Romance, Erotica and Romantica - How dirty do you like it?

Most people know I write romance. It really comes as no surprise because I grew up reading it, in the G-PG white cover kind of way. Most of the heroines were virgins and the HEA meant the hero finally figured out he loved the heroine so they could commence to the marryin', forever after and gettin' busy portion of the story. This was conveniently NOT contained within those safe romance covers back when I was reading them in the early 1980s.

Judith Krantz was as scandalous as I got back way back when. I remember opening up that book to select passages to read, with a great deal of titillation, the naughty bits that weren't in all the "Good Girl" novels. I graduated to V.C. Andrews when I became a teenager, and her subjects were taboo even if the prose wasn't that explicit. Back then I had to write my own sexy stories based on very limited knowledge, should the desire hit to read about all things dirrrty and forbidden.

As I got more experience, I started to see how I could use my natural talent to turn a phrase into a powerful tool in my seduction arsenal. Find out what a man wants, write the story, let him read it and voila. He's putty in your hands.

Because of this, I started writing straight erotica for a male audience. I've danced around in the areas of taboo to further push the envelope because that's the kind of writer I've always been. I'm a Scorpio. When it comes to sex I want to unearth all the dirty little secrets. And I got quite the following because of it, in various formats. It's always been done anonymously because of the whole "image" thing. The sanctity of a pen name of a hotter than hot sex siren when selling this kind of erotica is fairly important - if you're selling to men, especially.

As a result, I ended up keeping my romance more mainstream and PG. Anyone who has read Love Plus One or Picture Postcards can tell you that it was all about the meet, the chase for that HEA BEFORE the deed went down. The only books where I broke this rule were Under Texas Skies and a couple of earlier, unpublished manuscripts.

I decided to make Groupie more explicit and sex-positive, a "romantica" if you will. You can't really write out a rock star fantasy without having "the moment" - and I guarantee you that's going to come way before any thoughts of a HEA.

After that, writing Fierce in the same way was a given. It's more widely accepted than it used to be when I was growing up. In fact, in this post-50 Shades atmosphere, anything goes, really. Women are open to it, just as open as any man who tackled the taboos I used to write about.

In honor of this discovery, I'm going to "out" my "evil twin" who writes straight erotica. I protected her identity for a long time because the erotica I write handles things normally frowned upon under the more rigid "romance" or "romantica" rules. When we pick up a romance or romantica book, we expect the two leads to end up together at the end, in either a Happily Ever After or a Happily For Now. My erotica? It's a *wee* bit more sexually liberated than that.

Case in point, my story "Raven Walks." I created a character named Raven Crow, who is a vampire who feeds off of the sexual energy of his prey. He's done this for centuries and by the time we meet up with him in modern New Orleans, our bad boy alpha male is bored. He wants to find a partner who will challenge him. It's written from his point of view as he stalks the balmy southern nights for something that will make him feel alive again.



It was originally written for Literotica, where I fully intended for each chapter to have its own "meet/chase/capture" moment just for the fun of writing it. Somehow a book grew from this with a plot I discovered right alongside Raven as we walked these dark, seductive paths together. I realized that my readers STILL wanted him to have a HEA or HFN, and were VERY unhappy with me when I colored outside the lines.

I ended up rewriting it with a lot more purpose when I decided to release it for publication, where it walks the line of romantica/erotica from chapter to chapter. Ultimately it's an erotic horror story that deals candidly with all types of sexual situations and partnerships. It's not about a HEA, it's not about finding love and sweetness. It stars a vampire, an apex hunter, who dances between life and death with every encounter, driven by blood-lust... or just plain lust.

That's what the vampire legend is about. Vampires are the ultimate sexual fantasy. Not love... pure, raw sex and the dangerous power of seduction. My novel was written to be the anti-Twilight. The heroine of the book (named Ginger, because I can't get away with that in any OTHER book except that which is written under a pen name) understands that falling for a vampire is a HUGE no-no. She has to protect herself from getting too close, and I think the way I figured out how to do this was rather ingenious if I do say so myself. Imagine wanting, more than anything, the thing that could harm you most of all. THAT is a vampire book.

And girlfriend is POWERFUL. She has to be to survive in that world.

To me, the biggest turn-on is power. Not so much dominance, but someone in control - who can yield it when the situation calls for it. (Both sides.)

Some future titles will actually blend the erotica into romance titles, such as The Undisciplined Bride, The Leftover Club and The FFF Handbook: Rules for the Full-Fledged Floozy.

But, in the meantime, IF you are up to the challenge to read a book that has very explicit sex, in very liberated combinations, where falling in love is an afterthought and HEA's are not required...

Check out "Raven Walks" by my evil twin Ivy Greene.

Feel like getting naughty with me in Vegas?

Now that I have your attention...

I will be participating in the Naughty Mafia Rocks Las Vegas event mid-August, as part of the Sunday Sinners Signing event. I will join a host of other amazing writers so we can mingle with readers and bloggers in what promises to be a pretty epic weekend.

