I Am A Linear Kind Of Guy

Like I mentioned in a previous post, I'm a linear kind of guy. I'm not the kind of writer who jumps from scene to scene or chapter to chapter while writing a story. I find that to be very confusing, in not downright annoying.

I like writing a story that unfolds in a proper sequential order. You know, part A slides into part B, which slides into part C, with a slight detour back to part A so that part D makes sense. Etc., etc., etc.

I also like writing a story that if its destined to be part of a series, in chronological order as well.

So it bothered me greatly that while I was working on a total rewrite of this, the memory of a 99% completed prequel to that book came to the forefront.

Naturally, the first word that popped into my head was, "Shit."

Why this particular select adjective?

Because it was appropriate for the moment, in that the following scenarios were sadly executed.

1} We come to a complete stop with our writing, because, how can you properly write what is now part 2 w/o fixing/finishing part 1?
2} We were able to find said prequel both in our serious large slushie pile and our old XP computer.
3} A brief skim of the contents of said prequel told us in no uncertain terms that it was much easier to complete and tweak said prequel than to complete book two then have to go back and make the prequel fit book 2.

So.

Going back to the prequel, we took it plus a small pad, went to the outside deck and preceded to closely examine what exactly it is I have.

First thing that I saw wrong was the chapters for plot two. Back in the day when I wrote this, I decided to write two separate plot lines and have them eventually merge, much like I did with the original novella. Problem was that the more my memory became refreshed,  the less likely that plot #2 would have something of a home in the prequel, even though it sort of mirrored the 2nd plot in book two. So that got yanked out and put aside for future use (yes, I'm not about to completely pitch twenty pages of a good story).

Next on the plus side, I actually started rewriting this thing and got about three pages done before I decided to cry Auntie 'Em. So at least the way I wrote the characters in the first are matching up with the characters in the 2nd.

I also performed some basic research with this prequel. Seriously, I researched some various honeymoon spots, then decided on Virginia Beach. Also researched some driving routes and when I finally settled on one, I worked that into the story as well.

In this prequel, the sexual scenes (some overt, some not so overt) that I wrote were vastly improved from what I was writing earlier (What-Bam-Thank-You-Ma'am), so I'll only do a little tweaking.

Additionally, this was the first novel in which I tried to properly write about interracial relationships, which isn't easy if you've never been in one beyond being friends with certain members of the opposite sex. Even though overall I did a good job writing the relationship, it could use a little more tweaking, so to speak. Especially since the new version of the novella has a better balanced ying/ yang relationship. The relationship in the prequel is more one sided and thus has the ability to turn people off.

Finally, while the novel is 99% complete, the remaining 1% shouldn't be too difficult to write. After all, I do have roughly 36 pages of the novella rewritten, so making sure the ending of the first does fall seamlessly into the beginning of the second will be a piece of cake.

So there you have it my friends, the seriously long version of why I'm switching writing projects yet again.

(c) 2015 Books by G.B. Miller. All Rights Reserved

Strike 'Em Out!

"First off, I want to welcome the listeners who decided to tune in for our Wednesday night game of the week between the Brooklyn Neophytes and the Hannibal Hammers, being played in the always lovely yet completed desolate Badger Field, complete with it's very own badge swaying on the flagpole. As I mentioned earlier in the broadcast, the Neophytes are staggering along through a super-ugly twelve game losing streak, and so far, this game is shaping up to be their baker's dozen in a row. Neophyte pitcher Billy Bellingham has just finished his warm ups, so I turn it over to my erstwhile colleague Hank Coulter. Hank?"

"Thanks Nick. It seems like Billy is gonna be the sacrificial goat tonight, with his team trailing the visiting Hammers fifteen zip. For the top of third, he'll be facing the Hammer's eight through one, and boy let me tell you, they got some serious bruisers. Let's hope he can find that old black magic that has so far eluded him during this record losing streak, and in fact, has been the key contributing factor the Neophytes lack of positive reinforcement. What say you Nick?"

"I say that there's a conspiracy, or at the very least, a collusion amongst the league that has so far gotten Billy acting like a little league pitcher."

"Right you are Nick, right you are. Anyways, Billy looks in, shakes off the catcher a couple of times, finally gets one he likes, gets set and here's the windup and the pitch. Oh Good Lord, he's just uncorked a lollipop to the backstop!"

'Time!' says Markie as he slowly walks the ball back to Billy. Billy steps off the mound to meet him and holds out his glove. Markie drops the ball and says, "Problem focusing?'
'Ya think?'
'You know, no one is going to do what you want them to do. They're on to your little façade, and there's no way in hell that they're gonna put anymore players on the d.l. So please, man up, cowboy up, suck it up, get down on your knees and blow that baseball, whatever it is you need to do to snap out of this funk, 'cause you know this is it. They ain't gonan save yor sorry ass tonight unless do something. Got it?'
'Fuck you,' says Billy as he returns to the mound.
Markie shakes his head and slowly trudges back to the plate. Squatting, he throws a handful of dirt in the air, pounds his glove and sighs.

"So Nick, think that little chat Markie had with Billy will work?"

"I don't think so Hank. Anyways, Billy looks in, nods, and arrives at the set position. He seems to be taking an awfully long time to throw the ball, and I think, yes...he steps off the rubber. He's grabbed the resin bag, shakes it thoroughly, and throws it to the ground. Now he's stepping back on the rubber, gets to the set position, and here's the pitch. No, wait! The batter steps out of the box and calls time, and the umpire calls "no pitch!" Oh bad luck for Billy, as he finally got a pitch over the plate and it gets waved off."

"What a shame indeed, Nick! It looks like old Billy goat is absolutely livid. Maybe, just maybe, this was the catalyst need to jumpstart his game. Looks like the catcher is calling time again. He starts his slow walk towards the mound, but wait, it looks like he's detouring towards the dugout."

'Boss?'
'What's up with Billy?'
'Off hand, I say he's about to go apeshit.'
'Are you sure?'
'Am I sure? About as sure as your fantasy of porking the owner's trophy wife not coming true.'
'Hey, watch your mouth!'
Markie walks over to the newbie and pokes him hard in the chest with his mask. The newbie crumples to the ground, spits up a geyser of blood and passes out. Satisfied, Markie takes his leave and waits for the inevitable.

"Hank, it looks like Billy is down with his tantrum."

"Right you are, Nick. Billy steps on the rubber, here's the windup and the pitch...Oh My God!!! Did you see that Nick? Nick? Where are you Nick? Holy cow ships, Nick, what is that horrendous smell in the booth?! And what is that brown stuff oozing down your shirt. Oh My God Nick! Look on the field! It's...it's...a geyser of...MANWHICHES!!!! I think I'm gonna...."

As the sound of breaking glass, a stomach leaving someone's body and horrific screams overloads the airwaves, an authoritative voice briefly interrupts the din., "We'll return you to the game as soon as order is restored, or when enough body parts are found to create a few good players, whichever comes first. In the meantime, here's a sneak peek at our upcoming special, 'The Best Screams From The Best Low Budget Horror Movies: The Eighties' Enjoy!"

If you find this story interesting, please give some thought to checking out my short story trilogy Broken Promises, available at Smashwords.

(c) by G.B. Miller. All Rights Reserved

Excerpt From My Latest Project

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Chapter 1

Jon returned from his latest food run to find that his modest sized condo was packed to capacity. Dipping his shoulder to squeeze between a couple of partiers, he started walking to his right before veering off to his left a minute later. By the time he was three quarters of the way through the living room with his groceries, he had witnessed about half dozen acts of sexual debauchery as well as an equal amount of hallucinatory meltdowns and alcohol flameouts.

Sweating bullets, Jon saw that he had to perform a one-eighty around a guy giving another guy head in order to reach the safety zone that was the kitchen. However, when he came out of the one eighty, instead of stepping into the kitchen, he crashed into the well endowed and exceptionally plastered girlfriend of his boss, Erica.

"Excuse me," muttered Jon, who was turning red as he knelt down to pick up the groceries.

Erica drunkenly wrapped her tail around Jon's face and stroked his cheek, before taking a seat on a nearby end table. Clearing his throat, it took Jon quite a few minutes to re-bag the groceries as every time he reached for an item, Erica's tail would worm its way under his clothing to caress his body, while at the same time she would innocently rearrange her dress this way and that.

By the time he got everything re-bagged, Jon was positively beaming with embarrassment as Erica was busy caressing her breasts in front of him.

"Ummm…I'm sorry for bumping into you like that."
"That's okay sugar," purred Erica as she finger-stirred her drink. Pulling it out, she slowly sucked it dry and said, "I didn't mind that you felt me up."
Tugging at his collar, he stammered, "I…I wasn't trying to…umm…feel you up." before stepping into the kitchen with his groceries.

Erica sighed lightly for a moment, then stepped into the kitchen and sat down on the counter. While she was watching Jon create another food tray, she began fantasizing about what it would be like to fuck her brains out using him instead of her current boy toy, who wasn't that much of a toy anymore. A few minutes later she pinched her thigh to stop herself from climaxing.
'Holy shit that was close! I think it's time to use this boy the way God has intended him to be used.'

