Friends Friday -Heather Thurmeier!
posted in Blog, Friends Friday | Tagged: Friends Friday, Heather Thurmeier, Love and lattes, Names, Silver Publishing
Welcome Heather to my blog today, she’s talking about names!
I wanted to start by thanking Victoria for having me on her blog today. It’s a pleasure to be here to celebrate my debut release!
I wasn’t sure what I wanted to talk about today. Then it hit me. Something universal that all writers have to do at some point in the process if they’re going to write a book…
Names!
You got it. Names!! Sweet heavenly names. Do I sound overly excited about naming characters? Good! ‘Cause I am! This is a kid in a candy shop moment for me. A shopaholic with a zero balance on her credit card. A… I could go on, but I think you get the point.
Those who know me well know that I’m a little bit crazy about names. When I had my children, I loved making lists of names, thinking of names, discussing names. I can’t tell you how many hours I logged looking for the perfect names for my kids. I had a list of first names AND a list of corresponding possible middle names. We knew we were having girls, but both times I tried to convince my husband that we needed to go to the hospital with a list of boy names just in case the ultrasound had been wrong. That idea was met with a resounding “no!”
Pout. Seemed so logical to me.
So let’s just say I love starting a new story because it means I get to name a few new babies. And guess what? This time, there’s no one around to veto my decision! Woot! These babies belong to me! Mwahahaha! I can name them whatever I want. SQUEEE. The power!
I know everyone has a host of ways they come up with the names for their new characters, but I thought I’d share my favorite. This is the site I go to every time I’m in need of a new name. Or a few.
OMG, it’s so awesome and here’s why. You can enter in a name and then tell it to find other names that go with that name. So when I was writing LOVE AND LATTES, I knew I loved the name Chase for my hero, but I wasn’t sure what name went well with that for my heroine. So I went to my trusty name site and entered in Chase, then told it to find girls names that matched. As you find names you like, you can add them to your list and your search automatically gets refined to match the style of names you’re choosing. Then when you find one that appeals to you like Julia for example, then you can click on the name and all the stats come up about it. Where it originated, it’s popularity, even similar names. It’s. Awesome.
So there you have it. That’s seriously how I come up with about 90% of the names I use for my characters. Now when you read about Chase and Julia in LOVE AND LATTES you’ll know where their names came from! And I hope the next time you’re stuck trying to name one of your characters, you think of that fantastic naming site and give it a try. Hopefully it will help you too!
So tell me, where do you come up with names for your characters?
Chase Bloom wants the one thing his wealth can’t buy–a woman who loves him for who he really is and not just his money. Not only is Julia Walker beautiful, funny, and so incredibly sexy, she’s also the first girl who doesn’t seem to know who Chase is. Finally, after two years of playing the field Chase gets a chance to date a girl who’s interested in him, not his status. As Julia waits at the bar in one of the local clubs, she wonders how much more cleavage she’ll have to show to be granted a drink by a bartender with blinders on. Just when she thinks she’s bound to die of thirst, the man of her dreams steps up to the bar and into her heart with a frosty Cosmo. Their casual encounter at the bar quickly escalates into an intimate encounter in the bedroom.
When Julia runs into Chase on her first day of work she’s excited to finally see him again—until she learns he’s her new boss. Now Julia must stop fantasizing about him even though her mind is constantly remembering his hands on her body, his lips on her eager flesh. But her fantasies fizzle when both Julia’s first customer and her new manager threaten her to stay away from the boss. Chase is a player and Julia is his new toy. Should Julia heed the threats about Chase or is a chance to fall in love worth the risk?
LOVE AND LATTES is available now!
http://heatherthurmeier.com
Buy the book here
And at Amazon.com
EMail: heatherthurmeier @ gmail.com (no spaces)
Facebook: Heather Thurmeier, author
Twitter: @hthurmeier
posted in Blog | Tagged: Competition, contest, giveaway, Lunatic Fringe, Sommer Marsden, That girl, Zombines
She’s that girl on my Blisse Blog today! Welcome Sommer, I can’t wait to hear more about your new release LUNATIC FRINGE!
