Wow. I bet I know where your mind just went. Of course, mine did too, but I’m allowed. I get paid for thinking naughty thoughts, at least if I can turn them into marketable stories. Nearly anyone can tell a tale; be foolish enough to ask your great-aunt about her last shopping trip, and you’ll hear the saga of the mislabeled support hose and the extremely rude cashier in great detail. You’re obliged to listen. If you’re lucky, you might get a laugh out of it. But would you spend your hard earned pennies on her recounting? Unlikely. Good writers, on the other hand, have you rushing for your wallet on release day.
Am I a good writer? I’d like to think so. I hope you’ll think so too, should you be kind enough to give Crimson a try. It comes out today, and I’m incredibly nervous. Like a young girl planning her wedding, I’ve imagined this day for years. I’ve dreamed of enthusiastic letters from fans and critics singing my praises. In my wildest fantasies, favorite authors come to my book-signing with well-thumbed copies of my bestseller in hand. I’ve picture scribbling my name for them and waltzing back to my office to start my next romance, a smile-plastered on my face and my head held high.
In reality, I find myself biting my lip a lot. I have to refrain from chewing my nails. Will you cheer on the men I’ve created? When their story ends, will you hunger for more? And oh, the hardest question to answer: can I do this again? Visions of awards and framed reviews may dance through my head, but being a one-hit-wonder is my greatest nightmare. My delicious duo has said they’re ready for another adventure. The galaxy they inhabit yearns to be explored. My pen and notebook are at hand. My computer awaits, its cursor blinking, egging me on. All I have to do is commit.
To my next book I thee wed, I suppose. Here’s to our first anniversary! They say the first year should be celebrated with paper, but I’m a forward thinker. Another e-book will be a fine gift, a fine gift indeed.
In the meantime, enjoy a peek at one of Adam’s firsts. He’s the blue-skinned romantic lead of Crimson. Yes, I said blue-skinned. He’s a type of alien known as a starling. And did I mention he has feathers in interesting places? Trust me: he’s Big Bird only in the best sense. But he’s certainly intrigued by a nice set of wings:
“Lower your eyes.”
Adam heard Ben’s growl but couldn’t look away. Leather hugged Ben’s thighs, the chaps framing a perfect, heart-shaped behind. He wore nothing else save a thong, buckle-heavy boots, and feathered wings tattooed across his back.
“I said lower your eyes,” Ben rumbled over his shoulder, voice even deeper the second time around.
Adam gulped. “But you have—”
Ben jerked hard on the chain, cutting Adam off. “Suck it up, buttercup. You’re staring.”
That’s because the man who’s suddenly ripping into starlings has wings. Beautiful wings, Adam added, his own plumage stirring in response. He folded his hands protectively in front of his crotch, mortified at the heat surging through his groin. It wasn’t just the wings that made him ache, but the back beneath them, the muscles knotted all the way down to the swell of Ben’s backside.
Adam tore his gaze away. He’d seen Ben undressed countless times. How could leather and a new tattoo have changed his reaction so much?
I know, I know. It’s just a little snippet. Why not read all of Chapter One? I’ll see you there.
Ethan X. Thomas lives in northern Canada with his three pets, one of which he sometimes lets drive the car—if the pet’s been good, of course. Ethan has recently moved from writing horror to erotica and romance, but still enjoys a good scare. Crimson is his first published title. Check out his blog or stop by his twitter.
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