I will even be bringing copies of my newest book, "Unstoppable," to sign and sell as an exclusive "pre-release". If you've been waiting for word on "Unstoppable," the next book in the Jace and Jordi "Fierce" trilogy, your wait is almost over. And I'll have more details on that coming really soon.

Though I'm no Vegas Virgin by far (Steven and I got married there in August 2001,) this is my first signing event. Seeing your friendly faces is just the welcome I need to make it spectacular. So grab a ticket and come on out. I'll be bringing a small sampling of my books to sell (The Complete Groupie Trilogy, Groupie and Fierce,) along with any extras I happen to have laying around the house. If you have a specific request, you can leave a comment below or message me directly through Twitter or Facebook.

And, as soon as I have confirmation, I may have some more exciting news coming shortly. Follow me on Twitter or Facebook for all the latest!

If you can't make it to Vegas, never fear. Anyone who posts a comment is eligible to win any books/swag I have left over after the trip. Tell me your favorite book, favorite couple, favorite scene, and I'll reward one commenter with signed books and goodies.

In honor of #SDCC...

Weird things are afoot in Stone Gully - the town built by a meteor. It is where sullen 12-year-old Alice Thorton finds herself after the death of her beloved father. The only thing left that means anything at all to her is his prized Joe Dakota comic book collection and a ratty old pair of rare 3-D glasses. These, along with an equally rare comic book, are about to open a portal between the real world and a two-dimensional one, unleashing chaos only quick-thinking geeks can combat.

You used to call them geeks. Prepare to call them heroes.

"Comic Squad" Excerpt, Chapter Five

Back in her bedroom, Alice lay tummy-down on the bed, and dove into her new – yet nefariously confiscated – comic book. Sure, she'd broken some rules to get it. But Dwight stole from her first. As far as she was concerned, turnabout was fair play.

Just as she withdrew the 3-D glasses from her overalls, a knock came at the door. Before she could answer, Barbara cracked it open and peaked in. “Can I come in?”

“You already are in,” Alice pointed out.

As Barbara opened the door wider she caught sight of Alice's reading material. “Oh, Alice, I thought we'd talked about this. We decided you weren't going to spend so much time on your comic books.”

“You decided,” Alice countered.

Barbara leaned against the door frame. She was tired. She was always just really tired. “They're a waste of time,” she said as she rubbed her eyes. “They're not real.”

Alice gave her a pointed look. “They're real to me.” Then, “If Dad was here, he'd understand.”

Barbara spotted the family photo by Alice's bed. Her daughter's barb hit its mark. Suddenly overcome with a vulnerability she couldn’t afford to show her daughter, Barbara left the room.

Alice slid out of bed and headed over to the door, where she watched through the crack as her mother disappeared into her own bedroom. Within minutes Barbara was out again, a novel and towel in hand. She disappeared into the bathroom, closed the door behind her, and began running her bath water.

Alice closed her own door and ran back over to pounce on her bed. She sent her father's image a grin. This one's for you, Daddy, she thought as she slipped on the glasses.

She opened the book, and, much as the comic store, shards of light spilled from inside. Bright color crawled up her arms and over her face, and Alice's scream was lost in the howl of the wind.



With Joe Dakota safely tied up in one of the examination rooms, Dr. Horror was free to put the finishing touches on the green potion. Using tongs, he delicately poured it from a beaker into a test tube, and secured it with a cork.

Twitch picked up the beaker to examine the strange, glowing fluid.

“Put that down!” Dr. Horror barked. Twitch was quick to comply. “It's the only batch in existence. All I need is for some nitwit to pour it out… or worse yet, drink it.”

Outside the room Alice suddenly found herself hunched down by the door, the 3-D glasses hanging by one of the straps of her overalls. She looked inside the room, and gasped when she saw Dr. Horror and Twitch, and the bubbling tube of green.

“What would happen if someone drank it?” asked Twitch.

Dr. Horror smirked at him. “You ever dissolved snails with salt?” Twitch nodded. “It's like that.” Dr. Horror spilled a drop of the liquid on the lab table. It bubbled and smoked and sizzled right through the metal surface. “Only it hurts.”

“So what's it going to do to Joe Dakota?”

Dr. Horror chuckled. “Joe who?”

“Joe Dakota. You know. That big, strong guy who comes along and messes up all your plans...”

“I know who, you twit. But after tonight, I think he might be more of a what.”

Alice flattened back against the wall. A million questions flooded her brain at once, the most important of which was how to get out of there without getting caught. The second most important: how to get out and take that strange and dangerous potion with her? She grabbed the magical glasses.

One thing was certain; she could do neither without them. She tucked them into a pocket for safe keeping.

She peered back around the door to find both Dr. Horror and Twitch standing with their backs to her. She knelt down and quietly duck-walked across the room, then hunched down beside their lab table. Listening for their steps going in one direction, she managed to go in the opposite direction, remaining hidden from their view as they turned for the door.