My main character and resident bad-ass zombie exterminator Poppy is everything I wish I was. She’s pretty much mangled, dented and emotionally damaged by life to a degree but…who isn’t on some level. Despite all that Poppy does knows how to throw down with the creepers (what my crew calls the zombies) and how to get down with Garrity. And later Garrity and Cahill and eventually…well, never mind. I’m getting ahead of myself.
Poppy can cop to her girlish feelings, kiss a guy so that his toes curl and take a troop of the undead down. That’s my kind of girl.
Which is why I am not Poppy.
See, I’d be that girl. You know the girl. We’ve all seen them in the zombie movies (or any horror movies if we’re honest). The girl who goes in the house when she know she shouldn’t . Stephen King even alludes to this in Salem’s Lot when his female lead has a lovely internal dialogue about it with herself as she enters the house…but that is VAMPIRES so entirely irrelevant to this rambling blog! As I was saying, I’d be the girl who screams so loud the zombies (or other monster) zeroes right in on her. I’d be the girl who trips and falls and is instantly consumed by a hoard of ravenous creatures. I’d be the girl who decides a short cut down a dark alley on a deserted night where no one can hear her scream is a brilliant idea.
And the best one yet: while working out a zombie plot point one hot afternoon, as I was recreating something, I realized that I’d be the girl who barricaded the inside of a door that swung outward.
Yeah, I’d be that girl.
By the end of the story, book or movie I’d be a zombie (or werewolf or vampire or just…ya know…a corpse). Which is why I am glad I don’t have to kill dead things. I just get to write bad-ass blue hair, sex crazed women who do it for me. And I would also like to note that I am very grateful all my doors in this house open inward. In the event of a zombie invasion, my ass is totally covered. No thanks to me or my barricading abilities!
XOXO
Sommer
Blurb for the newest Zombie Exterminator book LUNATIC FRINGE
Her big day is suddenly full of machetes, a lady from the CDC and news of a new vaccine that might–or might not–work. Lucky for Poppy the boys won’t let the new turn of events ruin her birthday, they still take her where she needs to go. Because all four of them know, every day could be your last. Sadly, Garrity, Cahill and Noah can’t control what happens next. Things change, possibly forever, for there little group of exterminators. And over the next few days Poppy realizes a few things with perfect clarity: she loves Garrity, the thought of losing one of the boys terrifies her and she’s completely at a loss when it comes to one of her own being threatened. It seems to be the one area in which she can’t pull off the bad ass persona.
What will she do, she wonders, if their perfect group of four suddenly becomes a group of three? How will she survive?
Excerpt from LUNATIC FRINGE:
“Good question,” Cahill said. He rose from the table, grabbed a silver box and set it on the table. “Happy birthday, Poppy.”
I glanced at him. “Now?”
“Yep, it’s from all us rowdy boys.”
I glanced at Garrity and then Noah and back to Cahill. Hmm. Odd. I popped the lid and zombie or no zombie, I squealed like a girl.
“Oh my Goooooood!” I grabbed them, one in each hand and hefted them. Then I swung them around like I was aiming for an invisible foe.
“Whoa, Nelly,” Garrity said. “They’re loaded, Pops.” I quickly lowered them.
Noah nudged Cahill in the ribs and said, “I told you not to load them, Nick.”
Cahill snickered, grabbed a handful of Noah’s artfully messy hair, tugged his head back and kissed him on the neck. “Yeah, you were right.”
I felt my panties go wet with that one. Okay, they are my friends; Nick Cahill has even been my lover (in a three-way with my handsome man Garrity, thank you very much), but they are still hotter than hell and watching them together turns me on. I felt my cheeks heat with blush.
“Best gift ever!” I said.
“Ah, not every girlfriend would get all gushy over sawed-off shotguns,” Garrity said and his finger traced a heated trail from the base of my neck to the base of my hips. Yum.
“Speaking of gushy—”
“Ew!” Noah snorted.