She hopped down from the counter and ambled over to the fridge, where she promptly took out a bottle of rum and a bottle of cola, grabbed a couple of plastic glasses from the counter and made a couple of rum and cokes. For him, she added a couple of drops of GBH, and with hers, a half nickel bag of cocaine. Mixing them thoroughly, she whistled to get his attention.

When he looked up, she offered him the drink and said, "Thirsty?"
"I think not."
"Come on. I've been watching you all night. You've been working like a border collie. You need to relax for a spell and enjoy the fruits of your labor."
Jon was hesitant to drink anything that he didn't touch first. Last time he did, he got so hammered that it cost him almost five thousand to make a few certain people not perform home surgery on him.
"It's one of your faves, rum and coke. C'mon, it'll do you good," she purred.
Jon pursed his lips and furrowed his brow for several seconds. Inhaling sharply, he took the drink and said, "Because it's from you, I accept."
"Excellent."

Jon spent the next twenty minutes working on the food tray and sipping his drink. By the time had finished both, he was looking green, feeling lightheaded and on the verge of going nighty night right there in the kitchen. Erica down the rest of hers in one swallow and hopped down from the counter. Fixing her micro dress, she walked over and caught Jon just before he collapsed. Calling over a couple of beefy partygoers, she had them carry Jon to his bedroom.

After they dropped him on the bed, Erica reached under her dress and pulled out a couple of fifties. Paying them off, she quickly shoed them out of the bedroom and locked the door. Untying her shoulder straps, she said very quietly, "School is now in session."

****

The steady rain that had been falling for much of the day turned into a deluge by the time Bradley had pulled into the funeral home parking lot. Maneuvering the car to a space at the far end of the lot, the first thing that he saw was the parking lot itself was almost filled to capacity.

"Shit. Look at all these cars. You think that someone important had died."
"Well, in their minds, this person was just that important," said his driver.
Bradley raised an eyebrow at that comment. In his world, his person was just another disposable part. If one died or went to jail, another was ready to step up and take their place.

Taking out a mini-cigar, he leaned over for a light from his driver. Taking a hard drag, he held the vodka soaked Connecticut tobacco in until he became lightheaded. Opening the door, he blew out the smoke, and when he'd finished, the second thing that he saw was the long line of people waiting to pay their respects.
Sighing, he checked his appearance one last time while waiting for his driving to come around with the umbrella. Stepping out, he took one last drag and dropped it to the ground.

"Let's go."

Casually strolling to the front entrance, Bradley could feel the multitude of eyes burning a hole through his skin. By the time he had gotten there, he saw nothing but black hatred and bitter contempt in everyone's faces.

Taken aback, Bradley nevertheless turned to the angry crowd and said, "I am here to pay my respects, so I don't have time to waste with any of your fuckin' bullshit. If you got a problem with me, that's fine. I'll be more than happy to deal with you at another time and at another place. In the meantime, go fuck yourselves."

(c) 2013 by G.B. Miller. All rights reserved.

The Tree

companion post here and here

The tree sighed heavily as it stretched its cranky branches as far as they could go so that it caught the morning sun. It knew that if it didn’t move its branches at the sun’s first glimpse, the mountain would look down on him with disdain and say once again, “See? See? That Methuselah has got to go! He’s long outlived his usefulness!”

In fact, it wasn’t that long ago that the mountain tried to do just that. The young buck conspired with Father Nature last winter and Father Nature obliged by sending into the valley an usually harsh snowstorm, the likes of which haven’t been seen in quite sometime.

The snowstorm and accompanying wind tried its best to take him out. Even though he lost a couple of branches here and there, his original owner’s son made sure that no other harm would happen to him. He came out on numerous occasions to brush away the heavy snow from his branches so that they wouldn’t break. He dug around the base so that he wouldn't freeze too much, and most importantly, he laid out some birdseed.

The tree was secretly overjoyed about the birdseed. For most of the past summer and fall, the owner’s son stopped putting out birdseed, which cause his feathered friends to stop visiting. This made the tree very sad, because without his feather friends to keep him company, his days and nights became very lonely.
But, as some of the other trees and plants would often say, hope springs eternal. So the tree began praying to Mother Nature, to ask her if she could give the owner’s son a little nudge to see if he could bring back his feathered friends. Mother Nature, already annoyed with Father Nature for doing an end around and the mountain for being such a self centered brat, said that she would try her very best to nudge things along.

Early one late winter day in which the weather was unusually warm, the owner’s son stepped out on the house to inspect the front yard. He took a couple of steps towards the tree and was very surprised to see a couple of squirrels bothering the tree. Annoyed, the owner’s son grabbed a couple of rocks and threw them at the squirrels. With pinpoint accuracy, the landed just in front of them, for the son didn’t want to harm them, but to simply make them stay away.

Later that week, the owner’s son planted a half dozen bird feeders in and around the old tree. After filling them up, the owner’s son gave the tree a couple of gentle taps on the trunk and said, “Give them a little time to adjust.”

So the tree did.

Every morning he stretched out his branches to catch the morning sun, while at the same time sending out a few S.O.S.’s that said, “Come back, you are truly wanted.” Of course no one heard his S.O.S.’s at first, since the tree had no leaves to speak off yet and no leaves means no S.O.S.’s to be heard.

But as winter turned into spring, something magical happened. The birds started returning at the exact same moment that the tree finally began to sprout leaves. At first only a couple would show up, but before long, as soon as the tree began to sprout more leaves, more of his feathered friends would stop by to visit and chew the fat.

Until finally, one glorious warm early summer day, all of his branches, as well as the front yard, were occupied by not only his wonderful feathered friends, but a few of his plant friends as well.
Life was indeed good, because the tree now knew that he had friends who cared about him very much, and those friends would help him outlast and out-duel the mountain, which if you really think about it, is all that a wizened tree can really ask for.

(c) 2013 by G.B. Miller; All Rights Reserved

Synopsis Draft #1 For "A Shadow Warrior's Redemption"

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After escaping from the bowels of my own personal Hell in Purgatory some two hundred seventy-five years ago, all that I wanted to do in the early afternoon twilight of my earthly existence was to continue living the dual life of the supreme demonic bitch that I really am and the fiercely independent single mom that I portray myself to be.

Instead, I get dragged into a pathetic little plot of revenge concocted by a weaselly human named Kevin, who appeared on my front porch one morning, ringing my doorbell.

I answer the door and ask, "Yes?"
"Good morning, Miss Ashanti! My name is Kevin and I need you to help me get the girl of my dreams."
"No," I say just before slamming the door in his face.

Almost instantly, the doorbell rings yet again. Frowning, I prepare myself to put my fist through his head the second that I open the door. but just as I turn the knob, Kevin says, "If you don't do what I want, I'll tell the authorities where they can find you and your brats."
"Authorities?"
"Religious authorities."

I pause for a moment so that I can wrap my brain around the threat that little weasel decided to utter. I think very hard at calling his bluff, but quickly realize that if I did and if he did, I wouldn't be able to stand the torture of listening to my children cry out for the next millennium.

So reluctantly, I agree to hep him win the girl of his dreams, by any means necessary. And apparently, "any means necessary" meant that not only would I have to become Keisha, the girl of his dreams and desires, but I would have to turn Keisha into the biggest and easiest lay the world had ever seen.

For the next three days and two nights, I took control of Keisha's body and became every man and women's desirable boy and girl toy.

I flirted, I teased, I put out and ultimately, in one night, brought five hot men to their blessed knees as I allowed them to explore Keisha's body most intimately.

After that particular night, I was beating myself up over what I had done to that poor innocent girl. She didn't deserve to be turned into someone's little boy toy, and she definitely didn't deserve that little weasel Kevin riding to her rescue because I had turned her into that boy toy. I was devastated and destroyed by what I had done to that poor little girl that my eldest child popped in and sent out a rare distress call to all corners of the spiritual world.

In a matter of minutes, two archangels, Michael and Raphael, answered the distress call and came to my rescue. Michael took me away to a secret place, and gave me back not only my true identity, but my true self as well.

With my ego and self-esteem now being fed with a combination of pure adrenaline and vitriolic rage over what Kevin had forced me to do, Michael brought me over to Keisha's condo so that I could make things right.

And making things right is just what I did. With a little help from a trio of sinners and a menagerie of Mother Natures most lethal animals, I turned the tables on Kevin most effectively, and just before sending him to a place where he would never be found, got the answers to a few personal questions that were bugging the crap out of me. With my thirst for vengeance now completely quenched, I turned my attention back to making things right with Keisha.

Prior to vaporizing that little weasel, I gave Keisha back her body. After a good night's sleep was had by all, I explained in vivid detail to Keisha what I had spent the last three days doing to her. During a lull in my monologue, I had an opportunity to gently probe her innermost thoughts and fears, which eventually allowed me to come up with a plan to make things right.