“Come,” Dr. Horror told Twitch, “let's make sure that Joe is safely secured for tonight's main event.”

They departed the room, leaving the beaker and test tube on the table. When she thought the coast was clear, she peered over the edge of the table, her heartbeat so loud it thundered in her ears. She found herself staring directly into the creepy, bubbling, green fluid in the tube.

She gulped as she reached for it, hesitating only slightly as she spotted the deep hole that one drop had burned into the table’s surface. She’d read the books, she knew what Dr. Horror had created this stuff to do. Just as the original formula had reinforced every cell inside Joe Dakota’s body, reinforcing them with the power to rejuvenate at the least little hint of destruction, this new formula was created to do the opposite. Injecting this potion into a human body would cause each cell to break down and combust. The destruction would be quick and total. That was why she knew she couldn’t take a chance and leave it behind. Just as her hand touched the tube, lightning filled the room and thunder rattled the windows; Alice nearly came up out of her overalls.

Finally, before she could lose her nerve, she grabbed the tube and stuffed it into one of her many pockets and prayed the cork would hold.

She sprinted to the door and checked to see if the hall was clear. She crept out slowly and quietly with no idea where she was heading, but determined to make sure that potion never went anywhere near Joe Dakota.



Back in Stone Gully, Barbara relaxed in the tub, unaware that her daughter was in any danger, other than turning her brain to goo reading a silly comic book. She reached for her own book and tried to do a little escaping herself. After a page or two, she threw it aside in frustration. There was no need to read brain candy like a romance novel; she'd given up on those dreams years ago. As for mystery, suspense, or horror, nothing was more frightening than trying to raise a child and pay a mortgage she could no longer afford… or even rent for a rat-trap like the one they now called home.

There was really nothing fiction could offer her she that didn't get plenty of in real life. Like Alice, she had had enough.

A nearby Joe Dakota graphic novel caught her eye. After a slight hesitation, she reached for it, opening to a panel with a hallway similar to the one her daughter was now navigating.



As Alice eased along the corridor, it dawned on her that her footsteps weren't the only sound in the empty hallway. With every step she made, another step echoed her own. She gulped as she spun around to take on whoever … or whatever… was behind her.

Instead of Twitch, like she feared, it was a very contrite Dwight.

“You!” she exclaimed. Dwight quickly covered her mouth with his hand and dragged her into a nearby supply room.

She wiggled free. “Let go of me!”

“How did you get here?” Dwight asked.

“The same way you did. Through the comic book using the glasses you stole!”

“This really isn't the time to start assessing blame. In case you haven't noticed, we're stuck in a comic book.”

“Which we wouldn't be, if you hadn't stolen my glasses. We have to get Joe Dakota.”

“He's a bit tied up at the moment...”

Alice's eyes narrowed as she looked at him.

“Like I said, maybe not the best time for pointing fingers here.”

Shadows passed across the frosted glass of the window in the door. “Someone's coming,” she whispered. “Hide!”

Dwight nodded and ducked into a nearby closet. Alice scrambled onto the bottom of another lab table, where she came face to face with a green, five-eyed rabbit suspended in murky water. Just as quickly she shot out from under the table and headed for the closet. As she ducked in, Twitch opened the outer door, holding a jar with a three-headed rat.

He reached below the table Alice had vacated and stored his jar next to the other one. As he was about to leave, Dr. Horror hollered from the other room, “Get me another lab coat while you're in there.”

Twitch opened the closet door to find Dwight and Alice staring at him wide-eyed. Dwight handed him a coat. “Thanks,” Twitch replied.

“No problem,” Dwight responded.

Twitch closed the door, but a beat later his eyebrows furrowed. He turned to open the closet again… only this time there was nobody standing there. With a shrug, he left the room, closing the outer door with a distinct click.

In the closet, both Dwight and Alice wriggled free from the lab coats in which they had hidden.

They ran to the outer door, only to find it locked from the other side.

“Great,” Alice hissed. “We're trapped. What did you say happened to Joe Dakota?”

From somewhere across the galaxy, Alice heard her mother, “Alice? Are you awake?”

Alice was confused, but elated. If she could hear home, she could get home. “Mom!” She pulled the 3-D glasses from her pocket.

“Give them to me,” Dwight instructed.

“No way! They're mine!”

“It's the only way to get out of here,” he pleaded. Just then they heard keys jangle in the door. Both Dwight and Alice made a grab for the glasses, ripping them completely in half.

“You idiot!” Alice hissed.

Through the door they heard Dr. Horror grumble, “Can't do anything right. I wear a medium, not a small.”

“I have an idea,” Dwight told her, before he put his half of the glasses on his face.

With only the slightest hesitation, Alice mirrored his action. They clasped hands. Full color faded to black and white; light gave way to darkness.

"Fierce" Confessions

I've heard it said that writing is easy; you just sit at your desk and open a vein.

