In honor of Sven....an excerpt!

"You want me."

Dana's fingers curled, gripping tighter around the base of her snifter and her spine stiffened. Just who did he think he was?

Trying to appear unaffected by his directness, his insolence, she swirled the amber liquid around in the glass, lifting it to her nose to inhale its fragrance. She would not turn around. Not yet. Be still, Dana….

The man belonging to that voice hadn't meant those words as any question. Instead, he threw them down in the same casual, matter of fact manner one might use to make note of the weather. And Dana didn't need to turn around to glean who it was that owned the resonant voice that had rasped those words.

She already knew.

Ryder Black. The man--no, the fang--that, if the truth were to be told, she had come here to see.

To spy on.

Perhaps even to seduce.

"Look at me," he commanded.

Nobody had ever spoken to her like that, much less one if his kind. She had come here seeking a mindless encounter, longing to feel, if only for just this one night, like a woman again. Only the satin half mask she wore had allowed her the anonymity she needed to act on those desires. Instead of the ressurrection of her womanhood she sought, his callous words had cut through her ruse, her fantasy.

Had made her feel like meat.

Dana slammed down the contents of the snifter, summoning the affront his rude comment deserved. When she finally did spin around on her barstool, she meant only to skewer Ryder Black, first with her glare, and then with a few caustic words of her own. I'll have you brought up on charges for that attitude, fang...

The utterance died on her lips before she ever spoke. She could feel her jaw dropping as she saw how close he stood behind her...so close that she could feel the heat from his body warming her face. She had no choice but to tilt her head back, seeking the face that belonged to that immense body, that sonorous voice.

Her stare hitching upward, she could find no safe haven on which to rest her focus. To regroup.

Her gaze rode all the way from the muscled thighs straining against worn denim up to a remarkably beautiful set of icy, silver eyes. Ryder Black was composed of sinew and sin, all hard edges and musky male. The man--the fang--was huge, and though she was no small woman herself, Dana resisted the urge to cringe in his shadow.

The glare she'd meant to pierce him with retreated and her gaze fell, snagging somewhere between his belt buckle and his rough hewn jaw. Bravado fading, she tore her attention away from his broad shoulders, and clung to the relative safety of a button that was threading halfway out of its hole, threatening to open wider the collar of his white button down.

His every breath teased her with glimpses of well developed pecs and a light dusting of crisp, golden curls. Fisting her hand against the desire to reach out and help that button along in its journey, she felt her anger change into something else. Look away, Dana.

And finally, her body relented, doing her mind’s bidding.

Resting her gaze on the mirrored wall behind him, she caught sight of her own face. If she were to believe her own reflection as it stared back at her, her expression had already betrayed her. Her flushed cheeks and parted lips looked to her like a woman overcome with rampant desire.

Yes. He had spoken the truth, after all.

She did want Ryder Black. She wanted to grab him by both sides of his collar, not so much to choke those insolent words from him....but rather to free that button, ripping his shirt open, exposing his torso. Closing her eyes, she could almost hear his buttons pinging on the floor around them as she feasted her eyes on that gigantic body.

And that’s when she realized exactly what it was Immortium did to a human woman. It caused the body to act, unedited, on the mind’s hidden fantasies.

Before she knew it, the crisped starched collar of his white shirt crackled as she gathered it in her fists. On well timed yank, and his neckline was open, buttons pinging around the floor exactly as she’d envisioned.

His shirt falling open, she gasped at the sight of him.

It felt as if she were standing outside herself, watching her body take on a will not her own.

Rather, his will.

“No, Ryder Black,” she whispered into his ear. “I believe it is you who came here seeking me…”

copyright 2007/Liane Gentry Skye/Kiss of the Cerberus

It's a Plot Autopsy!

Well, it is Halloween, thus the morbid subject matter. What better time to play Texas Chainsaw Massacre and rescue my Seventy Days of Sweat manuscript before I end up writing seventy thousand plus words of pointless drivel?

I had a pretty decent idea of where Kiss of the Cerberus was going when I started, but I'm nearly ten thousand words in and my H/h have just officially met--unless you count the voyeur scene. Hello brain? This is a novella. Thirty thousand words, max. So this ain't gonna cut it.