Making it right, was to offer her the chance of reliving those three days all over again, with no one being the wiser. And believe it or not, she did.

An Excerpt From "A Betrayal Of Vows"

click here for companion post.

            “Do you Jorge Lakemere take this woman, Gwendolyn Jaxson, to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

            “I’m sorry, what was that again?”

            “Are you asking me to repeat what I just said?”

            “Well….yes.”

            The minister looked at Jorge, who made a gesture that said ‘get on with it’. Shaking his head, the minister began to repeat the question, when he was interrupted by an irritated Gwendolyn.

            “Did you just ask him to repeat the all important question?!? Are you just that stupid?!?”

            Jorge thought long and hard before answering his wife to be. A smile soon appeared on his lips.

            “Nah, I’m just pulling your leg.” Turning back to the minister, he said, “Of course I take this bodacious woman to be my lawfully wedded wife.”

            “You better.”

Exhaling, Gwendolyn got back to her place on the grass.

            Sighing, the minister continued with the ceremony.

            “Do you Gwendolyn Jaxson take this man, Jorge Lakemere, to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

            Gwendolyn gave Jorge a very dirty look before saying, “Yes, I do.”

            “I now pronounce you man and wife. Jorge, you may kiss the bride.”

            “With pleasure!”

            Jorge brought Gwendolyn a little closer and lifted her veil over her head. Gazing deeply into those baby blues, he gently grabbed her face and planted a very long passionate kiss. Returning the favor, the happy couple was presenting such a show of affection, that the minister began clearing his throat.

            Breaking off the kiss, Jorge and Gwendolyn turned to face the crowd. The minister, now having everyone’s attention focused back on him, said, “May I now present to you for the very first time anywhere, Mr. & Mrs. Jorge Lakemere.”

            Receiving a non-verbal cue from the happy couple, the band launched into a reggae tune. After getting bombarded with dandelions for a few minutes, Jorge raised his hand to silence the band. Looking over at his wife, who nodded in agreement, he cleared his throat and began speaking.

            “The Mrs. and I would like to thank everyone for making their presence known here today. We can see that everyone is dressed backyard casual, as per the invitation, so in order for us not to be out of place at our own reception, we’ll be taking a brief absence to change into more suitable clothing. We leave you now to the alternative sounds of Paisley Pumpkin. Enjoy.”

            As the band restarted by playing ‘Highway Calls’, Jorge and Gwendolyn made their way to the house to change. Three minutes later, they were both changed and on their way back to the reception.

Jorge was tastefully dressed: wearing an oversized half buttoned Hawaiian shirt; blue khaki cargos; Panama hat and sunglasses. Staying in theme, he was also barefoot. Gwendolyn came out dressed devilishly hot: light short sleeve floral cotton print dress with partial slit up the side; coral blue tube top; gold ankle bracelet; long hair lightly teased and highlighted, with sunglasses. Staying in theme, she was also barefoot.

            Jorge observed his wife putting on the last of her make up and said, “Gwen, I’ll have to beat everyone off with stick, you look just that delicious!”

            Gwendolyn blushed heavily from the compliment. Then with a toss of her hair, she walked over to Jorge and lightly punched him in the arm.

            “Fresh! Come on, the reception needs us before it can get into full swing.”

            “Meeowww!”

            She punched him again before grabbing his hand. As they were opening the patio door, a partygoer yelled, “Here they come!”

            A low murmur rumbled through the air, originating from the side of the yard. The band, which had stopped when the happy couple reappeared on the deck, started up again with a long version of ‘Misirlou’.

            Jorge and Gwendolyn stepped onto the deck and paused to gather their collective thoughts. Exhaling, they descended the stairs, where they were met by a crush of people. They slowly maneuvered themselves towards the stage area as they waded through the crowd. Fifteen minutes later, they were at the front of the stage.

Jorge hopped on up, and held out his hand to Gwendolyn, who took it. Pulling her up, he then grabbed a microphone and placed it in front of her. While she was doing a sound check, Jorge whispered something in her ear. Blushing, Gwendolyn shook her head. Undeterred, he kept the pressure on by bringing the crowd into play as well.

            On cue, the crowd chanted, “We want a song! We want a song! We want a song!” The band took up the chant as well, playing a lengthy drum and guitar cue. Jorge then got down on bended knee and pleaded his case. Embarrassed by the attention, Gwendolyn finally nodded in the affirmative. Grinning, Jorge confidently strolled to the microphone. Raising his hands to quell the crowd, he then cleared his throat to speak.

            “I can see that everybody is having a good time at our wonderful wedding reception. I like to thank everyone for helping me convince Gwendolyn that the only proper way to officially kick this off is for her to sing a song. As some of you know, my wonderful wife has an excellent singing voice, and has shown it off at the salon. I’ve tried to convince her on numerous occasions to share it with the general public, but had no success.”

            A sympathetic sound of understanding came from the wedding guests. Holding out a hand to quell the aura of sympathy, Jorge continued his intro.

            “Last night, I asked once again. I said, ‘Sweetie, could you possibly show off your golden pipes for one song, just to kick off the festivities?’ She thought about for quite a while, but eventually she said yes. But when the time came to perform, she understandably developed stage fright.”

            An even more sympathetic sound wafted over the backyard. Again, Jorge held out his hand to quiet everyone before continuing.

            “So, with the help of all you good people, and my blatant disregard of my self respect, we were able to convince the wonderful Miss Gwendolyn to grace our get together with a song. So without further ado, I would like to present for your listening pleasure, our new Mrs. Gwendolyn Lakemere! Let’s give her a standing ovation!!”

            On cue, the entire gathering erupted in applause as an embarrassed Gwendolyn approached the microphone stand. Briefly adjusting the stand, she waited a full minute before raising her hands to calm the boisterous crowd. Clearing her throat, she began to speak.

            “Well, I would like to thank my husband for his intro. Sweetie, you’ll get yours tonight.”

            The crowd erupted in laughter as Jorge turned beet red. Throwing an air kiss his way, Gwendolyn then continued her spiel.

            “Anyways, I would like to jumpstart the party by singing one of the few slow songs you’ll hear tonight. My voice was unfortunately designed for country music, so country is what you’re going to get. Please enjoy this song, it’s one of my favorites, and I hope it becomes one of yours.”

She then leaned over to the lead guitarist, told him the song and asked if there would be any problems. Shaking his head, he then went to each member and told them the song in question, and they nodded in agreement. Signaling that they were ready, Gwendolyn stepped back to the mike and spoke.

            “For your listening pleasure, here’s my rendition of John Denver’s classic ‘Take Me Home, Country Roads’. Hit it guys!”

            The melancholy sound of the dobro drifted out from the stage and over the backyard. Hovering for a minute, it gently engulfed the crowd in a melodic haze of country life. Joining the fray was the sweetness of the steel pedal guitar and the gentle bluntness of the upright bass. Together, this alt country trio of instruments, created a passionate sound of Americana, beautifully penetrating the unified soul of the crowd.

            After a couple of minutes, the bass faded from the extended intro, soon followed by the steel pedal, leaving only the dobro playing in the background. Gwendolyn was keeping time while the extended intro was being played. As the steel pedal fell by the wayside, she began to prepare herself so that when the bass came to a halt, she could segue right into the opening stanza.

            “Almost heaven, West Virginia. Blue Ridge Mountains, Shenandoah River. Life is old there, older than the trees. Younger the mountains, blowing like a breeze. Country roads, take me home. To the place, I belong. West Virginia, mountain mama. Take me home, country roads. All my memories….”

(c) 2009 by G.B. Miller. All rights reserved.

The Muse Is Thy Master 3

Click here for part 1 and part 2


Stunned, the young lady grabs the handrail to steady herself as the realization that her ultimate play toy was turned on by similar looking play toys and not by play toys such as herself sank in. Once that realization snagged its talons in her soul and turns her from an overly sexualized society lady to the ugliest girl in the village, the young lady starts to cry. Not tears of sadness but tears of rage.

Rage over a public humiliation. Rage over being played for a fool. Rage for trusting her personal writer to do the right thing. With her rage sufficiently amped, she climbs the handrail and before the painter can intervene, executes a perfect swan dive off the veranda.

The sun playfully bounces off her skin and somehow the young lady briefly finds peace within her troubled spirit. However, being focused on the task at hand, the young lady pulverizes that sliver of peace and everything suddenly turns pitch black. Unable to see either forward or behind, the young lady pulls her arms in and goes into a major power dive.

The writer, happily oblivious to the pain that he's about to experience, is pounding the keyboard at such a furious pace that smoke is pouring out from the monitor and keyboard. Suddenly, his attention is diverted by three very large words that appear on his monitor.

LOOK BEHIND YOU.

The moment the young man turns around, his world is rocked by a deafening explosion and he's pelted by a plethora of debris. Within seconds the young man is buried up to his neck with organic and inorganic debris and dust.