I think this is true of most any writer. There's a lot of you flowing from your fingers onto the page. It's your story in your voice, it's your vision, and ultimately it's your indelible fingerprint on society itself.

As grand as that sounds, I really don't think about that much when I'm writing. My job, first and foremost, is to entertain. Honestly, all I want to do when I sit at my computer is tell a story.

At any given time there are three to five potential stories to tell. I don't think my husband realizes this, or else he wouldn't pop off with all these random ideas that just occur to him. Steven is the "Idea Guy." He's not a writer, although he could be. But it takes discipline to go from "idea" to "book," so basically he leaves the heavy lifting to me. He will just randomly spout off with something he thinks might make a good story, and it goes onto the pile of all the other stuff rolling around up there.

It's hard to believe there was ever a time I thought I might run out of ideas. When I was a much younger writer, I worried that I only had a few books in me, then I'd have to find something else to do. But that was 14 books ago. Now I know the real dilemma isn't running out of stories to tell - it's running out of time to tell them all. My new responsibility is to get healthy and stay that way because one simply cannot die while there are books left to write.

Right?

At any given time every single one of these ideas sits percolating just at the fringe of my consciousness. I know that they're there, even if I'm not directly thinking about them. Life goes on around me and little nuggets jump into the creative turbine, while I wait for my muse to take me by the throat and tell me which story we're going to tell.

See, I'm rather indecisive. My muse is the one who whips me into shape and gets me productive. She helps me make sense of the noise, and there's a lot of it.

Sometimes these stories nag me relentlessly until I force them out of the queue and onto the page. Other times they sit there, crouching in the shadows of my cluttered brain... like a tiger ready to pounce and tear me to shreds.

Such was the case with "Fierce."

I knew what I wanted to do with this story and what I wanted it to mean. It started out as a story but ended up as a statement. The more important it became to me, the scarier it became to write. I knew that pat storytelling wasn't going to to do the trick. I was going to have to saw off my own arm and gouge out my own eye and leave pieces of me on every single page.

It. Was. Terrifying.

Instead of holding a mirror up to society and making my usual statement on what I think is wrong with it, I was holding that mirror up to myself. And because I do nothing small, it was an intimate look into my own insecurities, weaknesses and failures for the whole wide world to see.

That is not to say that "Fierce" is autobiographical. There are some elements in the story which I have personal knowledge, but Jordi's story is not my story... not really.

I'm not THAT brave.

No, Jordi and I are quite different. She's much stronger than I was at 18, for one. I never would have taken every single dime I had and run away from home all by my lonesome. Instead I was 19 and went with my boyfriend - motivated more out of my love of him than any grand dreams I had of becoming a "superstar." See, that's a funny, little quirk about me. I will do anything at all to make the dreams of those around me come true... but when it came to my own dreams, I would just fit it in when I had the time - and if it happened then yay. If not... I'd always have a nice, "normal" life to fall back on.

Everyone deserves at least normal, right?

Jordi wasn't much on "Plan B." She was ready to risk it all to make her dreams happen because she believed, down deep, that she deserved *more.* And that, my friends, is a scary-ass place to be. All our lives we're taught to fit in, to blend in, to belong. Riding shotgun with any belief you could reach HIGHER, do more, stand out, be *more* than normal is the nagging little voice that says, "Who are YOU to want such a thing?" "What makes YOU so special?"



Where Jordi and I are alike are our insecurities. But this isn't saying all that much, I think most American women have Jordi's same insecurities. We're designed to, courtesy of the media machine. I've done countless essays about this, but suffice it to say - if you're a woman, you have to look a certain way or fit a certain mold in order to "qualify" for your success and your happiness. Screw standing out... you just want to be accepted.

And ironically, there's always a product you can buy to make that happen.

Handy, no?

So naturally, in order to shine a spotlight on this, I shined it right on the media itself by putting Jordi right into the thick of things on a national stage.

That's the kind of irony I like to sink my teeth into.

The true irony, I discovered, was that the media machine wasn't the big, bad wolf in my story. Jordi had her antagonists, but it wasn't the very thing I set out to attack.

Instead, her antagonists were the personification of the many voices in a young woman's "Chatterbox."

The "Chatterbox" is that recording in your brain that spouts off all the negativity you've been told your whole life. All those limitations you have? Odds are they were set there by other people with a misinformed comment, and you just keep replaying the tape. That voice asking you, "Who are YOU to stand out," comes directly, and often consistently, from this Chatterbox. And it fucks everything up and steals all your confidence, even if - especially if - you're on the cusp of doing something remarkable or significant.

I first recognized it for what it was when I read "Feel the Fear and Do it Anyway". This self-help book was absolutely instrumental in my journey both as a writer and as a person, so if there's anything you're putting off because of fear (real or imagined,) I HIGHLY recommend you get it and read it ASAP.

The gist of it is that if you have a piss-poor self-esteem, you're going to cling to criticism and downplay any praise because this stupid chatterbox will always reinforce your negative beliefs about yourself. And these voices are NASTY. And MEAN. And VILE. What we say about ourselves we would NEVER say to another living soul - at least those we cared about and we loved.

