Who Pays?

Note: Because we're revamping this blog a bit, I don't yet know what I'm going to do with my Fridays. I might post book recommendations, or who knows? So until I've decided, I'm going to copy my Friday posts from my own blog. Since I usually post about genre-related stuff, I don't think you'll be bored. Forgive me, but I promise I'll come up with something clever soon.


So reading this article on Gawker got me thinking.

The article, for those who don't want to or don't have time to click and read it, is about "going Dutch" on dates. Specifically the first few dates. And whether it's okay for a man to expect a woman to pay for her own dinner on a first date. And whether women should expect to have their meals paid for. And if it's about men being cheap or women being empowered. Or whatever.

I haven't dated in some time, and when I did...well, frankly, I pretty much never did. Not your typical dinner date, anyway. I'd usually hung around with a guy for some time before we really went out together. Or we'd already kissed, or whatever, and so were dating. Usually we were both so poor that whoever had money would pay. But we were also barely in our twenties and spent most of our available cash on beer.

But even then, if it was a date-type evening, I never considered paying. When my boyfriend would say he wanted us to go out to eat, we both took it for granted he would pay. When we just decided to go out on the spur of the moment we'd go dutch, but a "date"--he paid. (Unless I took him out for his birthday or something.)

All of my heroes in my books pay. For everything. This has a lot to do with them being richer than Croesus, but I admit, it's also because I think the man should pay, at least in the beginning. He's the one doing the inviting*, he's the one doing the seducing, so he pays.

And the way he asks always indicates he's paying, too. Not "Why don't we go out to eat?" but "Let me take you out to dinner" or "Come on, I'll buy you dinner." And my heroines don't argue with that. Sometimes they may think about not turning down a free dinner, but, oddly, power struggles in the relationships of my characters are never financial (I say "oddly" because it's only just occured to me). Not one of my heroines feels she's less independent and strong if she lets the man pay. They make it very clear that he's buying dinner, not her body, (not stridently; the topic is never discussed, it's just clear) and that they expect to be treated and spoken to a certain way and that's that.

Perhaps it's because my heroes, however criminal their other activities may be or no matter how coldly they may order the deaths of their enemies, are gentlemen.

Or perhaps I'm a totally clueless dinosaur and should be shot for betraying womankind.

What do you think?

(*the person who does the inviting should pay. This is the only exception to the "men should pay" rule. But then, I don't believe women should ask men out, either, and the reason is because if a man's not man enough to take a chance and ask you for a date, maybe he's not man enough period. I've asked a few guys out over the course of my life, and it's never worked out. It sets a precedent, I think, where you're the pursuer and he gets to sit back and let you do it. It makes them overconfident.)

WHORING MYSELF AROUND THE INTERNET:

I'm over at The Book Bitches guest bitching about Jackie Collins, come on by and say hi! The Bitches are awesome fun, and they did a little interview with me as well (below the first post).

I did an interview at Rachel Carrington's blog about my Publishing series, so check that one out too!

Brand new release and new feature next Thursday!

Hi guys! YAY! Another Devarian story has just hit the cyber-stands, so I thought I'd bring you an excerpt today. And next Thursday, I hope you'll join me for the first Sierra's Story Hour -- every week, I'll be posting an installment of a new short story, and when it's done, I'll post the whole thing on my free stories page at sierradafoe.com and start another!

For today -- hot off the presses from Changeling Press:

Devarian Renegades
by Sierra Dafoe

http://www.changelingpress.com/product.php?&upt=book&ubid=682

Captain Merrin Trafalgar’s life is going to pieces. Recalled from space on the verge of discovering a new planet, she’s immured instead on a backwater planet, guarding gelded work-slaves in the wheat fields of Harth. The one thing she has to look forward to is being reunited with her two pleasure-slaves. But in her absence they’ve fallen in love -- with each other! Even worse, Merrin finds herself drawn to the handsome, enigmatic Rolen -- but how can a gelded work-slave rouse such longing in her?

When Rolen reveals his secret, Merrin knows there’s only one answer for her and her forbidden lover -- go renegade!

Excerpt

Rolen walked silently beside her, his hand occasionally touching the small of her back as he guided her along the darker stretches of the path. The night must have grown cooler, because Merrin was intensely aware of his touch even through the thin fabric of her uniform, of the warmth of his fingers and the breadth of his hard, work-callused palm. It felt so different compared to when Stevan touched her, or Amur…

“You won’t… you won’t tell anyone about this, Rolen, will you?” Glancing sidelong at his stern profile, Merrin saw him grimace.