When the dust finally settles, the young man sees the young lady standing some twenty feet away, breathing heavy with smoke billowing from her head. He tries to stick out his hand but the amount of debris has him snugly and safely entombed. Failing in that endeavor, he says in his chirpiest voice, "My favorite sparkly person! What is going on?"

The young lady doesn't respond right away. Instead, she snaps her fingers and raises her arms. Instantly, and much to the young man's disappointment, the young lady is now dressed in a slightly form fitting casual ensemble of b-ball sneakers, jeans, chain belt, blue flannel shirt and long-john top. She shakes her head for several seconds, then pulls out a scrunchy and puts her long carmel colored hair in a ponytail.

She steps forward and within a couple of minutes, methodically climbs the rather large twenty foot pile of debris until she hits the top and stares down at the young writer. Flashing an evil smile, she sits down and wraps her legs around the young man's head. Normally, the young man would be in heaven with the breathtaking view he was experiencing. However, in this particular instance, the young man simply closes his eyes and mumbles a silent prayer.

When he opens them after finishing his prayer, he finds himself staring into the young lady's belly button. He tries to look up, but an incredible weight keeps his head still. He tries to speak but a strong yet highly fragrant hand covers his mouth, and a voice soon bathes his ears with a few choice words.

"I thought when we'd last spoke," said the young lady as she stretched her arms for a minute. "That we had come to a mutual understanding of what needs you were to fulfill for me. I specifically stated that I wanted to be in something that was more in line with your early stuff, than what you were currently working on."

"But I did," said the young man emphatically.

The young lady clamps her hand over his mouth and says, "No, you didn't. You put me into a fairy tale setting that had the makings of an absolutely over the top unforgettable experience. And when I went to act on those feeling, you made my love interest a hot homosexual painter!"

The young man mumbled for a moment, and the young lady removed her hand. "Did you bother staying for the rest of the story?"

"I didn't need to. I saw what I needed to see," said the young lady defiantly.

"I figured as much," said the young man, who at this point had managed to wiggle a hand free. He sticks a finger in a belt loop and starts to pull on it.

The young lady suddenly finds herself losing her balance and with it, her grip on reality. "What are you doing?!" she yells.

"Trying to put you back into the story."

"Why would you want to do a stupid thing like that?"

"Because there's more...to...this...story...than...meets...your...sensual...eyes," answers the young man emphatically, as with a burst of strength, he pulls the young lady into a somersault.

The young lady goes into an unstoppable somersault and seconds later disappears into a small supernova. The young man takes a deep breath and spends the next several minutes plowing his way through the mountain of debris. When he finally breaks through, he walks around the pile and goes into the bedroom. A minute later, he reappears with pen and paper.

Opening the front door, he says, "Trust me on this. I promised you a story that would rock your world and I intend to keep my word. I'm going to the park, which should give you ample enough time to do whatever tantrum you want to throw."

(c) 2012 by G. B. Miller. All rights reserved and enforced

The Muse Is Thy Master 2

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"Milady? Milady?"

The young lady awakens to the sound of an elderly gentleman's voice bathing her ears with a softness that defies description. She looks around at her surrounding and finds to her surprise that she is no longer sitting on the beach.

"Milady? Milady?"

Instead, she finds herself laying on a soft grassy knoll surrounded by waves of wildflowers. She also finds to her surprise that she's completely nude.

"I'll be damned. That little peon stuck me somewhere in the past," says the young lady to herself.

'I strongly suggest you answer your footman, as he's turning a major shade of red.'

The young lady momentarily narrows her eyes, then in her chirpiest voice says, "Yes?"

The footman quickly faces the other direction and says, "Milady,  you wanted me to remind you when yo had a half hour left to your sunbath."

"Thank you...um..."

"Gerald, milady," answers the footman.

"Thank you, Gerald," says the young lady as she sits up.

"Will there be anything else, milady?"

The young lady looks around for a moment, then asks, "Clothes?"

Gerald points to a rock some twenty feet away and says, "Over there, milady."

"Thank you again, Gerald. That will be all."

"As you wish, milady," says Gerald as he walks slowly back to the carriage.

The young lady waits until Gerald is out of sight, then collapses back on the grassy knoll and happily rolls herself into the bank of wildflowers. When she sits up some several minutes later, her hair is completely festooned with brightly colored wildflowers. She crawls over to the rock and starts going through her clothes. A minute later, she pulls out a small handheld mirror and crawls back to the grassy knoll.

When she looks into it, the mirror jumps out of her hand and impales itself in the ground. The young lady squats to pick it up, but the mirror takes root and rapidly grows into a full length mirror made of dark cypress and edged with honeysuckle.

Taken aback, the young lady peers around the back side and spies a rather large snow white owl. The owl hisses its displeasure at being looked at, and quickly takes flight. It zooms so close to the young lady that she is momentarily knocked from her feet. Before she can touch the ground, a honeysuckle vine shoots out and wraps itself around her toned stomach to keep her upright.

A peaceful feeling comes over the young lady as the honeysuckle vine pulsates vibes through its leaves and coats her skin with an intoxicating scent. A few minutes later, a soft whistle breaks through her psychedelic haze and the young lady suddenly finds herself not on the grassy knoll, but on the veranda of a medium sized English country house.

She starts to walk around but a sharp voice from behind stops her cold.

"Please don't move. The sun is finally in the perfect position for me to paint."

The young lady turns around and finds herself staring into a pair of the darkest hazel eyes she's ever seen. For the next minute, her heart literally melts as those eyes carefully and passionately bore a hole straight into her heart. A snap of the fingers makes her blink and when she refocuses again, the painter's muscular physique comes to the forefront and brings her to her knees.

A yearning to be hungrily ravished slowly comes over the young lady, and every key component of her body becomes so overly sensitive that if the painter exhaled in her direction, the result would be orgasmic.

With her heart racing and her body aching to be touched, the young lady slowly walks towards the painter. When he turns around to pick up his palette, she is right there in front of him. He sighs for a moment and waits for her to make the first move. When she touches his cheek, he holds it there for several seconds, then removes it and sensually kisses her fingers.

He stands up and walks her back to the railing. Caressing her cheek for a moment, he clears his throat and takes a couple of steps backwards.

"If I was that kind of man, I would give you such a day of passion that I daresay would take you forever to recover from. However milady, I am not that kind of man. I do keep my body in superior condition for my lover, and not only does he appreciate it, but so do the other discreet members of the same circle that milady travels in. Which is why my nudes are of the highest quality and of the highest demand on the continent."

To be continued...

(c) 2012 by G.B. Miller. All rights reserved.

The Muse Is Thy Master

The young lady spends several minutes walking along the beach, zig zagging this way and that, before finding what she feels to be the perfect spot to relax and get in touch with her inner self. She plops the chair at the edge of the shoreline and carefully sits down. She quickly unties her braid and after spending a few seconds shaking it loose, stretches out her legs, drops her shades and allows the ocean spray to caress her body and ticker her spirit.

As the spray coats her carmel skin, the sun beats down to gently break down her resistance and before long, she is dropping the back of the chair to full embrace the sun God.

A young man, dressed in bermuda shorts and down nip bottles of tequila, is staggering down the beach. Oblivious to his surroundings, he starts singing a few dirty songs at the top of his lungs, and a few minutes later spies a delectable looking woman about one hundred yards just off to his left.

With a spring in his step, he quickens his pace and in no time at all is standing next to what had t be the hottest looking babe he's ever seen. With the incessant hammer of "booty call" permeating his brain, he sits down next to the babe and taps her on the shoulder.

She turns and to his horror he recognizes her. Almost instantly he starts blubbering, but she quickly puts a finger to a his mouth. Flashing a ambiguous smile, she delivers a vicious open hand slap that sends him tumbling head over heels.

It takes him a few seconds to recover and when he does, he sees the young lady tapping his recently vacated spot. Reluctantly, he crawls back and gingerly takes a seat. He turns to speak but is instantly removed with another vicious slap to the head. Again after coming around, he reluctantly crawls back and sits down.

He turns to speak but thinks better of it and instead holds his tongue.

"I'm not happy with you," says the young lady in a voice dripping with anger.

"What do you mean?"

"Excuse me?" says the young lady as she sits up.

"Let me rephrase that. Why aren't you happy? You're working again, aren't you?"

"Yes, but I expected to be used in the same vein as your other stories. Not like this."

"Like what?"

She grabs hold of his neck and forcibly shoves him down in her lap. Squeezing his face, she repeats, "Not like this."

The young man looks and is horrified by what he sees staring back at him. Gulping hard, he reaches up to touch her face, but she grabs his wrist. Flashing a tight smile, she bends his wrist back while pulling him up at the same time.

She stares at him for a moment, then quietly asks, "What are you going to do about it?"

"About it?"

"Yes. What are you going to do about it?"

The young man pauses for a moment, then spins around until he is standing behind her. He gently removes her hand from his wrist, then kneels down and whispers, "Not a damn thing."