And the sad part is, we - as women - aren't encouraged to love ourselves. Anytime we try to, we're told we're doing it wrong. We need to pinpoint every flaw, and even see flaws where they don't even exist. (Case in point: all the weight loss commercials that feature average-weight women, thereby instilling insecurity for those women who aren't even fat... which starts them on the diet roller coaster that - guess what - makes them fat.) We are trained from the crib that there is something missing about us, something we need to change, things we need to earn, to be valuable. Boys are taught to contribute. They're encouraged to become smart and successful. Meanwhile we as women are focused on what style of pants or skirts best fit our figure, and how to win the guy of our dreams. We fluctuate somewhere between being set decoration to the supporting cast.

But if you want to be a star, make it happen when you're young and beautiful. Otherwise, you're S.O.L. It just doesn't happen for normal girls like us.

But who is normal? Really?

Worse, we're taught that loving others more than we love ourselves is righteous. We're trained to be martyrs to love. God forbid we ask for anything to take care of our needs. In some states, you still need a medical note to purchase toys for your own sexual gratification, and God forbid you own more than six.

That's right, ladies. If you don't intend to breed, your access to your own orgasms are blocked by the law in stupid "morals" clauses. In ways both subtle and overt, being a woman and being shamed go hand in hand... from slut-shaming to fat-shaming to everything in between.

There's this idea of what the "perfect" woman is, or - probably more apt, the most "desirable" - and if you're not that, there's a lot of emotional weight that you carry for failing these expectations.

That shame underscores every negative tidbit that stupid, fucking Chatterbox spits out.

And those became the voices of Jordi's chatterbox, made into "real" people in her life that she could not escape.

Of course, she COULD have escaped if she just stopped listening to those negative voices.

And therein lies the moral of our story. Every vile thing they said, things that made you hate them (and possibly me) for their vicious attacks on good people, were a direct statement on the vicious things we say about OURSELVES. We need to stop being our harshest critics and our own worst enemies.

"You're so mean when you talk about yourself, you were wrong. Change the voices in your head, make them like you instead."



As easy as it sounds to listen to new, positive voices to rewire the Chatterbox, there is NOTHING more challenging. We're talking years and years of socially accepted brainwashing. These echoes can linger long after the voices have been silenced. We believe them for so long that they, sadly, become a part of our identity, so much so that new voices, positive voices, supportive voices, can't match their power, though we desperately want them to. The new people who loved Jordi, her BFFs, her "gubbys," Vanni, Graham, Maggie, Shannon, Jorge and even sweet, wonderful Jace - all came second to that inner belief that she was a failure for not being "perfect," for not fitting into some rigid little box of "normal" set by other people who simply didn't give a shit. As a result she wore her talent as a mask of false bravado. She suspected she was meant for great things but every step forward was a struggle with this deeply rooted sense that she didn't deserve anything good.

Jordi did what so many of us women do. The negative voices were the ones she believed... the ones she listened to... the ones she repeated to herself.

That, my lovelies, is my deepest, darkest secret. No matter how many books I sell or how many milestones I reach, inside I am afraid that I'm just some hack who got lucky, and if y'all knew the REAL me behind the mask, then you'd run for the hills. I'm still afraid to stand out. Still afraid to be "more."

In "Fierce," I set out to rewire the chatterboxes of any girl out there who has been put down and told she couldn't have what she truly wanted because she didn't "fit" into what society had molded for her.

In the end, Jordi showed me I still had to do that for myself.

“Music is a personal thing. It’s like a fingerprint. Your problem is that you use it as a mask. You’re never going to be anything other than a complete fraud until you shed every pre-conceived notion of who the world expects you to be and simply allow who you are to shine through. Grow a backbone, girl. These pageant choices,” she said as she held up the sheet music, “aren’t good enough. They show you can sing, but we already know that. Show us something we don’t know. Show us,” she said softly as she leaned over her music stand, “something you never even knew about yourself.” - Imogene Costas, "Fierce"

So as you read "Fierce," just glance over the occasional eye, or limb, or blood stain. I wrote "Fierce" for all of you - but found out, rather painfully, that it was something I desperately needed to do for me.

And we're not done, which is terrifying as hell. I can't promise you that it will be easy... I can only promise that I'll do everything in my power to make it worth it.

Ten more days until Jordi and Jace!!

There's a hot, new reality show premiering within the pages of your Nook or Kindle in June, 2013, and it is called "Fierce." It's a show that dares talented young adults to tear down any walls standing between them and their dreams, to demolish the gatekeepers - both real and imagined - and live their lives according to three simple directives:

DREAM BIG. LIVE LARGE. BE FIERCE.

Eighteen-year-old Jordi Hemphill fortuitously answers the casting call. This small town girl is ready to risk it all for the life of her dreams, one she had carefully crafted on her Vision Board throughout her adolescence.



