebook (Kindle, Nook) on Amazon.com and Barnesandnoble.com.

He writes entertaining fiction with an undercurrent of social commentary. His books address provocative issues by introducing characters who provide multiple perspectives so that the reader is driven to explore their own thoughts.

In The Victim, those issues include gangs, media stereotypes and the racial tensions within the community. In Stolen Innocence (future release), he highlights the growing issue of Human Trafficking and its disproportional impact on immigrant and minority communities. 

The Victim is the first of the Detective Jake Hunter series of mystery suspense novels.

When two local gangbangers are found dead, who really cares? This 'who cares' case quickly turns into a high profile hunt for a serial vigilante killer. The body count and pressure rise in Ft Worth, Texas as local community leaders and media pundits stir up political discourse and racial tensions mount.

Police Detective Jake 'Cowboy' Hunter has been out of the field for six months struggling to overcome the on-duty shooting death of his longtime partner. His boss has an easy case for him to 'get back in the saddle' while breaking in a new detective. After all, it's just another case of bad guys ending up dead.

While he readjusts to being back on the streets, Hunter and his temporary partner, Billy Sanders, find themselves sloshing through the gang infested underbelly of Fort Worth as they chase a vigilante who has set himself up as a modern day serial Bernard Goetz. In the process, he has set off a firestorm of racially tinged political pressure by choosing minority gangbangers as his targets.

Between the piling body count and the media frenzy building to what’s sure to be an all-out war on the streets, Hunter and his team’s investigation leads them to suspect even the ‘good guys.’ Tensions escalate until Hunter discovers the media hype can help him outsmart the killer.

Chapter 13

Chapter 13

   

Derek rolled over, sleep evading him in the darkened room. Her message pushed him to change his mind, change the way he thought his life should run, and change the way he responded to her easy sensuality. But then the urge to run, to leave town until the club was complete, filled his head.

He never should’ve taken on her training. Mark was an ass and had no right to force the issue. Derek balled up the pillow and crammed it behind his head, propped up in the dark bedroom while he put off sleep.

What the hell had happened to his backbone when Mark insisted he train her? Snapping back and standing his ground would’ve been the best option. Now he was stuck.

Or was he?

Most of the work left to do at the club was minor. In the morning, he’d tell Mark he had an offer to assist in a club in Vegas and bail for a few weeks. Mark would finish Joanne’s training and when the club opened, she’d be ready and he could watch from the sidelines. Just like he had for the last few years.

He rolled over in bed and relaxed, his body sprawling in the cool sheets. The shadows moved in the hall, floorboards squeaking, night noises settling in for the duration. A breeze floated across his chest, warm, delicate, like the whisper of early spring in Galveston when the water heated and the sand began to bake. His body baked, too, ached with need, and unfulfilled desire.

Slipping into the room, her soft footsteps brought her to him.

Her hair was up, piled on her head, exposing the delicate column of her throat. Long bare legs were showcased by her standing submissive posture, her hips barely covered by the oversized shirt she wore.

His shirt, he realized. He must have left it in the club and she’d taken it home. Was she feeling the urges he had, the pull of attraction?

Did she want him as deeply as he craved her?

Her hands moved up her body, cupping what he knew to be full, rounded breasts, and his mouth watered with the need to taste, to suckle, and to nip until she cried out. He wanted her begging for more.

She shouldn’t be here chipping away at his reservations, his need to control his body and preserve his memories.  When her hands lifted to her hair and removed the combs, all the air in his chest left in a rush. Russet locks tumbled free and he was on his feet, ready for whatever she offered.

She moved to within inches of his chest and he reached for her hair, wrapping it around his fist and tugging her closer. The feel of her body against his fueled his need to possess.

“Remove the shirt.”

Her fingers went immediately to the buttons and in moments the shirt was a pool of gray on the floor. He cupped her breast, the feel of her nipple pressing against his palm a heady reminder of her submission at the club.

“Why are you here, Joanne?”

He had to hear the words, wanted her submission and her heart.

“I’m here for you, Master.”

A Private Delights novella with no name as yet...

Chapter 4

 

Joanne adjusted the position of her knees, thankful she’d worn slacks instead of a dress. The unfinished floor wasn’t exactly comfortable, but the fabric helped.

What to tell him? Honesty would be best, since she needed the job. The salary quoted by the secretary was close to double her last paycheck.

“Five years ago, I was living in Michigan and dating a man who was, well, I guess the best word would be interested, in the lifestyle. We joined a local group and participated for about six months.”

“Only six months? Why did you stop?”

Blunt or delicate? Did it really matter?

“He liked being with other people, but he didn’t like to see me with other men. He couldn’t handle the fact that I enjoyed it. It became a competitive thing with him, seeing how many women he could... be with while I watched. After the second or maybe it was the third month, he refused to let me participate.” The frustration she’d dealt with during that relationship surged to the fore and she slapped it back into the dark spot in her heart where all her troubles lived. “At the time, I thought he’d change his mind once he had his fill.” She paused for a comment that didn’t come.

 

“We were living together and working a lot of hours. I didn’t realize he was going without me. When I found out, we fought. He insisted I go with him again, and I tried. Once or twice.”

She stretched her spine and watched his expression stay calm and unaffected by the information she shared. And then she realized what made him different. There were no explosions, no demanding questions or heated discussions. He was strong and dominant, but he didn’t take his emotions out on other people. The best word she could find to describe him was self-contained.