She turns around, locks eyes and says, "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. You needed to get back to work and I needed to write, so this is the best of both worlds. I have a story that is chomping at the bit and oozing out of my pen, and you have a starring role in it. What more could you ask for?"

She reaches up and embraces him. Caught off-guard, he goes to return the favor but suddenly finds himself being flipped over onto his ass. Before he can respond, the young lady tightens her grip and nuzzles his ear for a moment. After giving it a light nibble, which unnerved the young man, she answers his question.

"I could ask for respect. I could ask for to be treated in the manner that I'm accustomed to and deserve. I could ask for a story that better suits my talents." After that last sentence, the young lady stands up, drops the young man in the surf before sitting down and pinning his shoulders with her knees.

With the water crashing the beach at leisurely intervals, the young lady unties her bikini top and arches her back for a moment, before readjusting her position. She sits cross-legged in such a way that the young man's head is now resting semi-comfortably in her lap. For the next couple of minutes not a word is exchanged. The young lady, using the young man's waist as a prop, is busy taking an impromptu sunbath, while the young man, with a view that most others would die for, tries to wait out the impending shit storm that he finds himself in.

The young lady finally sits up, and after shaking some of the water off, puts her bikini top back on. She stretches out her legs for a moment, then stands up and returns to her chair. The young man waits for a minute, before getting up and walking over to the young lady. Squatting in front of her, he moves a few strands of hair out of her face and gives her a light kiss on the cheek.

She quietly nuzzles his face and gives him a light one as well. Smiling, he takes a seat next to her and for the next few minutes stares out at the horizon, letting the warm breeze and cool spray bathe his spirit. Eventually he comes to a decision, so after squeezing her neck for a moment, leans in and says very quietly, "I'll see what I can do."

She doesn't say anything but gives his thigh a gentle squeeze, before clearing her throat and shooing him away. the young man takes his leave and within a few minutes, disappears from the beach, leaving behind a thoroughly contented muse, who drops the back of her chair to work on her tan and gradually falls asleep.

When she wakes up.......

(c) 2012 by G.B. Miller. All rights reserved

Book Trailer For My Upcoming Debut

My friends, this book trailer will knock your socks off, or at the very least, make you sit up and take notice.

This trailer was created, as well as the book cover, by the talented Kelly Abell and her graphics company Select-O-Grafix. Seriously, if you need any kind of marketing product created, be it cover or a book trailer like what you see, by all means please check them out. In addition to being a talented graphics artist, she is also a multi-published author.

Feel free not only to leave a comment here, but at the video as well, since it is searchable on YouTube.

Again, major props to Kelly Abell for her fantastic work on my book cover as well as my book trailer.

A Very Short Excerpt

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The inspiration for my latest writing project "Time To Go" was unfortunately found while I was channel surfing earlier this year on Direct TV. The channel in question was called "Audience" and it was sponsored by the Smithsonian. The movie in question was from Australia, but I don't remember the title. All I remember was a one minute scene in which a criminal confronted a woman who stopped by at his apartment about whether she had talked to the police. He moved over to where she was sitting, brushed her hair out of her face, then covered her nose and mouth with his hand. That one scene managed to stick with me for the past four or five months, until around mid July, when I decided to write a story using that method of dispatching someone to the hereafter. As of the date of this post, I have fifteen pages and a shade over 9K words written

My friends, here are the opening paragraphs to my latest short story "Time To Go".

I took a couple of hard sniffs, and after chewing back the vomit so I wouldn't asphyxiate, I knew it was time to go. You would think that after experiencing twenty-three straight days of pure hell, I would long be used to the smell by now. But I wasn't. In fact, after twenty-three days, my sense of smell was so amped up that I could tell whether or not a mosquito was draining blood from a human or an animal.

It really didn't matter much to me that I was being abused. So long as the two gorillas were satisfied in using my body as a punching bag and a deformed sex toy, I was happy. I was happy that Davy, in his own sick way, really liked me. Or obsessed over me. I don't remember which anymore. After twenty-three days, I was just happy that I didn't join my friend Angela on the most frightening trip of her short life.

A 2nd Excerpt From "Blackness In The White Sand"

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Charla spent about a minute getting herself ready for the evening’s festivities by reaching deep within and bringing to the surface the poisonous fragrance that helped keep the family pantry stocked for the past hundred years. Shuddering one time to thoroughly soak the pores, she gave the door a couple of hard knocks and quickly slipped into her slut persona.

When the door opened, she stuck out her chest and said in her best girlie voice, “Is this where all the cool people play?"

The man who opened the door took one look at her swollen chest and hard nipples, licked his lips and said, “You betcha sweet thang. C’mon in and sit a spell.”

“Great!”

Charla walked in and was immediately blown away by the hardcore thrash metal blaring from the stereo. Someone handed her a bottle of whiskey and a fat doobie, while another gave her a sloppy kiss on the mouth. A third pulled down her tank top and bra and was about to tackle her breasts when someone took the bottle and pulled her away. She quickly found herself on the lap of Hillbilly who had decided that he should be the first to pop her cherry.

“Hey there little lady! How ‘bout letting a real man do you for a while?” asked Hillbilly after taking a large swig of whiskey.

Charla lit up the doobie and took a major hit. Letting the acrid smoke sharpen her senses for several seconds before slowly exhaling, she said coyly, “I don’t know. What would this real man be showing this tender sweet young thing?”

For starters,” said Hillbilly as he stuck his hand down the backside of her cutoffs to cop a feel of her ass. “I would show this tender, juicy, sweet young adorable thing how a real man would bring her to her knees from just a few well placed French kisses.”

“Do tell. Or rather, do show,” said Charla as she took another deep hit of her doobie.

“With pleasure,” said Hillbilly as he stood Charla up. “If you could be so kind, could you climb up on this chair and sit on the top of it for me?”

Charla took one last hit of her doobie and flicked it away before doing what Hillbilly asked. When she got herself situated, she asked, “Anything else?”

Hillbilly knelt down on the cushion and unzipped her cutoffs the rest of the way. He carefully peeled them down until her lightly trimmed bush was exposed. He used his fingers to find the juicy center and was surprised to find a small pentagram clip holding it closed. He fingered it for a moment, looked at Charla, who gave him a shy smile, then carefully unclipped it.

He then proceeded to spend the next few minutes not only French kissing her juicy center but giving it a vigorous workout as well with his middle finger. And not only did he keep his face firmly planted between her legs, but he also managed to alternate his fingering from her juicy center to her tight asshole.

For her part, Charla decided to fake it just long enough to keep him, as well as the others, satisfied until she was ready to claim what was rightfully hers. Not that she wasn’t able to actually enjoy those types of sexual experiences, but since she was never able to find the one person, male or female, that could genuinely satisfy those private needs, she simply didn’t activate them while she was actively keeping the pantry filled.

“Oh papi, you’re making feel all tingly inside with that tongue of yours!” said Charla as she took hold of his head and grinded her hips into his face. “And those magic fingers are just driving me over the edge!”

Charla leaned back a little and bumped into something soft. She reached up and found a rather large piece of meat being placed in her hand. The second she wrapped her slender fingers around it, it began to throb and pulsate. She stroked it a few times to get it hard, then turned her head and swallowed it down to the base.

For the next couple of minutes, the room was transfixed as the nastiest ménage a trois that anyone had ever seen was unfolding live and in living color. Hillbilly was busy tongue fucking Charla to a climax while she was busy sucking another guy dryer than the Mojave desert. Then suddenly, the room explored with a mighty roar as the two guys climaxed hard and Charla delivered a genuinely faked climax as well.

When she had finished her fake climax, Charla wiped her sticky hand on the chair and said, “Oh my god! That was so fuckin’ fantastic! But I need a couple of minutes to recuperate before we move on to some more fun and games. Who’s up for a little titty action?”

“I am,” said Cowboy, who had caught the tail end of the ménage a trois and decided that he needed to sample Charla in the worst possible way.

Cowboy stepped forward, unzipped his jeans and dropped them. Charla raised an eyebrow and asked, “I knew you were a fine piece of ass downstairs, but I didn’t know how fine you really were. So sugar, how do you want your titty action? As a delectable appetizer, or as a hearty meal?”

Cowboy stepped forward, stuck his rod in her chest and said, “A hearty meal please.”

Charla blew him a kiss, which seemed to daze him a little, and wrapped her breasts around his rod. The second she began to titty fuck him, her deadly scent began to float upwards and invade his pores. Before Cowboy knew what hit him, Charla had wormed her way into his soul and with the piston pumping rhythm of her breasts driving the scent deeper, it was simply a matter of minutes before he became zoned out.

But before she was able to bring him to that state of being, Cowboy grabbed her shoulders and broke her rhythm. He did such a hard thrust that Charla had no choice but to take his rod into her mouth to avoid being ejaculated on. When he’d finished, he abruptly pulled out and staggered a couple of steps before falling over his pants.