Jordi is no stranger to how her plus-size figure affects how people see her. Her hope had always been that her talent would be much, much larger, ultimately overshadowing any perceived shortcomings. Unfortunately as her fan base grows, the voices of her harshest critics also escalate. Hateful voices want to remind her that dreams only come true for a select few, and she just doesn't "fit" in. It's up to her "Fierce" family to rewire the negative chatterbox that had been drilled into her psyche her whole, short life by those who should have loved her the most.



The loudest, most loving voice comes from fellow contestant, Jace Riga. This handsome veteran lost his leg in the war, and ended up finding music to help him heal through his recovery. He sees Jordi as no one else ever has, and offers her something she thought she'd never find.



Ultimately it is on the road to everything she wants that Jordi finds what she truly needs, and it was nothing like what she had always planned. Instead, it's the truest, most authentic kind of love... the love that can only come from inside.





Join along for the "Fierce" book tour launching tomorrow (Sunday, May 26) and hosted by the ah-may-zing Brandee's Book Endings. There will a lot of goodies including a BIG giveaway. (Imagine how many books you could buy with $100!) So join us!

And dream big. Live large. BE FIERCE.

"Fierce" Playlist for the teaser "Imogene Strikes Again"

If you listened to the interview I did with my good buddy Brian Crow on his "American Psycho" radio program on April 26, 2013 (podcast available for you to review if you missed it,) then you already know what kind of influence music has had on my writing career. From the first novella I wrote at the tender age of 14 to my latest novel, "Fierce," music is the pulse that beats under the surface of the words I write.

"Fierce" covers a lot of musical ground considering these characters are contestants on a singing show. Some of the music was fictional, referring to the songs Giovanni Carnevale wrote throughout the Groupie Trilogy. But other songs inspired important scenes, which I will include here as teasers as we get closer to that June 4th release date. Don't forget to follow Brandee's Book Endings to find out about exciting giveaways and all the blog tour information.

(Videos are embedded in these blogs. Those readers on Goodreads, click "View More on Ginger Voight's website" at the bottom of the page to enjoy.)

Teaser #1: "Imogene Strikes Again"

By seven o’clock that following Monday morning, I was back on the studio lot, racing from one building to another in order to make my appointment with Imogene. One did not show up late for an appointment with Imogene. I had already made that mistake once and she bypassed me completely for the next contestant who had “found it important enough to show up on time.” I was five minutes early this particular Monday. Instead of cracking that stony face with a smile, Imogene simply glanced at her watch and glanced over the tops of her glasses to look me over. With a muffled “harrumph,” she told me, “Get on with it. I haven’t got all day.”

My hands were shaking as I lifted the sheet music to the stand in front of me. I had finally decided on the song I wanted to sing, a Celine Dion tune that was sure to show off my range and give me something a little more current than an obscure tune from a musical.

She stood in front of me, arms folded in front of her, glaring over the tops of her glasses as I sang the first couple of bars. Her countenance was as severe as her cropped silver hair, and her pursed lips and narrowed eyes gave nothing away in how she thought I was doing. My voice lost a bit of steam as I made it to the chorus, and actually cracked when I went for my upper register. She held up her hand with an exasperated sigh.

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled.

“Don’t apologize to me,” she said. “Apologize to the music.” She stalked over to the table which served as her desk. It was overrun with sheet music, which she flipped through impatiently. She finally found the one she was looking for, came over to me and thrust it into my hands. “Here. Sing this.”

I glanced down. It was another Celine song, but an upbeat number I had never performed before. “Why?” I asked. When I looked up at her, she had an arched eyebrow that indicated she did not like to be questioned about her choices.

She indulged me an answer anyway. “Because your other choice bored me. It’ll bore the audience.”

“But I don’t know this song,” I offered helplessly.

“Then learn it,” she said. She folded her arms, leaned back against the edge of the table, and waited.

I cleared my throat as I read through the music. When I opened my mouth, I had zero self-confidence I could pull it off. The more I struggled, the more awkward it got. Finally, with another exhale of exasperation, she stomped over to me. She took up the next verse with a powerful voice that demanded I look at her as she sang, but the minute my eyes came off the page she was pointing her finger back down to it. She wanted me to follow the notes as she demonstrated how it was supposed to be done.

Even without a backup band, her voice boomed through the empty auditorium that had been constructed on the soundstage. When she finished, I could think of nothing to say.

“This is an entertainment competition, not a high school pageant. You will not win by playing it safe. You need to take risks and step outside your comfort zone. You need to own what you can do on this stage. This song can do that for you. Or it can break you. Your choice.” She walked back over to the table and screamed out, “Next!” to dismiss me and invite the next victim into her little lair. I passed Shelby as I made my way down the steps. She gave me a sympathetic smile as she squeezed my arm. Rather than watch her time at the gallows, I escaped and made my way to the food truck outside. Pepper and Lavender sat together at one of the tables nearby, and beckoned me to join them. They already knew from the look on my face where I had been and what had happened.