“Pevert,” I said. “As I was saying, seeing as I am not only the birthday girl but have already been attacked by a rogue creeper today, I am icky and need a shower. I’ll be back,” I said, snorting at my movie quote joke, considering I was toting some serious-ass kicking weaponry. “And I’m taking my prezzies with me.”
I walked through our shared farmhouse. It was old but killer. Along the way, I checked doors and glanced out windows. Holding a sawed-off in each hand made me feel safe. The world’s most demented and deadly security blankets.
I propped my new toys in the corner of the bathroom and stripped, remembering against my will the almost normal gait of the creeper. The near-alertness in her eyes that was realistic enough to fool me. How I didn’t even know until I was close enough to touch and smell her. Which meant she was close enough to bite me.
“Jesus. Are they mutating or what?” I growled, stepping into the hot spray and sighing.
It was nice. Hot water, lemon-basil scented shower gel. I even shaved my legs and my hoo-hah because I was looking to get lucky today. I had a birthday to celebrate, after all. I stood there, the water spreading over my skin, heating my core temperature and counteracting the February wind that had left me feeling cool and hollow.
“Poppy?”
“Yes, sir?” I asked, poking my head out.
My newly cut bangs were standing up in several different directions. I could feel them and in some places see them. I had just had the girl at Shear Class cut them into my still-dyed blue hair. I wanted to go a bit Bettie Page-ish because soon I figured I’d let it go back to its normal color and maybe chop it all off.
“Lunatic fringe,” Garrity sang to me, meaning my hair.
“We all know you’re out there,” I cooed back, and then I grabbed him by his tee and yanked. Hard. Garrity had two choices. Fall or step forward into the tub and the running water. Garrity isn’t stupid.
“I’m in the shower with you,” he observed with a smirk.
“So you are,” I said, tugging his belt which was getting wetter with each second.
“You’re naked,” he said.
“Thank you for noticing.”
“You seem a bit…zealous.”
“I got sneak-attacked in plain sight by the walking dead. Zealous is a generous adjective.” I managed the belt and tugged the buttons of his fly. His jeans, well worn and stained from motor oil and various other things I didn’t want to contemplate surrendered to my pressure.
Garrity helped me, shucking the jeans and together—laughing and cursing—we got his wet socks off. I was just happy he hadn’t been in his work boots when I pulled him in.
“Are you okay?” he asked, soberly. He pushed his big hands into my hair and made me look at him.
I kissed him, pushing my tongue into his mouth, shoving my hands up under his tee. I curled my fingers to his warm flesh and said, “I am now.”
“So we’re going to—”
“Fuck like crazy people in the shower? Yes.”
His cock was hard and warm in my hand and jumped a touch when I grabbed him. I kissed him harder and gasped into his mouth when he pinched my nipples hard enough to make my stomach tingle. “Spread your legs, Poppy,” he said.
posted in Blog, FlashFiction | Tagged: #normal, exhibitionist, flash fiction, free read, Silver Flash, Wank Wednesday
Today’s Wank Wednesday prompt which is #normal and the Silver Flash prompt is “Will you stop doing that! I can’t concentrate when you’re…” And today’s flash fiction is brand new and wrote itself in minutes, that’s the kind of story I like!
It was just a normal day. Well, for someone, somewhere I’m sure it was. For me however I have an aversion to that word, that dirty little boring word that seems to mean so much to people.
“Why can’t you just be normal?” I’ve heard those words so many times in my life, from being a tiny little girl. I can’t help it, I’m not normal. I was a tom boy as a kid, never wore skirts and hair bows, always had scuffed up knees and I was the toughest boy in my class even if I was a girl!
I lost a bit of the all boy stuff when I got to high school, I discovered hormones or they discovered me and I found I wanted to look attractive. So I took to dying my hair bright red and wearing short skirts and ripped t-shirts. My mum went mental, screamed “Why can’t you just be normal?” A million times at me but I couldn’t just be normal, that wasn’t me.