“Of course not. Everyone has secrets, my lady.”

And what secrets would a work-slave have? Merrin wondered. But she couldn’t bring herself to ask. It would be violating, somehow, what he’d given her.

They walked in silence for a bit. Then Rolen asked, “May I ask you something in return?” Merrin hesitated, then nodded. “What is your name?”

She let out a small, surprised laugh. “Merrin. Captain Merrin Trafalgar.”

“Merrin.” He said the word as if memorizing it, storing it away somewhere behind those black eyes. “Thank you, my lady.” A moment later, he murmured, “They must trust you immensely. I can almost see why.”

“They?” Then she realized he was speaking of Stevan and Amur. “What does trust have to do with it? They’re pleasure-slaves.”

The glance Rolen gave her was almost pitying. “How much simpler would it have been to lie to you? To hide what they felt for each other? Simpler… and safer. They must have been terrified you’d separate them, sell off one to punish the other.”

Merrin opened her mouth to protest -- but the memory of Amur clinging to her with an almost desperate fierceness as Stevan told her, Believe me, there is no one to whom I’d rather belong, cut short her words.

Rolen was right. That was exactly what they’d been afraid of. “What do you think I should do, then?”

In response, Rolen grabbed her arm and dragged her to him, his mouth covering hers with an urgency that left her breathless. His kiss was wholly inexpert -- rough and abrupt -- yet the hunger in it, as he crushed his lips down upon hers, set her head reeling. His spicy, musky scent filled her nostrils, banishing rational thought so thoroughly that when his tongue prodded lightly against her closed lips, she moaned and parted them.

Hesitantly at first, then with more assurance, his tongue plunged into the wetness of her mouth -- tasting her, exploring her, devouring her.

His huge, work-hardened arms clamped around her, pressing her to his chest. She could feel the thunder of his heartbeat beneath the sturdy ribs, the firm swell of his pecs…

Merrin trembled, feeling desire rake her from her scalp to the very tips of her toes. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t breathe. Her cunt was on fire, desperate for a connection they could never have.

Just as suddenly as he’d seized her, Rolen turned her loose, and Merrin staggered, crying out in shock. For one second he stared down at her, his massive chest heaving, his eyes, black and wild, burning down into hers. The thin moonlight filtering through the leaves above etched his face, revealing a shocked vulnerability that pierced Merrin to the quick.

Then he stepped back into the darkness, becoming nothing more than a shadow against the shadows of the trees. “Forgive them, my lady. Nobody chooses who they will love.”

http://www.changelingpress.com/product.php?&upt=book&ubid=682

Wild Wednesday Number One!

It's time to get....WILD!!! That's right, from now on, Wednesday's on the Deliciously Naughty blog will be Wild Wednesday's. You can look forward to hot man meat, sexy excerpts, maybe a little flash fiction of the naughty variety, and more.

So I hope you'll join me here every hump day for a little naughty fun.

This is an old man meat blog of mine, but it seemed like the perfect thing to get my Wild Wednesday blogging off to a rousing start with LOTS of yummy manliness.

Enjoy!!

Anna J. Evans
http://annajevans.com
fan the flames...



"Are you looking at me? Are you checking out my manliness? I challenge you with my eyes and clenched eight-pack...go ahead, make fun of the bandana tied around my wrist....I DARE you."



"Yes, I'm also manly....what are you going to do about it? Yes my manly nipples are hard...the water is cold...do you have a problem with that?"



"I'm too manly for my hoodie, too manly for my hoodie, too manly also for my dog tag."



"Manly men can not be tied with string, you must use rope, fool! Soon I will pull free and give a taste of a manly ass-whooping unlike anything the world has ever known."



"Hell yeeeaaasss, I'm manly. See how I stick out there all proud like? So I got some kind of burlap sock tar baby lookin' thing on there. So what? You know you still want me to rope ya little filly."

Wow, a lot of attitude in the man meat today....let's mix it up a bit...



"I too am manly...manly and deep and contemplative, manly and intergalactic. I see the chaos of the universe and want to weep, but instead I clench my abs and call for my captain...oh captain...."



"I'm not compensating for anything. I need a big sword because I have a lot of heads to chop off. And that's sweat, not baby oil. I. Swear. To. God."

(Oh my god, I love the Rock...I really do. There's something weirdly hot about a guy whos bicep is bigger around than my waist. Or am I psychotic?)



"Come on baby, run your hands through my mullet and kiss your way down my hair-shirt. If it gets stuck in your teeth, well...it just might be the dental floss nature intended."



Man meat a' la mode with fresh berries. Truly a manly treat.