“What happened when you went back?” he asked, his deep voice conveying curiosity and concern but no hint of contempt.

She shrugged. “More of the same. It wasn’t fun anymore, so I walked away.”

That piercing gaze of his observed her for a few minutes, taking in the information and processing it against what he saw now, and she hoped the person he saw now was a better person than she’d been five years ago.

“I can say with some authority that removing yourself from that situation was a wise choice.”

Thank you was the first thing she wanted to say, but didn’t. “Even though it was his idea to begin with?”

Derek’s brows rose at her question, making him look sympathetic and attractive as hell. This wasn’t going to be easy, letting him touch her without getting involved. Falling in love with him might be the easiest thing she’d ever do in her life. Scary, since they just met.

“From what you’ve told me, if he stayed in the lifestyle, he probably evolved into one of two types. A closet submissive that plays at being a Dom, or a dangerous Dom, one who believes there’s no need for a safe word.”

“I don’t think I’d like either choice.” When he nodded, she couldn’t stop her question. “What kind of Dom are you?”

When he laid his forearms on his knees and leaned in close, Joanne wished she’d kept her mouth shut.

“I’d like to say I’m the only type of Dom you’ll meet around here, but until I assess the membership, I can’t comment.”

In the early shock of his closeness, she’d forgotten to lower her eyes, and now, she couldn’t look away. Dark eyes, almost black, bored into hers and mesmerized, a sensual stroke without a touch of skin on skin. He radiated power and compassion, a heady mix of sexuality and sorrow.

In a blink, it was gone from his face, and she didn’t know what to think.

“Let’s get started,” Derek said, straightening in the chair. “While your frame is adequate, I’d like to see better. Knees apart, feet together, hands on your thighs, palms up.”

Joanne blinked at his change in demeanor and let her eyes drop while she adjusted her body. When finished, he murmured a ‘good girl’ and stood.

Her eyes stayed at his feet. Nice shoes. Long and wide. Thick soles. Interesting.

Rolling her lips in over her teeth, she tried to repress the inner monologue and listen to his comments.

A hand appeared in front of her face.

“Take my hand and stand, sub.”

Sliding her hand into his warm palm reminded her of the lack of male companionship in her life. This job would most likely change how she felt about not having a boyfriend. She’d meet a lot of people here, but she doubted they’d all be like Derek.

“Show me the standing sub position.”

With no clue, she raised her gaze. “I never knew that one.”

He stepped closer and his hands rested on her shoulders, the heat penetrating a little too much for her comfort zone today, but a few breaths helped her relax. The distinctly calm tone of his voice helped.

“Move your feet a little farther apart, relax your shoulders but don’t slump. Only your head is lowered. Submissive and beaten down are two different looks. A good submissive is strong internally and happy in the service of her Dom.”

“Yes, Master.”

“Now, put your arms behind your back. Have you had any experience with handcuffs?”

“Yes, Master.” Dammit. She’d forgotten about this aspect of submission. The one time she’d been cuffed, she’d had bruises for a week. Squeezing her eyes shut, she concentrated on her breathing.

Rough fingers touched her chin about the same time she heard his soft shushing sound. He lifted her chin with a gentle hand she wouldn’t expect from such a large man.

“You’ve had a bad experience, haven’t you, Joanne?”

It was the first time she’d heard her name on his lips and the feeling it evoked shocked her.

“Tell me.”

“They hurt and I had bruises afterward.”

“Unless you’re in police custody, they’re not supposed to be painful.”

He held them in front of her and she sucked in a breath. The metal cuffs he held were wrapped in fabric, nothing like the ones she’d seen before.

“Touch them, get used to the feel of them. In our club, handcuffs—hell, all the cuffs we use—are more of a reminder of submission than an attempt at pain management.”

Derek laid them in her hands and let her play with them for a few minutes. The fabric around them was soft and encased all of the metal except the closures.

“Before we move any further into the scene, let’s talk about all the different types of restraints we plan to use here at Private Delights.”

He led her to a table piled with boxes, some of them already opened and waiting for inventory.  “Until the room is completed and shelves are ready, I don’t want to open all of these, but one from each box should be enough to get you used to the equipment.”

Who knew sex required equipment beyond the human participants? Nevertheless, she stood by his side while Derek opened a box and unwrapped a long leather-sheathed rod with a flat surface extending from the end.

“This is a slapper,” he told her, “usually used when the submissive is bound in some way or positioned on a Saint Andrews cross.”

Suddenly, her world got a whole lot smaller.

 

 

Developing Multiple Personalities

 

I finally finished the first installment of my new BDSM series. I love the characters and the interaction between this book and the others I have planned. Most have ready-to-go bios and one or two more are still in the sketch stage.

However...

I woke up yesterday with an idea I couldn’t resist. A fast paced chase story about a lady lawyer whose irate client is trying to kill her and the smoking hot guy she contacts to protect her.

Sounds great. Fun. Tons of possibilities.

But now the people in my head are fighting about who gets on the page first. They’re interrupting my sleep and my typing. They’re putting a stop to my housework (what little I do) and my shopping. The cats are getting irritable about the same old kibble and the hubby is grumbly but trying to be supportive of the creative process.

Not sure which characters will win the war to be first. Right now, I’m trying to juggle all of them. It might sound strange, but they’re all important to me. Friends on paper that speak to me, begging to get their stories told.

At what point does this go from creative process to psych ward?