Still somewhat zoned, Cowboy wasn’t able to get a proper read of Charla’s flashing of her razor sharp teeth, the true intent of her tongue running over her lips and his semen running down her chest. Giving her a thumbs up, he quickly pulled his jeans up and stumbled out of the room and to the hallway. He continued to stumble and stagger until he got to the staircase, where he promptly missed the first step and somersaulted down the staircase, finishing face first and unconscious.

Flashing a tight smile that no one saw, Charla grabbed the seat cushion and cleaned her upper body with it. When she’d finished, she said in her brightest voice, “Who’s next?”

Hillbilly and two others stepped forward, while everyone else got down and dirty with their dates. Charla found the remote for the stereo and turned up the volume a little. Chucking it to the couch, she walked over to the trio and asked, “So what are you three in the mood for?”

Hillbilly answered for them. “Some d.p. for the boys and a little oral for the man.”

“Anything you say big boy,” answered Charla with a harder edge that was missed by all. She kicked away her cut-offs and waited for one of the men to get himself situated on the floor, before straddling his waist and taking hold of his rod. She held it in place as she slowly sat down on it. She yelped a little as the size momentarily caught her off guard, then motioned for the other man to mount her from behind. She yelped again as the man’s size stretched her ass more that what she was used to, then waited until they got going before slowly unleashing her scent.

Once they developed a good rhythm, she motioned for Hillbilly to drop his jeans and step forward. She gasped a little when she saw how large he was, then said, “Okay big boy, fuck my mouth until your semen is running down my face.”

“With pleasure,” answered Hillbilly as he shoved his rod all the way into her mouth. Soon, all was right in Charla’s world. All the sex she was having was causing her to drench the room with her poisonous scent and about three minutes later, the room was under her control.

"Time to take care of business and to feed this filly’s stomach.” she said to herself.

“Oh baby! That feels so good! Your mouth is so super moist its like fucking honey. Yeah, that’s it, swallow it all the way to the balls,” said Hillbilly as he was getting ready not only to blow his wad down her throat, but to smother her with it as well. The other two were waiting for him to blow his load as well, because not only was that the signal for them to grab her arms, but they also got off on blowing their load into women that were going to meet their maker.

Unfortunately for Hillbilly, the only load he blew was about a pint of blood when Charla bit off his rod.

“Holy fuckin’ shit?! What the fuck did you do to my dick?! It’s-“

“Right here in my hand, you sick motherfucker!” answered Charla after she spat out his dick. Throwing it over her shoulder, she quickly latched onto his thigh and ripped a huge chunk out of it before shoving him away.

 The guy on the bottom was the first to die. Charla quickly pulled him out and buried her fist into his mouth, before quickly shoving her entire arm down his throat. She poked around until she got a solid grip on his stomach, then quickly removed her arm. Blood gushed out in massive quantities, soaking the floor and coating the man’s stomach. Charla turned the stomach over this way and that, before taking a large bite out of it and throwing it over her shoulders as well.

 She chewed it for few seconds, then spat it out. “Ugh. Ulcers are so fuckin’ disgusting!”

The man fucking her doggy style was next. She reached around and grabbed him in a vicious headlock and squeezed until his eyes started to pop. Bringing him forward, she took her index finger and began pressing his right eye into his head. Tuning out his screams, she continued to push until her knuckle was rubbing against his eyelid. Quickly withdrawing, she sucked her finger dry and did the exact same thing to his left. This time, she didn’t stop at the knuckle but continued to push until the screaming stopped and the man went limp. She withdrew her finger and was genuinely surprised to find small bits of brain stuck on it.

“Snack,” said Charla as she ate the small pieces of brain. Scrunching her nose at the aftertaste, she turned her attention to Hillbilly, who was desperately trying to stem the blood flow from his two wounds.

 She crawled over and laid down next to him. Propping her head up, she turned his head to the side and whispered, “I know what you and Cowboy did to my father and if I had more time, I would put you through such exquisite pain and suffering that you’d beg me to finish you off like those two rancid pieces of meat you called friends. Since I don’t have that kind of time, I will do the next best thing.”

Hillbilly went wide eyed in terror as he watched Charla stand up and snap her fingers. Almost instantly, he found himself surround by the other dozen partygoers. She walked towards the door and opened it, and just before everything went dead in his world, he heard her say, “My good friends, here is your first course. Enjoy heartily, ‘cause the second course will be the other partygoers.”

Shutting the door behind her, Charla allowed her churning emotions to briefly surface as she searched for a water source to clean off the blood. By the time she found a small shower stall some forty-five seconds later, her emotional cauldron had done the job for her. Smiling inwardly, she started to brush out her hair when an urgent plea finally touched her frequency.

“I need your help!”

Excerpt (c) 2011 by GBMJr. All rights reserved

An Excerpt From "Blackness In The White Sand"

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Ayesha was still pretty much in that same fetal position when Thad decided to make another appearance. Ayesha saw him out of the corner of her eye and her heart just about melted, because Thad was dressed like a heartthrob. All black western regalia, with just a hint of silver on the collar tips and boot tips. He also wore a small diamond stud earring and matching cuff links.

Lighting up a very thin cigar, Thad knelt down next to Ayesha and said with just a hint of smugness, "Damn woman! Look at you. All lip and no action. I was told that you would be a formidable adversary, that you wouldn't take what I was dishing out to you lying down, and that every bad encounter that you ever had, you've come out on top. Boy, was my information wrong."

Grabbing her face, Thad blew a long stream of smoke in it, before continuing with his monologue. "You want to know something? I actually thought you were hot."

Well, that got her attention. She stopped sucking her thumb, wiped the drool from her face and focused her gaze on his.

Thad smiled, because now it was only a matter of time before the chase was back on. "No, really. When I was first told about you, they said that you were the hottest, baddest motherfucker that ever represented the female species. So I said to myself, 'I'm gonna track this bitch down and see for myself if what they say is true.

"You know, it took me quite a while to find you. Normally, when I go searching for someone, finding them is a snap. You wouldn't believe the info I can get on people, simply by acting polite. Man, the human race is so fuckin' gullible, it really is pathetic. People have no shame in giving up others if they think that those others are in trouble. But you, you're something special. Nobody gave you up for anything."

For the first time in a couple of hours, Ayesha spoke. "Loyalty means everything to me."
"Really?"
"Really. The people in my life who I consider to be my friends are few and far between. So the ones who earn my friendship, work extra damn hard to maintain it."
Ayesha sat up and poked Thad's chest very hard. "Furthermore, they maintain it because they know what kind of bad motherfucker I truly am."

Thad was pleasantly surprised at the amount of nastiness contained in that finger poke, but he made sure that Ayesha didn't know that she got one over on him. Standing up, he brushed off some phantom dust from his sleeve and straightened his tie. Clearing his throat, he said in the same smug tone, "I would love to continue this conversation, but events are unfolding outside that you really need to nip in the bud."

"What events?" she asked warily.
Thad pulled out a video camera and said, "I got spies everywhere. Take a look at what Antoine is doing with your beautiful body."
Ayesha took one look at the screen and freaked.
"I'm gonna beat that fucker until he's black and blue. But first, I'm gonna give you a couple of bitches to amuse yourself with. Consider this a small representation of what I'm gonna do to you when I catch you."
"I'm looking forward to it," said Thad, just before he blinked out of sight.

"Motherfucker!" she said to herself as she went searching for Antoine. It didn't take her long to find him, as he was sitting in her left eye, smoking one of his smelly cigars and laughing himself silly. Ayesha quietly snuck up, tapped his shoulder and bashed his nose three inches into his face the second he turned around. Before he could respond, she kicked out his knee and delivered a sick kick to his head.

Antoine crumpled to the ground in a bloody heap. Ayesha picked him up, saw his eyes roll and smiled. Dropping him back into the chair, she tapped his face a couple of times and said, "I'm not through with you yet. I will be back."
Turning her attention to the problem at hand, she took a deep breath, cracked her knuckles and stepped back into her mind to take control of her body again.

"Oh baby, that feels so good! Your mouth is so super moist that it feels like I'm fucking warm honey. Yeah, that's it, swallow it all the way--Fuck?! What did you do?! Oh my god, my dick! It's--"
Ayesha spat out the guy's dick and said, "Right here in my hands, you sick motherfucker!"
"You crazy bitch! I'm gonna--"
Ayesha cut him off and said, "I don't think so," before ramming her entire arm down his throat. Digging around for a few seconds, she soon found what she wanted, and quickly remove her arm the same way. Blood gushed out in massive quantities and in a matter of moments, the entire van was covered in a dark rancid cherry red.

The next guy suffered a similar fate She reached around and got the one who was fucking her doggy style in a vicious choke hold. Using his arm as an anchor, she dug her fingers in until she hit bone. With her free hand, she jammed her finger into his right eye. She tuned out his screams as she methodically pushed his eyeball deep into his head. Quickly withdrawing, she wiped her finger clean on the guy's face, before doing the exact same thing with his left. When she got to the very end, she decided to go a little further, and suddenly the screaming stopped. When she pulled out her finger, she was surprised to find small bits of gray matter stuck to it.

