Sunday, February 1, 2015

I'm back... or... what I've been up to

It seems like every Blog I write starts with an apology for the length of time that elapsed since I last wrote one. I then promise to unfuck that particular problem and write a post. This is my solemn vow for 2015: I am going to make my blog more regular. I've been force feeding it Metamucil and prunes. Or something like that.

This blog brought to you by the letter M
Anyway, on with the show.

I'm a writer. This means I'm also a reader. It's just part and parcel, one comes with the other. You can be a reader but not a writer, but it just doesn't work the other way around. I've had conversations with plenty of people who say they're a writer. I ask them what they're currently reading and they tell me they don't have time to read. I laugh at them and tell them if they aren't reading then they aren't a writer. You don't need to be able to tell me quotes, you don't need to know who wrote every book, you don't even need to name the most influential writers of the twentieth century. You need to read though. If you don't read, you can't write. Simple as that.
So yeah, I read. A lot. On a great day I'll devour a book in one sitting. I'll blow things off and just lose myself to a great author. On a normal day I'll pick up where I left off and continue with a story. When I'm done reading I compare myself and my work. I dissect both the books I'm reading and whatever I'm writing. I learn. I push myself to be more like my favorite authors. I study how they write, how they describe, how they speak. It's what I do. It's how I know I'm better than I was but not as good as I'll be.

It's always my goal to read between 50 and 100 books through the year. So far I've read 4, which isn't horrible but it aint great. I have a lot of shit going on so I'll accept 4 and just keep moving. It's still early in the year. Here's what I've read so far:

The Lesser Dead by Christopher Buehlman - Easily the best vampire story I've read in a VERY long time and an original idea involving a vampire preteen and vampire children. An actual twist in the ending makes it so much more than just a good read. I strongly suggest it. Buehlman is an incredible author. I have one of his other books in my TBR pile.

Bring Me Flesh, I'll Bring HELL by Martin Rose - A little long winded at times and some ridiculous concepts when it comes to a zombie. Clich├ęd zombie private eye as the main character. I almost wanted to dislike this book, but Rose's prose are damn near poetic and just plain good. He's an exceptional writer and will be a smashing success if he learns to hash out his ideas a little better and practice brevity. Still a good book, but could have GREAT.

The Thin Man by Dashiell Hammett - Hammett wrote the Maltese Falcon. He's an icon. He can write the noir style better than anyone. Ever. I love everything he writes and you should too. If you've never read anything by him shame, shame, shame.

Factotum by Charles Bukowski - Once you put the name Bukowski on a MS it's gold, at least in my opinion. He writes some of the most poetically dark words you'll ever read in Factotum and does so with such an ease it just simply happens and you don't initially pick up on the genius. It's a simple book with simple sentences and nothing actually happens through the course of the novel until you slow down and think. Whoa...YES, I said you had to think. All great works inspire us to that very thing. Factotum does just that and I couldn't be happier with the thinks in my head as I was following the hapless and likeable/hateable Henry, the alcoholic main character. He reminded me a lot of my father in some ways.
He also wrote the movie Barfly starring Mickey Rourke.  Barfly stars the same main character as Factotum, Henry Chinaski. Bukowski is claimed to be the writer that inspired the Showtime series Californication.

Speaking of which, here's what I'm watching:


Since it's winter and I live in Jersey and it's colder than a witches clit I spend a lot of time indoors. Usually in a bar, but occasionally at home. I don't really like TV. I don't watch much of the shit. I read a lot, I write a lot. I don't watch much TV. When I do it has to be something I really love to keep me watching. This happened to me recently with 2 incredible series I watched off netflicks. Californication and Weeds. I know I'm a little late on these series but I finally got there and loved them both. Endings were weak, but I won't let that sour me from some really intelligent and original writing.
Californication. If you've never seen it, you suck. It's brilliant and hysterical. The main character is everything I want to be and everything I'm afraid to be rolled into one. Hank Moody, the previously mentioned main character is a writer living in LA. He's a fuck up. He's a drunk. All he wants to do is be a good father to his daughter and rekindle the love he lost with her mother. He wants to do the right thing but always goes about it the wrong way. His friends and the industry in general want something else from him. He's a genius, yet still flawed and usually drunk. David Duchovny is a brilliant actor, and admittedly my very first man-crush. He brings Hank Moody to life in ways no one else could and delivers an unforgettable, if fatally screwed up, performance.
Weeds. Widowed mom turns to selling weed to keep her family in their upper middle class home. She's sexy as hell and conivingly intelligent. She's underestimated because she's a white chick from the burbs, but people soon find out that this amorally lose mom is capable of anything. Mary-Louis Parker is just plain sexy. She's an incredible actress and pulls of the soccer mom thing just as easily as she does the drug king pin thing. She keeps her cool in some ridiculous situations and manages to come out on top. It's fun watching her fuck things up and then scramble to get out of the mess of her own design. It's fun watching her do anything.

Finally, what am I writing?

I just finished the edit for my YA novel. I don't know how much I can actually tell you about it though, because I'm publishing it under a pseudonym for obvious reasons. I write erotica and horror. I blend the two genres. I write for adults. I don't need little Timmy checking out my YA book and then looking for others. "Mommy," little Timmy would say in his pre-pubescent voice, all innocent and shit. "I found a new book by that amazing new author I found, Christian Jensen. It's called Amy Obeys. What's a Cleveland Steamer?" So yeah, pseudonym. If I can, or choose to later, I'll fill you in. I really like this book and want to push it, so I'm leaning towards a lot of publicity and blogs and shit. Hope to tell you more.

I'm finishing the first draft of Zombie Bigfoot. It's exactly what it sounds like. It's a book about Bigfoot. He turns into a zombie. Shit gets real.

I have to finalize the edits on a currently unnamed book. It's about angels and demons and hot goth chicks. I'll have that done in a few weeks. I'm self publishing that one, so as soon as it's done It'll be up for sale. Same with Zombie Bigfoot. I'll have both of them ready for Amzicon in April, which will be my first appearance of the year.

Finally, I'm slowly starting a completely new project that I expect to take me much longer than most of my other fiction. It's going to have more of a "literary" feel to it, something more honest and heartfelt. I hope.

So...blogs done. Comments?

Monday, June 23, 2014

Evil part VII

I do so enjoy pushing Cassandre Dayne to new and more devious levels of violence. I also enjoy being pushed to sexier and more deranged levels of decadence. It's one of the reasons we write so well together. Our little project has been so incredibly fun and sexy I hope it never ends.
If you haven't read her last post, check it out here.
And so without further banter I give you

Evil Lurking in the Shadows Part VII

Fuck her. Beat her. Kill her.

Christ, what the fuck is wrong with you? What the fuck is wrong with me for that matter. I’m sitting alone in my house staring at a blank TV screen and rooting around inside a cop’s head trying to make him murder some whore. No sane serial killer would go out of his way to connect with a fucking cop on any level but then again I don’t really think sane and serial killer are two words that belong together.

Am I insane? I guess I have to be. You don’t just start killing women one day because all your mental functions suddenly snap into place. You have to be nuts. You have to be deranged. The strange part is I didn’t feel insane even though I knew I was. I felt like everything had suddenly lined up for me like tumblers in a lock. I felt saner now than I ever had in my life. I felt more alive. I felt…complete.

It was that feeling of balance that had connected me to the cop. I was sure of it. I knew something had brought us together and immediately following my last kill I knew what it was. I had somehow achieved the perfect alignment with the universe or whatever the fuck connects things together. Taoists call it the way, an energy that connects all things.  I had somehow found my perfect peace and in doing so I connected with that energy and it, in turn, connected me with my voyeur.

