Living the Dream

Two years ago, I set out to write erotica: 10,000 words of stroke fiction. A simple enough task (I thought) as I wasn’t completely crap as a writer, and I was (if vocal evidence during the act is to be believed) pretty damn good at sex. All I had to do was write a few piddling little stories and make my mark on the world of Indie publishing. How hard could it be to write 10,000 words?

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As it turns out, pretty hard. You see, it’s not getting the wheels in motion that’s the problem. It’s finding the darn brakes. I guess they don’t grip too well when they’re sliding around in all those lovely juices. Continue reading

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Holy Hogmanay, Batman! by Francisco Cordoba

Zowie!

The honour of bringing the first blog post of 2017 to the Happy Authors’ Guild falls to me, and you know what? I’ve blown it.

I haven’t just forgotten to give HAG a timely hug, or omitted to whisper sweet nothings in HAG’s shell-like ear, or nipped when I should have licked between HAG’s plump and luscious thighs. No, I’ve blown it like a turkey-induced New Year’s fart that’s gonna reverberate from now until June. Continue reading

How to Get Laid by Francisco Cordoba

One day when I was in college, my English professor informed me that my writing was atrocious.

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Unless I figured out a way to get laid, I would fail his class. This seemed somewhat harsh, but dedicated young student that I was, I determined to make Prof. Smith proud.

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The Plots in My Pants by Francisco Cordoba

I’m a pantser by nature. My mind rejects organization.

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When I think of a story and the characters speak to me, I’m happy as hell to let my fingers make some invisible connection to the ether and spew whatever they find there into my computer. This freedom is a phenomenal, almost spiritual, feeling.

Meditation at the sea shore with full moon

But there’s a problem.

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Voyage of the Bland

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Words! How glorious they fall on the page. Fast or slow, deep or shallow, they drip from my fingers like misty drizzle or hammer from my heart in torrents. However they choose to come, I do my best to accept and relate them without prejudice.

And therein, Dear Reader, lies the rub. How I wish it were one of those warm, tingly, exciting rubs on delicate parts that leave us breathless and singing inside—but it’s not.

Continue reading