“Imogene strikes again,” Lavender smiled, her full lips painted a pale purple color indicative of her stage name. She wore fabulous wigs in varying shades of purple as well, and today she wore a grape-colored bob to match her 60s mod-style plastic dress.

I nodded as I sat. “Tell me I’m not the only one she hates.”

Pepper laughed. “She doesn’t hate you, baby. She’s a hard-ass, but it’s to make you better.”

“I suck right now,” I responded as I put the sheet music on the table. “She’s given me this song to sing.”

Lavender smiled wide as she picked up the sheet music. “This is a classic. I used to do this for my drag shows. It’s a lot of fun.”

Pepper nodded. “It’s a cover of an old tune with a big sound. You can definitely pull that off, easy.”

I still wasn’t convinced, so after I ate the two of them dragged me to an empty sound stage to show me how it was done. Like Imogene, their voices were big enough to carry the song. Together they filled the empty space with a huge wall of sound. Once they hit the chorus, I finally joined in. They spent the next hour teaching me the song until I no longer needed the sheet music.

More than that, Lavender used her considerable performance skills to show me how to deliver the song. She tried to teach me some dance moves, but I felt like a clumsy idiot as I tried to imitate what she pulled off so flawlessly. She was patient as a saint, as was Pepper, as we fell into an impromptu group choreography I was glad no one else could see.

At least, I thought no one else could see it. When we finished, we were rewarded to hear applause from one lone spectator hidden in the darkened shadows of the empty sound stage.

It was Jace, who had a big smile plastered on his face as he approached. “Bravo! Encore! Encore!” I blushed at least five shades of red while my two companions bowed for our appreciative audience of one. “If that is a group number, it’s brilliant.”

“That’s all Jordi,” Pepper said. “Imogene picked it for her to perform on the premiere.”

“I haven’t decided yet,” I said as I gathered my stuff.

“She’s feeling a little insecure,” Lavender told him quietly with a wink and a nudge of her elbow. She glanced over at Pepper, nodding toward the door so they could leave us alone.

Apparently Jace had some convincing to do.

“So what’s the problem with the song?” he wanted to know as he walked over to where I stood.

I shook my head. “I don’t think I can pull that off. I was definitely a weak link in that trio. They not only know the song, they know how to sing it. I feel like a big fat idiot.”

“Hey,” he said firmly as he looked me in the eye. “Don’t talk about yourself like that.” The tone in his voice left no room for argument, so I said nothing. “Sing it for me,” he instructed softly.

I cleared my throat and glanced down at the sheet music, having completely forgotten every single word of a song I had just sung over and over for the last hour and a half. I started to sing, following the notes on the page, and Jace indulged me for about a verse before he finally took the paper from my hands.

“Sing it to me,” he corrected. He took a couple of steps back and gave me a stage. I looked into those deep, green eyes and took a deep breath before I launched into a song that talked about loving someone deeper than a river and higher than a mountain. I sang this to a virtual stranger, memorizing every line in his handsome face as I went through verse after voice of everlasting devotion. By the time I got to the chorus, my huge voice made it all the way to the rafters and back. I got stuck a little on the second verse, so he joined in.

Butterflies tap-danced in my tummy as he sold the song very convincingly through his body language and the look in his eyes. When we hit the chorus, he linked his hand in mine with a smile that I couldn’t help but mirror. He pulled me through a couple of dance moves as we brought it home, our voices echoing in the empty space. He spun me around and I twirled around him, allowing myself to fall completely in character of the song. We were laughing as we finished and he pulled me into a lingering hug. “You are so not a weak link, Jordi,” he said into my hair.

He pulled back a little, but still held me in his embrace. His arms were linked around my waist, pressing me into his strong chest. Long moments passed between us as we did nothing more than look into each other’s eyes. I honestly didn’t know what to say. Nervously I bit my lip, which drew his gaze in that direction. I felt every single nerve ending go up in flames. What it took Eddie physical intimacy to achieve, Jace had managed with just an absently placed glance.

I cleared my throat as I pulled away. “I guess I should head over to see Jorge,” I said.

He nodded as he stepped back. “Yeah, I have an appointment with Imogene.”

I had to smile. “Good luck.”

He laughed. His eyes were thoughtful as he studied me for a moment, then he turned to leave. Before he got to the door, he turned back. “Wanna grab some lunch later?”

A flood of warmth washed over me as I looked into his hopeful eyes. I didn’t know what I saw there, or what I wanted to see there, but the way it made me feel was head and shoulders above the high I got from anything else, even food. Just being in his company made me feel better about me. I felt accepted… wanted… for the first time ever.

Lunch was the least of my concerns as I nodded with a smile.

"Fierce" is coming!

If you have been patiently waiting to see where my spin-off story, "Fierce," takes the characters you came to know and love in the Groupie series, the wait is almost over. "Fierce" will release June 4, 2013*. (*On or about, depending on the venue you purchase your book.)