At university I branched out. I kissed my first woman, enjoyed it and became a lesbian for a while. I don’t mean to offend anyone by being so flippant but at the time I truly thought I was sexually attracted to girls and that was it. I had a lovely long relationship with a sweetheart named Caroline. Blonde and perky, bubbly and all kinds of clean cut. She could pass for normal, well, until she met me and then she was accompanied by myself and my neon pink Mohawk and it got more difficult for her to blend in.
A year later we broke up because I discovered that I still liked boys. I liked them a lot. So even there I couldn’t be normal. I couldn’t pick one sex or the other, I wanted both.
Normal hit me like a ton of bricks when I left uni. I had a degree, shiny, new and ready to use but I couldn’t find anything in my field. So I ended up working in a supermarket to pass the time. I had to lose the weird hairdos, I even had to tone down the colour so I went for dirge black, to suit my mood. I wear horrid polyester trousers, a puke coloured shirt and a tie that looks like it’s been painted by a radioactive monkey.
I hate it. I hated being on the tills, so I was put on shelf stacking, I hated that all the more so I was put on the bakery, they hated me so now I am left with the fish. I don’t mind the fish. They’re brightly coloured, my corner is cool and it’s quiet most of the time. I get to cut things up, lay things out in pretty patterns and I’m left alone, or I was. Then Charlie started.
Don’t get me wrong, he’s nice enough, I mean eye candy wise I’m not going to kick him out of my line of sight. Gorgeous looking guy he is but he’s a bit of a shit, truth be told and he’s constantly trying to get me into trouble when I’m here trying hard to blend in and be normal.
“Will you stop doing that! I can’t concentrate when you’re -”
“But you like it,Jan,” he interrupted, running his hands over my hips.
“We’re supposed to be working, Charlie, serving customers not each other.”
“But you know it drives me wild being near you. I can’t help myself.” His hands cup my buttocks, I moan with satisfaction inside and just moan on the out.
“Charlie, behave.”
“No,” he responded and pulled down my trousers. No one would know from the front but behind, well now my bare behind (I don’t do knickers, they’re too normal) is on display to the world.
“Stop it,” I hissed, “what if we’re on CCTV?”
“Then the boring sods in security are about to have the thrill of their life” he said, “Oh, silly me, I just dropped a knife.”
And the next thing I know my legs are being parted and I have Charlie’s mouth on my cunt.
“Oh, God, no, no, no, stop it.” I panicked. I tried to look normal and pleasant on the outside but my insides were boiling and rolling and demanding more.
He didn’t stop it. I struggled to keep my breathing normal. I struggled to stand still. I really struggled when an elderly gentleman wandered over wanting a fresh cod fillet.
I weighed it, stickered it and severely undercharged him. Surprisingly, he didn’t mind, even waved at me politely as he went. My cheeks were red, my cunt was on fire and as soon as the guy’s back was turned I came. Hard,fast and gushing. I held onto the fish display before me to stop my knees from buckling then pretended to rearrange things, just to look, you know, normal.
He pulled my pants back up and fastened them for me then stood beside me licking his lips.
“You’re evil,” I snapped.
“Yeah, but you love it.” He replied with an annoying smirk.
He was right. I did.
Read all the Wank Wednesday offerings at the eroticnotebook.co.uk and below you’ll find this week’s Silver Flash offerings too! Lots of lovely smut to brighten up your midweek!
posted in Blog | Tagged: Jane Wenham Jones, non fiction, promotional postcard, wanna be a writer we've heard of, writer tips
We’re going all non-fiction today folks with Jane Wenham-Jones! All writers and authors take note especially!
Jane Wenham-Jones is a novelist, journalist and presenter and the author of the Wannabe Books – two how-to manuals on getting published and becoming well-known. Below is an extract from Wannabe a Writer We’ve Heard Of?, available on Amazon or through all good bookshops. For more on Jane see http://www.janewenham-jones.com.
Here’s some sage advice about promotional postcards for all you wannabe writers!