When I Knew

People often ask "When did you know you wanted to be a writer?"

I don't know that I can actually pinpoint a specific time or place. My first experience as a writer was in sixth grade. Our teacher would give us an opening line and have us write a short story. Most of mine were fantastical and I seem to remember they ended something like "But it was only a dream." LOL I've improved since then, thankfully.

I really didn't do any more fiction writing until around 1998. And that was partly because someone told me I couldn't. Oh, not me specifically, but people in my profession. So I set out to prove her wrong.

And I did. But it wasn't until about 2005 that I seriously started thinking about doing this for a living. Being a writer, I mean. And I'm on my way. Nowhere near being able to support myself yet, but that'll come. I hope.

What would I be Doing?

Hmm. Ideally I'd be married to a millionaire, sitting on our yacht sipping cocktails.

Other than that? Maybe a carpenter.

I'd actually really like to be a carpenter. I see them and I'm jealous. I'd love to be able to work with my hands like that, to make things, really make them from raw materials. I'd love to be able to use big tools. I'd love to hammer things. (When I got my first apartment I made a special trip to buy a hammer, and I felt so cool and grown up and womanly. I owned a hammer! I could hammer things. It was a special moment.)

Because my Dad and brother are big gearheads, being a mechanic always hovered in the background for me too. I like cars. I'd like to know how they work, how to fix them. They're like little mysteries, and who can resist a mystery?


I guess what all those jobs have in common is they're all about fixing and creating. And tools. Which writing erotic romance and urban fantasy incorporates pretty smoothly. :-)

Hey Mom, I wanna write smut!

Y'know, I'm just thinking about that this morning -- it's a strange career choice, being an erotic romance writer. It's incredibly long hours for not much pay, especially at the beginning. It's the sort of thing that's sometimes awkward to talk about in mixed company (I'm picturing my poor mom introducing me to her friends.... "And here's my daughter -- she writes sex scenes for a living." LOL!)

Poor mom. Writer was always on the agenda, although it was supposed to come after my brilliant film career, if I remember right. And the single largest hurdle I always faced to writing professionally was choosing a genre.

You see, I love it all. I am a major fantasy addict. I love sci-fi -- Heinlein, Niven, Philip K. Dick. Historical fantasy? Mary Stewart? Mary Renault? (why didn't my mother name me Mary, dang it!?) Morgan Llwewllyn? OH man! I am so all over that! And contemporary, humorous, quietly caustic stuff... Well, I finally got to go there a little with the Shifter Sisters. Swashbuckling adventures, high rolling seas, dashing pirates -- and dragons and mighty quests and magic swords (nope, noooo pun intended there!) The far-off, the fantastic, and the occasional foray into the domestic and familiar... There is, I have no hesitation in saying, only one genre of literature that allows me all that. Plus it's got sex, too -- how can you possibly beat that?

Hey Mom! I'm gonna be an erotic romance writer!

She'll recover, some day... LOL!

-- Sierra

www.sierradafoe.com -- new site redesign in the works!

One lucky bastardess

That's what I am. I have three jobs and I wouldn't trade any of them in for something better. There's nothing in the world I'd rather do than what I'm doing. Writing books has been something I wanted to do since I was seven years old and the fact that I actually got to see that childhood wish come true is just...a blessing. (Sorry had to get a little corny there for a second.)



My second job is as a freelance photographer for our state's paper. I've only been working this one for about a month, but I'm LOVING it! Photography is by far my favorite hobby and to see a hobby start to bring in some money and additional opportunities for tax deduction, well, there ain't much better than that. And I get to go cool places and meet interesting people and have a good excuse to get up in their faces and snap away. Awesomse stuff (and a good excuse to ask for a camera upgrade for Christmas I do believe, lol!)



And my third job, which I couldn't decide to talk about first, or save until last. Those three up there on the bottom bunk. Helping raise these kids is by far my hardest and most time consuming job, but also the most rewarding. Until I had Roo, I had no idea I was capable of such fierce, fantastic love. And until I started helping raise the girls, I had no idea I was capable of loving kids that weren't 'mine' biologically in that same all-consuming way. But now, I don't know what I'd do if we lost one of them or they decided to go live with their other parent instead of me and the hubs. I love them so much, and am willing to do whatever it takes to see all three grow into strong, confident, loving grown-ups who are as well-equipped for life as I can help make them in my job as 'mom'.

Sniff! Talking about that third job always gets me choked up. Speaking of, gotta go wake those kids up.

Happy Wednesday all,


Anna J. Evans
http://annajevans.com