SYNOPSIS

All her life, Jordi Hemphill was told that she needed to change to fit in and be accepted. She talked too much, laughed too loud, and most definitely, indisputably and inexcusably weighed too much. In fact, she wore her size-20+ clothes without so much as an apology. She didn’t care to fit in. She didn’t want to be beautiful. Instead, she wanted to wear her hair in funky colors, she itched for tattoos and piercings, and dreamed of a life much bigger than working at the local Burger Palace for minimum wage. She had been born with the voice of a superstar, and something inside her told her it was OK to dream big, even if she had to do it in secret.

On her eighteenth birthday, she takes every last cent she has and buys a one-way ticket for Los Angeles. She is sure her talent will get her noticed by those more open-minded to see it. Then and only then will she show all the naysayers in her hometown that she was a somebody no matter what they thought.

Unfortunately Los Angeles wasn't any more welcoming. Jordi didn't fit into their pop machine no matter how well she sang. Other pop princess had the "full package," whereas Jordi still needed to change if she wanted her dreams to come true. It took a plus-size TV producer to take a chance on her, casting her for a reality talent show called "Fierce," which put attitude and talent far above the traditional pop star image.

Thanks to Giovanni Carnevale, the lead singer of "Dreaming in Blue" and “Fierce’s” rock star judge, Jordi gets a chance to fight for her place on a national stage.

But will America embrace this alternative diva? Or will they too expect her to conform in order to be accepted... to be loved? Despite the acceptance of new friends and supporters, old ghosts continue to haunt Jordi on her new journey. It will take handsome fellow contestant, Jace Riga, to finally help expose and exorcise the demons that drive her self-destruction.

"Fierce" continues the story introduced in the Ginger Voight novel, "Mogul," where Jordi joins a hodge-podge of other contestants to battle for the championship that dares every single hopeful to live large, to be FIERCE.

Ginger Voight, the author of the best-selling "Groupie" series, brings fame once again to the forefront with her new adult story, "Fierce." The characters you grew to love in the "Groupie" trilogy and "Love Plus One" are back to help the incomparable Jordi Hemphill carve a place for her as a pop princess despite the odds in this coming-of-age Rubenesque romance.

Right now you can enter to win a $25 gift card from either Amazon or Barnes and Noble through several different blogs along our cover reveal tour, which will also feature a few teasers of the story. Be sure to enter and keep your eye out for the book release tour because some big things are coming. You won't want to miss it. Follow me on Twitter so you can catch all the updates! You can also "like" my official Facebook author page, or the "Fierce" page itself.

For those who don't know, "Fierce" was a very personal story for me to write. This coming-of-age novel introduces us to Jordi Hemphill, a plus-size young adult who goes through a tremendous rite of passage in front of a national and even worldwide audience. Her battles are both external and internal, as she fights against an emotionally abusive upbringing and those outside voices that reinforce her biggest fears. Fortunately for Jordi, she meets a handsome veteran named Jace Riga, who meets life's challenges on one leg better and more enthusiastically than most people do with two. He teaches Jordi a thing or two about self-acceptance by perfectly accepting her for who she is, where she is, even when she believes she's so far from perfect.

I have to admit, I fell pretty much head over heels for Jace during the writing. That's one of the best parts of being an author, in my humble opinion. You have an idea of where the story is going to go and who the characters are going to be, but they will often surprise you by being so much more than you ever dared imagine. Jace was like that from the minute he impersonated Yogi Bear just to make Jordi laugh. He was sexy and he was romantic, both when he was singing and when he wasn't. He was brave and strong and real as the anti-bad boy rocker. He could sing, he could croon, he could strut and he could step out of the spotlight to share the glory with others. He was wounded, but wasn't egocentric, so getting to know him was a true joy. He's a burgeoning rock star without all the nasty baggage poor Vanni had to carry. He's had his heart broken by his high school sweetheart, who wasn't able to get past the loss of his leg, so he is in no way superficial when it comes to the "perfect" look. Instead he focuses on inner beauty, and Jordi captures his interest from the first time he hears her sing.

Their road to be together is as rocky as Vanni and Andy's, littered with foes far worse than Holly, Julian and Leo. This, compounded with Jordi's deep, dark secret that motivates her self-destructive choices, will drive the angst and drama throughout their journey on a reality show competition to see who takes home the big prize.

There are moments when this book lifted me up and moments when it broke my heart. I truly hope that you all enjoy this next chapter in the Groupie universe. You don't have to read the Complete Groupie Trilogy to get up to date with what takes place in "Fierce," but those who have read "Love Plus One," "Under Texas Skies" and the Groupie trilogy will have a deeper appreciation for the cameos of their favorite characters. If you want to catch up, the Complete Groupie Trilogy is on sale for only $6.99. That's three books for one low price. Or you could start simply with "Groupie" for only $0.99! All other books are reasonably priced at $2.99.

Disclaimer: This book will frankly talk about eating disorders, body perception and abuse. It also begins a whole new trilogy which will not complete until 2014.