Then, to make matters worse, I ended up with a subplot. And a villain I never expected. And suddenly, my brain is drifting off to other ideas, other stories....because you see, I'm the queen of great beginnings. I'm GOOD at beginnings. They're my comfort zone.

I've a feeling Seventy Days of Sweat is all about breaking past those comfort zones...

And this year, for me has been about buckling down and attaching middles and endings to all those great beginnings traipsing around my hard drive. Yes, there are many.

Too many.

I believe finishing the stories I've started was the right choice, because I just sold the first romance that I actually FINISHED to Red Sage. Finishing is good. Even numerically impaired moi can do this much math:

No end = no contract.

So...I've grounded myself from touching any other manuscript until I've done a plot map of this one and reached the end of my first draft. But I'm not going to write seventy thousand words searching for my story like I did on Heart's Storm.

So, its Halloween, but when it comes to writing, I've learned there really is no trick. You just plant your butt in the chair and do it. And in order to get to my treat...(the end), I'm going to have to work smarter. Which means I'm going to have to sit down and :gasp:...plot.

I'll put a photo of my plot map up tomorrow. Hold me to it. :D

And...nanowrimo starts in just a few days! EEP!

I'm Just Sayin.....

Why am I doing the happy dance?

Well, because I got THE CALL tonight.

I SOLD...ok fine, my STORY sold. :D

To my dream publisher, no less.

Heart's Storm (Formerly the Seal and the Sea Nymph)is going under contract with Red Sage for their Secret's line, Pub Date to be announced.

Now if that doesn't stoke my muse, I don't know what will!

It isn't easy being blonde (Not that I am...)

Many of you know that I've been going through a lengthy editing/revision process on my book that I describe as "teetering" on contract. The good news is that as of Tuesday evening of this week, the senior editor is happy with my edits....save one thing. Spacing between sentences. They required one space after sentences. Not the two I typically use in manuscripts.

So, no problem, right? I hit my handy dandy "?" key in Word 2007 (which I FINALLY have come to adore), and asked it how to do said alteration--you know, the easy way.

Well, according to word, there isn't a method for doing so.

I even toyed with the idea of doing a find ". (space, space) and replacing it with ".(space)". I immediately brushed the idea off as ludicrous...on the grounds that a space is null. void. Nothing there for Mr. Find and Replace to find...or replace. End of story.....or so I thought. I just wrote it off as another one of my hare-brained ideas that would only waste more time.

So, long story short? I spent the day last Sunday manually changing....Every. Single. Effin'. Space. After. A. Sentence. In. My. Manuscript.

Turns out, my hare-brained idea of find/replace....wasn't so hair brained after all.

So, kindly hand over the Miss Clairol. :)

Good news? I should be hearing whether my novella will go to contract soon. Even better? It's with one of my dream publishers. The very one I vowed on my last birthday I'd find a way to pub with this year.

So, my lovely mermaid story is now on the desk of the Managing Editor of my dream publisher. Let's hope she likes it. If not, I must say...I have learned more about writing during this process than I ever dreamed I'd know. And that can't be a bad thing.

Wish me luck. :D

Enlightening thought for the day.

OK, guys, brace yourself.

My dear friend Sven has been cracking his whip like a wild man, helping me re-discover what I lost sight of a few months after last year's Nanowrimo.

Yes, I have the golden ticket. But I have to tell you that its no where as gold and shiny as I hoped.

In fact, it's downright sobering. So brace yourselves.

The key to becoming a writer is to ......



W R I T E


Who'd have thought it?

Now on a more serious note, Kiss of the Cerberus (used to be called A Vampire is Forever)is singing for me. With all of the pivotal scenes for my story arc written, and the new world building done as of today, I'm going back and layering in details, and weaving the scenes into a logical progression.

Today I got bored with all the detail work, and allowed myself to flesh out the first "insert H/h love scene" entry into my manuscript. Lordy, my keyboard was smoking by the time they got done..um... tormenting each other.

And girls, lemme tell you, my hero, Ryder Black....is so effin' hot. You're gonna love him.

On an aside, my final requested edits are done for the book which has been teetering on contract with my dream publisher for the last couple of months.

Wish me luck. :D