It was just sheer luck that he turned out to be a cop. There was something very sexy about destroying what little morals he had. I could negate all the good he had done in his career. I could bury the person he was under mounds of festering secrets and hideous truths. I would burn down his soul and rise a new monster from the ashes of that destruction.

The thought of it turned me the fuck on.

I sat on my couch staring at the blank TV set. I had a cigar smoldering between two fingers of one hand and a crystal glass half filled with bourbon in the other. I alternated between puffing on the cigar and sipping the bourbon. Both filled my head with an intoxicating euphoria. Both failed in comparison to the images that played in my head.

The redhead was older than I would have picked but still very sexy. Tall and lithe with a strong musculature to her stout frame. Coppery red hair fell off her shoulders and down to the middle of her back in thick curls. When she screamed or moaned or laughed her green eyes lit up with tiny flecks of gold. The things I could do to make those eyes shine…

My voyeur was doing pretty good. His face was buried between her thighs, hands clenching her ass with violent need as he worked his mouth over her cunt. When she arched her back I could see the outline of her ribs. Her nipples poked through her top. Her throat worked soundlessly as she shook through an impressive orgasm. I liked watching her cum but I wanted to see her bleed more.

There is a subtle difference between screams of pleasure and screams of pain and I’m a connoisseur of both. I draw them inside of me, roll them around my tongue, and easily detect the vintage. I could taste this whore’s pleasure easily enough but that wasn’t the delicacy I needed. It wasn’t what my voyeur needed.

I closed my eyes and let the images from his mind roll over me like waves. I went deeper until I could taste her cum on my tongue and feel the give of her soft skin in my hands. I moved the hands so one went under her skirt and found the erect nipple of a breast. I pinched. Harder. She moaned and finally gasped as my fingers pressed the nub too tightly. I smiled around the swollen, wet lips of her pussy. Two thick fingers entered her easily. I pushed another digit into the tightness of her ass and again got the same gasp of pain. She didn’t say no. She didn’t want me to stop.

A car drove past us bathing our tangled bodies in white light. The driver slowed and watched but we weren’t about to stop. I continued to fuck her with my fingers, increasing the pace and pressure until she screamed her orgasm out to the night. I could hear people laughing and whistling. None of it mattered.

Take her home.

It wasn’t a suggestion. There were things that needed to be done.

“That was a good appetizer,” his voice was raspy and filled with a need so complete it consumed every part of him. Nothing else mattered except obeying. To the whore he was sir. To me he was just another conquest. “Let’s go back to my place and get into the main course.”

“Yes Sir,” her voice was husky. She bit her lower lip playfully. “Anything you want.”

“I want you to suck my cock,” he held the passenger door open for her and waited until she got in. His legs were shaking as he walked around the car and got in behind the steering wheel. One hand closed the door while the other undid his fly. “Right now.”

As he twisted the key her head wen to his lap and thin fingers pulled the rigid cock into the night air. The head was thick, swollen, and purple. Pre-cum covered the engorged tip and dripped down the shaft where it disappeared into his pants. The heat of her mouth closed around it just as the car pulled away.

This whore had skills. Her tongue danced over the hard rod while she pulled it down her throat. Dainty fingers clenched tightly around the base, stroking in perfect rhythm with her hungry mouth. It didn’t take long before the pent up frustration and outright need rushed to the surface and he filled the whore’s mouth with his orgasm. She swallowed it all and continued her machinations until he shriveled inside her.

“Did I do good Sir?”

“Very good,” his hand rested on her thigh. “I have a very special reward waiting for you back at the house.”

I smiled wide enough to hurt my lips. I could taste blood pooling in the corners and licked at it greedily. Tonight would be special indeed because the things I had planned for this slut would be epic. The things my voyeur was about to do would make the devil blush and turn his head. Tonight I started a new chapter to my book of sin.  

Remember to check Cass's blog for the next installment. As always buy my books. Buy Cass's books while you're at it. Spank the one you love. Hell, spank the one you like.