Smiling, she then turned her attention to the last of the gruesome threesome. She had just started pushing the man's eyes in with her thumbs when she felt a familiar tap on her shoulder.
"Not now. Can't you see I'm busy?"
"Yes now. Thad doesn't want this one. The two that you gave him will suffice."
"But I want him for me!"
"I know you do sweets. But you have bigger fish to fry. As a favor to me, leave him as is. Trust me, he will get his before the week is out."

Ayesha withdrew her thumbs and sat up. Wiping her hands on the guy's face, she said, "He'll talk."
"So what. You gave him such horrific memories that even if he does talk, no one will believe him. Besides, he's a married man."
"Really?"
"Really. Please, can we go? You need to get presentable. You're naked as the day you were born and you smell like a decomposing cadaver. More importantly, the police will be her soon, and do you really want to explain all of this to the?"

Ayesha turned around and was surprised to find herself face to face with Antoine. Not the imp version, but a full grown (and in her eyes, hot looking) version.
"I though I laid you out cold," said Ayesha as she looked around for her clothes.
"You did. While I was out, it was decided by others that I should be around to stop you from going too far."

Ayesha found her shirt and shorts, but no sneakers. She put them on and as she searched the van for her shoes, she asked, "How come you're not an imp?"
Antoine kicked her sneakers over and said, "They don't want another repeat of what just happened a few minutes ago. They also don't like Thad either. Office politics you night say."

Ayesha put her sneakers on and said, "Why doesn't that surprise me. Look, tell me about all of this shit later. Do I have everything? 'Cause like you said, we really need to get out of her."
Antoine looked around and said, "Yeah. You left your backpack..."
She quickly cut him off with a dirty look, so he corrected himself. "I left your backpack outside the van. I'll grab it on the way to the car."

They both left the van and hopped back in the car, with Ayesha behind the wheel and Antoine stretched out in the passenger seat. Starting the engine, she did a quick U-turn and burned rubber towards home. Once it was determined that they weren't being followed, Ayesha turned on the radio. Fiddling with the tuner, she soon found a station to listen to, and then spent the rest of the trip trying to forget what she did on both sides of the equation.

As for Antoine, he leaned back, took out one of his special cigs and lit it. Taking a deep drag, he held the acrid hashish taste until he felt it starting to do its magic, then slowly exhaled. Taking out his cell phone, he spent the rest of the trip sending out texts so as to get everything that needed to be at the ready, was in fact, at the ready.
(c)2009 by GBMJr. All rights reserved

Excerption From "Dandelion Tears"

Please click here for companion post

The second that her head touched the flap, Nyx picked up on a peculiar smell. Crinkling her nose, she froze for a moment as she tried to decide whether she should go inside to confront the source of that smell or simply continue on to where the humans were waiting for her.

Several seconds later, the decision was made for her as something gave her a hard shove through the flap and sent her sprawling to the ground. When she'd tried to get up, she found herself staring into the snarling face of the Queen's jaguar, who had taken up a position between her and Jerry.

Nyx quickly scanned the tent for Cerberus and found them near the far side of the tent in a pitched battle with their brother Orthus. Swearing under her breath, she was about to go mano-a-mano with the jaguar, when a sharp whistle brought everything to a halt.

Nyx kept her eyes locked on the jaguar and said, "My Queen?"

For the longest time the only sounds that Nyx heard was the labored breathing of the twin canines, the acid drool of the jaguar hitting the ground and her own heartbeat. But soon the atmosphere changed ever so slightly and Nyx became conscious of a pair of footsteps approaching from behind. She didn't turn to see who it was as the big cat kept her frozen in her crouch, but soon felt a chill running up her spine.

Shivering for a moment, Nyx felt someone lean in and give her ear a long lick before vanishing. Puzzled, she wondered where that person went when she suddenly felt a pair of hands pull her sweater down to expose her breasts. That same pair of hands then started to slap and pinch her nipples to the point where she wanted to scream out in pain.

However, before she could open her mouth, the atmosphere changed again and the air quickly became soaked with classical music. Nyx went wide eyed as the realization that she was about to become someone's personal bitch. She desperately tried to get away but found that her body was completely locked in position.

Biting her lip to quell the rising tidal wave of milk, the excruciating pain and the sensory overload from the music, Nyx desperately tried to figure out who was assaulting her this time. She frantically sniffed at the air for a scent but only came up with what was already floating around. She tried to see the reflections in the big cat's eyes but that same pair of hands ripped the sunglasses off her face.

Fighting with every bit of energy in her body, Nyx knew that her only chance of surviving this latest onslaught was to not let the music work its magic. She tried to focus her thoughts on the events of the day but found nothing in which to grab onto. Thinking hard, she finally found a small seed of a memory to latch onto, but by then it was too late.

A pair of headphones were quickly jammed on her head before a warm mouth wrapped itself around one of her breasts. Within a few minutes, both breasts were milked dry and to her horror that same person was now pulling at her jeans in order to mount her from behind.

Nyx screamed in pain as the person entered and stretched her out in all directions and pounded it home with a ferocity that caused her to bleed the moment they finally pulled out. That same person then quickly shoved a fistful of grass into her mouth before taking a handful of hair and twisting it until her throat was stretched backwards to its breaking point.

Licking her ear again, they whispered, "Welcome to your nightmare. Hate it while you can because next time, it will be your new reality."

Standing up, they straightened out their clothes and blew a short sharp whistle. When Orthus came running over, the person said, "Wait 'til I leave, then get rid of her lover."

The second that the person took flight, Nyx was finally able to move. Collapsing face first, the last thing she heard before being punched out by the ground was Jerry's horrifying screams as Orthus painstakingly turned his body into maggot mulch.

(c) 2011 by GBMJr. All rights reserved

Nyx stepped back out of the mirror and took stock of what she was wearing.

She had on a pair of form fitting dark rigor mortis blue blue jeans that were held up by three tightly woven strands of barbed wire. On her feet was a pair of knee high water moccasin leather boots that were laced with a tightly woven multi-strand of dog hair from Cerberus. A coal black half sweater that covered both arms and her breasts, leaving the key psychedelic triangle of black lily tattoos exposed.

The sleeves had a barbed wire fringe that was adorned with pieces of bloody human skin and the biker gloves that covered her hands also had barbed wire knuckles as well, while the rest of the sweater squeezed her chest until she was showing bullets.

She pulled her waist length hair out from her sweater and was surprised to find that it was brushed back out and the live spaghetti-snake curls that had terrified the familiar were put back in.

(c) 2011 by GBMJr. All rights reserved

Query Letters

Please click here to return to part one of this post

Version #1

Hook:

The game of public sex is hard enough to play when you got the family loan shark looking for a piece of your action, but when your internal twin wants a piece of the action as well, it can make you question your own sanity.

Synopsis:

Flat broke without a job, Jeannie was terrified of becoming like one of her uncle's deadbeat customers. Even though she was able to get a five day extension from her uncle, thanks to her ability to turn a word on its ear, she still faced the same problem: no money.

Sill, somebody up there must've had a soft spot for her, because no sooner then she closed her phone, a young man began chatting her up. Before she knew it, Jeannie was holding a card that was her potential salvation from a world of hurt.

After a brief but highly insulting conversation with Aissa, Jeannie was determined to try her hand as an adult performer. Not just because she needed the money, but more to the point of needing to prove her symbiont wrong and to prove to herself that she could play the game of public sex and still have her morals intact.

Line 21 is not just a story about a young woman's dilemma in reconciling her values to her new career, but it's a story about living with a free spirit that's crying out for adventure.


Version #2

Hook:

The game of public sex is hard enough when you got the family loan shark bothering you for a piece of your action, but when your symbiont wants a piece as well, it can make you question your sanity.

Synopsis:

Flat broke with no job, Jeannie was terrified of becoming one of her uncle's deadbeat customers. Even though she got a five day extension to get current, courtesy of her verbal gymnastics, she was still stuck in the same dead end with the same problem: no money.

Still, God must've had an ulterior motive, because no sooner then she closed her phone, a young man sat down next to her and began chatting her up. A few minutes later, Jeannie was holding a card that could just be her potential salvation from a world of hurt.

After a brief, yet highly insulting conversation with Aissa, Jeannie was determined to test her mettle as an adult performer. Not because she needed the money, but more to the point of needing to prove her symbiont wrong as well as proving to herself that she could play the game of public sex and still have her morals intact.

Line 21 is not just a story about a young woman's dilemma in reconciling her values to a new career, but it's a story about living with a free spirit that's crying out for adventure.

A Query Letter

Please click here to return to part one of this post.

April 28, 2008


I am looking for professional representation, and in a world where few people take an avid interest, I wanted you to know that what I have finished will make you sit up and take notice. My 65,000 word contemporary romance novel entitled Twisted Romance has a unique feature that is designed to hold the reader's interest to the very end: a completed novella within a novel.