Postcards & Bookmarks
If you are going to get postcards printed, do shop around as prices can vary hugely. You’ll find lots of companies on the internet – don’t forget to compare like with like in terms of card weight/quantity/size and to check for extras like delivery or artwork charges. And don’t ignore what’s on your doorstep. Sometimes local printing firms can be surprisingly competitive and you can do that quaint old-fashioned thing of actually talking to someone about what you want and being able to see a proof first.
Some publishers will provide you with printed bookmarks too or you can decide to get these done yourself – depending on how much cash you want to splash. The same advice applies. Ask other authors where they got theirs done and get several quotes. If you can only afford to do one or the other, I would personally go for postcards (which can double as bookmarks anyway) as I find them more versatile.
Ten ways to use your postcards
1) Make them into invitations for your launch party. If you’re feeling flush get them over-printed. If you’re feeling technical and have the right equipment, overprint them yourself. Otherwise print up some labels with all the details to be stuck on the cards, or, if you don’t get out much, go for the personal approach and hand-write each one.
2) Keep them for correspondence – every time you have to send a note to anyone, anywhere, either write it on a card or enclose a card with your letter. A friend laughed when he saw me putting one of my postcards into an envelope for the dentist. But why not? Might the receptionist not read books?
3) Leave them on the bus, the train, the tube or plane. If you can stick them up somehow, so much the better (I carry my own blue tack).
5) Leave one on the back seat of every cab you take – you never know who will get in next.
5) Pin them on notice boards – once you start looking, you’ll see boards everywhere – at the doctor’s, the gym, the waiting room at the chiropodist’s. Pop one up when the staff aren’t looking (keep a couple of map pins in your pocket) and it may survive for weeks. Even if it quickly gets taken down again – at least one person will have seen it.
6) Ask to leave a pile on the front desk of establishments you patronise. NB the success of this may depend on how much money you spend. Try asking your hairdresser, local tandoori, garage, computer repair shop or wherever you get your legs waxed.
7) Dot them about the library
8) Hand them out in queues
9) Put one on each chair where you’re going to give a talk
10) Slide them surreptitiously between the pages of rival tomes in bookshops.
For more on the book check out the site: http://www.wannabeawriter.co.uk
To pick up your Copy of Wanna be a writer we’ve heard of? check out any of these places:
posted in Blog | Tagged: BBW, except, Rubenesque, Tasty Italian, Total-E-Bound
Yeee haw it’s another new Blisse book and this one is absolutely delicious I promise you.
Tasty Italian is now available from Total-E-Bound. Want to know more? Check it out:
Fiona was bored with her life but she didn’t realise that simply deciding to visit the local Italian restaurant for dinner one night would change it forever. When she laid eyes on the fit, young Italian waiter she fell instantly in lust. Carlo returned that ardour but how could their relationship develop when he had to move back to his home in Italy?
I had great fun writing about Carlo. He’s inspired by a real, live Tasty Italian waiter who sometimes serves me when we go to my favourite Italian restaurant. I only go once a year because it’s located in Scarborough, our favourite holiday destination and this one particular waiter is worth going for alone, it’s a bonus that the food is superbly delicious. Fiona was fun to play with too, she’s sad, she’s trudging through life and she doesn’t know how to get out of the rut she’s made for herself. Then she meets Carlo.
“Yes, Roberto, I will take care of Fiona.” His low and rumbling voice danced across the pit of her stomach. Carlo was handsome and he sounded charming, a dangerous combination. As Fiona bid Roberto goodbye she tried really hard not to stare. He was tall and slim but not skinny. No, she was sure he had many muscles packed beneath his pure white shirt and black trousers.
His face was a picture with dark, brooding brown eyes and hair that matched, so dark it was almost black but when the light hit it she could see the intense chocolate brown in all its glory. He was smoothly shaven and his cheekbones—well, Fiona would have killed for cheekbones like his. He was dreamy. Fiona buried her head in her menu while she tried desperately to cool down the heat burning in her cheeks and in another place she thought indelicate to think about over dinner.