The novel opens with Wally Wurld sitting at his computer, feeling very confused about how an ongoing relationship with is co-worker Azalea Gold is turning from a simple office friendship to something far deeper and personal. He decided to work out his confusion by writing a story about it. Initially meant to be nothing more than an emotional release, the story soon becomes a running parallel to his relationship with Azalea. Every planned encounter (work, supermarket and the hockey game), and unplanned encounter (scooter ride in the country, supermarket, his family, work and her condo) with Azalea is so skillfully woven into the story by Wally, that it soon becomes impossible to tell whether his life is mirroring the story, or the story is mirroring his life.

I have been writing for only a short period of time. The connection that I have with my novel is very personal. I was experiencing marital problems in the winter of 2005, and one way that I found to work them out was to write this novel.

As per your agency's guidelines that you have listed in the 2008 Guide to Literary Agents, you will find enclosed a SASE, an outline and three sample chapters. The outline and chapters are recyclable. Please note that this is a simultaneous query. I thank you in advance for your time and I look forward to hearing from you.

Sincerely,

G

Synopsis for "Line 21"

Click here to return to part one of this post

JEANNIE hung up the phone after negotiating a five day extension of her juice payments to her uncle and began to panic. She had no idea on how she was going to come up with two thousand dollars by Friday and the prospect of having her knees capped weighed heavily on her conscience.

Sighing hard, she took out her newspaper to scan the help wanted ads, but her attention was diverted by someone sitting down next to her and whistling a lively tune.

Surprised to hear someone in such a good mood, she struck up a casual conversation with the man, who introduced himself as Ken Eppee casting director for adult movies. Several minutes later, Jeannie was on her way home with his business card and an invite to an open audition the next day.

However Jeannie still wasn’t convinced that she was doing the right thing, so she decided to bounce the idea off her symbiont AISSA. By the time they finished talking about it, Jeannie was convinced that this was the only way to pay off her debts.

The next day Jeannie got up early so as to get to the audition as early as possible. When she got there, she saw that there was a least a dozen other women competing for that same job. When her turn came, she hesitated as the idea of having public sex was about to become a reality. Twenty minutes later, her flawless celluloid performance got her the job.

Tuesday continued where Monday had left off at. Jeannie was so hyped up for her new job that her entire body was primed for use. After Aissa had explained the particulars as to why her entire body was primed and talked herself into tagging along to the shoot, Jeannie got dressed and took off for the suburbs. By the end the morning, she successfully shot her first piece of adult film, and when the day’s shoot concluded in the late afternoon, Jeannie cemented her reputation as a force to be reckoned with in the adult movie industry.

However, the excitement of the day quickly caught up with Jeannie as within a minute of pulling into the condo parking lot, she answered nature’s call and puked her brains out. Within a few minutes of staggering into her apartment to clean up, her next door neighbor GEOFF came over to check on her well being. After a short conversation, not only did she assure him that she was fine but managed to set up a lunch date at the park for the next day.

Once she got rid of him, she had a short but meaningful conversation with Aissa and promised to have a long talk about her new career and how it was going to be handled after she had dinner with her parents. Arriving at home a few hours later, she was very surprised to see her uncle’s bodyguard sitting in her apartment waiting to offer his services to her. Declining the offer, she sent him on his way and then spent the rest of the night quietly exploring her body.

The next morning Jeannie awakened to find herself on the couch and her uncle’s bodyguard sitting in the kitchen. After finding out as to why he was there, she thanked him and sent him on his way so that she could meet up with Geoff at the park for their lunch date. A few hours later, while on their way home, Aissa and Jeannie had an argument over the fact that Aissa had made an appearance and interrupted Jeannie’s lunch. When they got back to the apartment, Aissa reminded her that tomorrow’s shoot was taking place at the beach. Jeannie freaked and spent the rest of the night convincing herself that she was still doing the right thing.

The next day when Jeannie woke up she found that she was wrapped up like a mummy and Aissa was sitting on her stomach. After getting the particulars as to why she was wrapped up like a mummy, Jeannie was able to piece together the reason as to why she acted like goof last night. Unwrapping herself, Jeannie told Aissa that she was going to spend the day being her, so that she could experience first hand what it was like to live like a real person, as opposed to living her life through her. Taken by surprise at this sudden turn of events, Aissa quickly agreed to Jeannie’s idea and about twenty minutes after switching places, they took off for the beach.

Once they got there, Aissa took her time walking to the shoot location as she took in the sights, sounds and smells of the beach. When she got within visual range, she decided to make a memorable entrance to the video shoot location, and about twenty minutes later was giving her very first on-screen performance.

Right after the shoot broke for lunch Aissa spotted Wallace watching the action from a sea wall. Running over to talk to him, she quickly found out that Geoff had been spotted lurking around the parking lot. Before she had a chance to say anything else, Jeannie re-entered her body and threw a conniption fit. Aissa maintained her composure long enough until she was out of sight then gave Jeannie a verbal bitch slapping, before returning to the beach to finish up the video shoot.

The drive home from beach was just as eventful as the drive to, as Jeannie continued wigging out over the fact that Geoff had shown up at the video shoot. Aissa simply tuned out her latest rant and spent the rest of the trip thinking about how to coexist with someone suffering from a broken heart. Shortly after arriving at home, Aissa bumped into Geoff and after a brief exchange, got him to agree to talk to Jeannie about what happened at the beach.

Jeannie and Geoff had a heart-to-heart talk and when it ended, she walked out with a repaired relationship and a marriage proposal. When Aissa found about the marriage proposal, she became so genuinely happy about it that for the first and only time in her life, she became a flesh and blood sister to Jeannie. The moment soon ended and Jeannie spent the rest of the night consoling and comforting an emotionally distraught Aissa.

Jeannie woke up the next morning with the stereo blasting and Aissa nowhere to be found. Before she could do anything else her uncle’s bodyguard’s deep voice pierced her brain and brought her back to the present. After finding out that Aissa (masquerading as Jeannie) had called him and why he came over to the apartment, she thanked him for his time and sent him on his way.

Once he left, Jeannie had another chat with Aissa and once again helped through another emotional meltdown. Once she’d finished, Jeannie broached the delicate subject of their co-existence by stating that Aissa could spend the next few hours living the life of a real person with no interference from her.

Before Aissa could say anything, she quickly found herself that her entire character and personality had bled through and she was now in all appearances, herself and not Jeannie. She proved this to the outside world when the leading man from the video shoot stopped by and thought she was Jeannie. She showed him otherwise and they quickly spent the next few hours on the rooftop having all kinds of crazy sex.

When the man left, Aissa noticed on her cell phone that she had about ten minutes to get dressed and to the apartment so that she could make the body switch with Jeannie. She quickly got dressed and ran down the six flights to the apartment, only to find the front door locked. Distraught, she sat down and began to cry. Just then Jeannie’s uncle’s bodyguard showed up and opened up the door for her.

Aissa thanked him and ran inside. Quickly changing out her bathing suit, she reached up to the ceiling mirror just in time as Jeannie made the exchange and zapped her back to her world. When Aissa came to, Jeannie barked at her to get dressed as she had an important lunch engagement with Geoff at the park. Aissa balked, so Jeannie patiently explained that she had epiphany while she was gone and would explain it in greater detail after their lunch date in the park.

A few hours later and oblivious to what Geoff’s ulterior motives might’ve been at lunch, Jeannie spent the rest of the afternoon first explaining what her epiphany was and then comforting Aissa as the realization that she would be spending part of her life living as a real person sank in.

Emotionally spent after the intense tête-à-tête with Aissa, Jeannie went up to the rooftop to crash for a while. Within a few seconds of closing her eyes, she had an intense dream that culminated in solidifying her symbiotic relationship with Aissa. Waking up in a pool of sweat, she staggered down the stairs to get dressed for her dinner date with her uncle and Geoff. After stopping by the apartment to pick up Geoff, Jeannie took off for the restaurant.

After arriving and before going into the restaurant, Jeannie noticed a change in Geoff’s demeanor after he finished a short phone conversation as his tone became a little menacing. She grabbed his arm and marched off to the restaurant, where a few minutes later, they were seated at her uncle’s table. Jeannie excused herself to freshen up and to retrieve the money that she owed her uncle stashed in her bra. When she got back to the dining room, she found herself on the receiving end of a revolver that Geoff was pointing at her.

He grabbed the money, briefly used her as a shield, then shoved her to the ground as he ran out the back exit and down the alleyway. Jeannie quickly gave chase and when she got into striking distance, she launched a flying tackle. At the same exact moment, Geoff turned and fired. Jeannie’s uncle’s bodyguard arrived on the scene a few minutes later, and saw that Jeannie was gravely wounded. He killed Geoff and quickly turned his attention back to Jeannie’s gunshot wound. As he tried to stop the bleeding, he thought about that special girl who touched him like no other, and cried.

(c) 2011 by GBMJr. All Rights Reserved