“Are you ready to order?” Carlo asked when he came back with her glass of water. His accent dripped gently over his words.
“Erm, yes, I’ll have the margarita pizza, please.”
“Okay, would you like anything else with that?”
A shag over the table would be nice. She smiled. “No thanks.”
“Okay, miss.” He grinned, took the menu and walked away.
She wished she was the kind of woman who could flirt. Then maybe she could get the tasty waiter to speak to her for a bit longer. She’d love to converse with him—and more—but she had never been particularly brilliant at talking to people.
He came back to her table. “Here’s your pizza. Roberto said I had to say hello to you, so here I am saying hello.”
“Hello,” she replied, “and thanks for the pizza.”
“It’s okay, it’s my job.” His cheeky smile was enough to make her melt and the sight of his tight arse when he walked away from her was enough to make her boil. She scolded herself internally as she ate. He was a university student and she was old enough to have a management position along with ten years of experience in the same workplace. Yes, it was all well and good admiring a pretty package but she had to stop at that. He was a premiership superstar and she didn’t even play in a five-a-side amateur team.
Fiona ate her pizza and watched the bustle around her. The restaurant was beginning to quiet down and as tables emptied they did not fill again. The hum of conversation softened as those preparing for a night out left. While Fiona finished her last slice, she realised she was the only person in the place. She really hadn’t realised the time when she had left work.
“Fiona, have you still room for dessert?” Roberto asked as he walked past her table and swept up her dish.
“Well, I should be going, Roberto. It’s late, you and your staff will want to get home.”
“Oh, do not be silly, if you want dessert you can have dessert. Me and Carlo will be here another hour anyway clearing up for the night. If you want something sweet you have something sweet!”
“Well, I really shouldn’t,” she said. “I need to go on a diet.”
“No!” The word exploded from Roberto’s lips with such power it knocked Fiona for six. “Oh, no, no, no, no. You are so beautiful with your roundness and your curves, do not say silly things like that. Carlo! Carlo, come and tell Fiona she is beautiful as she is, she is talking about going on a diet.”
He spoke the last words as if he were talking about a horrific criminal act. Fiona blushed bright red, a little embarrassed at causing such an outburst from such a lovely man.
“She is gorgeous just the way she is,” Carlo called from the bar at the other end of the room. “We Italian men appreciate good curves and she has good curves.”
“See,” Roberto said, “you are perfetto as you are. Now, how about that cheesecake?”
“Oh, okay,” Fiona smiled. “Just a small slice though.”
“That’s more like it.” Roberto smiled back then shouted towards the bar, “Carlo, do you want a slice of my cheesecake?” “Yes please, Roberto, I have nearly finished these glasses.”
“We shall join you for dessert,” Roberto told Fiona. “Dessert is always sweeter when shared with friends.”
Any other day and in any other place Fiona would have been miffed at the assumption that she wanted company but she couldn’t get mad at Roberto. He was being friendly and eating dessert would be easier if she had company. She wouldn’t feel as self-conscious about it. Fiona’s sweet tooth was legendary amongst her family and in the workplace. She tried desperately to eat only savoury things and fruit during the day at work as she couldn’t bear the looks and comments she got when eating her beloved chocolate and cakes.
Everyone criticised her. They assumed she was on a diet, ill or hiding her chocolate in her car. That frustrated her. She knew they were only joshing but still the insults got to her. People who didn’t have a problem with food couldn’t understand how painful teasing about that problem could feel. Everyone seemed to assume fat people were jolly and happy without understanding that underlying issues were tugging at her on a daily basis. A drunk could give up booze, but a person couldn’t stop eating, so food caused a constant struggle with herself.
Balance was something worth achieving and she was sure a week of apples and carrot sticks would balance out one slice of cheesecake. Then she saw the slice Roberto brought over.
Find out what happns next by picking up your copy of Tasty Italian today!
About Victoria Blisse
Victoria Blisse is a Mother, Wife, Christian, Manchester United Fan and Award Winning Erotica Authoress.
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