Tag Archives: Half-Moon Bride by Marilyn Jaye Lewis

My God, People! Yesterday Was Intense!!

First of all, continuing in the happy theme of my post here last night, The Guitar Hero Goes Home is now available everywhere! As an eBook, on Kindle, and as a trade paperback !!!!!

[UPDATE: I have removed the eBook from Smashwords.]

Yay!! Kindle is $2.99,  and the paperback is $9.95

Here are the links:

Trade paperback via Amazon: The Guitar Hero Goes Home

Kindle eBook: The Guitar Hero Goes Home

My test proof for the print edition doesn’t arrive until tomorrow, but I already saw an online proof and I know I’m not going to make any changes, so the fact that it is already for sale is fine.

There are only 2 things that really bother me, that I could not change — the page numbering — where Page 1 begins on the Copyright page. And then the pages that set off the different sections — i.e., Part I, Part II, Part III, etc. — I could not give those their own, stand alone pages. Traditionally, they should appear on the right hand side of the book, with nothing printed on the back of the page. But they wouldn’t allow me to have any blank pages. So I find the formatting weird, but it can’t be changed and it won’t keep me from selling the book.

So it’s ready!!!!

In other brief news — I think I may have a publisher for “Half-Moon Bride”, even as a stand alone short story. I don’t know for sure yet, but I will keep you posted! And if it works out, then it could be likely that all my new hardcore D/s erotica that pushes the boundary of “questionable consent” could have a new home.

After yesterday’s seemingly endless nightmare, just trying to get the fucking eBook published for The Guitar Hero Goes Home, I would be happy to focus on writing as much as I can, and less on publishing when at all possible.

I have not formatted an ePub doc for eBook publishing since upgrading to the Windows 10 laptop. And the upgrade made all my old style-guides for creating ePub docs 100% obsolete.

So, what used to be something I could do almost on automatic, became something I had to learn all over again.

I was not at all in the mood for that yesterday, gang. I was having a seriously not happy day. And almost every single thing I needed to do to format that stupid ePub file got fucked up, and I spent hours sitting here at my desk, pretty much saying “Are you fucking kidding me??!!” every 5 minutes… I had to keep starting over, and starting over, and starting over.

Eventually, I took a piece of a piece of a piece of a Tylenol PM, so that I could at least calm down without actually going to sleep. And I started yet again, and finally figured out what the fuck I was supposed to do to get everything to work right. And at long last, it did.

And so it “went to press” as it were! And since it is not an erotic title, but merely “adult”, it means I did not have to go through the outraging insanity of having the Amazon keyword machine reject the entire manuscript based on a keyword it detected as objectionable yet without enlightening me to what taboo words were triggering the rejection.

Loyal readers of this lofty blog no doubt recall that this happened to me when I published The Muse Revisited, Vol.1 (on both Amazon and Smashwords back in 2012, or whenever it was), but Amazon rejected the manuscript without telling me why.

I eventually discovered, through endless and annoying trials and errors, that the thing that was triggering the rejection was in my short story “Muriel the Magnificent.” When Muriel is 7 years old, she gets a spanking from her dad, with her pants down– and the scene is not erotic at all. In fact, it’s the key scene of the whole story — it sets up Muriel as an adult, who is unable to feel erotic about her own body.  And she finally learns how to open up by accidentally seeing porn on the Internet.

This was back when the Internet was still brand new. And the story was written expressly for a British compilation at Hodder- Stoughton, The New English Library Book of Internet Stories (a non-erotic collection — mine was the only erotic story in there, but it was included because the story was good). And the story was indeed a huge hit. It got picked up as one of the best erotic stories of that year. And by the time I was trying to publish the eBook of  The Muse Revisited, Vol.1  on Amazon, “Muriel the Magnificent” had already been picked up for publication in a few other collections, in the US and overseas — all of which were on sale on Amazon and had been on sale on Amazon for several years.

But since eBooks at Amazon are judged by keyword machines and not human editors,  and since my eBook was labeled as “erotica,” a 7 year-old girl simply can’t get spanked by her dad with her pants down, regardless of the context.  So they spit back the entire book. And kept spitting it back, and kept spitting it back, until I finally figured out what the problem was, and as much as I hated to do it, I had to completely censor that key scene in order to get the book published. (So, yes, if you only know that story from The Muse Revisited collection, you’ve read a censored version of the story.)

Anyway, that’s annoying as hell, but it didn’t happen this time. Yay.

So — The Guitar Hero Goes Home is at long last published. I hope you’ll read it. There is sex in there, gang!! But … alas, not a lot (although there is a really cool spanking scene in it!!) Perhaps that will entice you… (Although it’s between 2 adults and… alas, it is not eroticized. It’s in fact one of those spankings that you don’t want to get…)

But anyway. I’m very happy and I can’t wait to get my test proof of it tomorrow. To hold it in my hot little  hands.

And I’m glad that at least the next 2 publishing projects are not going to require ePub files!! They are strictly POD. Thank God.

Well!! In case you were really busy doing something on July 23rd and weren’t able to catch Nick Cave’s solo concert on Dice — Idiot Prayer: Nick Cave Alone at Alexandra Palace — the Nick Cave website announced this morning that there will be a theatrical release of the concert, starting November 5th, and that there is also an album coming — vinyl, CD, and streaming — November 20th. All the details are here.

I have to say that every time I see the title of that show, I always think it says Nick Cave Alone at “Berlin Alexanderplatz” — which was this amazing TV miniseries from Germany, back in 1980, adapted from a German novel of the same name about Berlin as it gradually falls under Nazi influence. It was directed by Fassbinder. I think you can probably stream it online — and you should, if you can. It was really, really good. However, Nick Cave is not in it, alone or otherwise. (But that should not deter you from broadening your intellectual horizons.)

Well, all righty!!! I need to get started here today. I haven’t done my yoga yet — I guess I’m still in the mindset of rejecting routines.  But I do want to do it since I didn’t do yoga yesterday. And then I need to finally finish “Half-Moon Bride.” Which means we need to have copious amounts of anal sex! Well, the characters do, at any rate. (However, if you’re feeling like your own day needs to move in that direction as well, far be it from me to attempt to dissuade you!!)

To be honest, my life is a little challenging right now, for reasons that I don’t want to post about, so to spend the rest of the day, sitting at my desk, encouraging our 2 love birds to have copious amounts of anal sex, as their wedding night wanes and before the sun comes up and our half-moon bride loses her erection for an entire 30 days… Well, that to me, sounds like a really great way to spend the day.

I hope Thursday is as good to you, wherever you are in the world!! Thanks for visiting, gang. My breakfast-listening music today was once again from Tom Petty & the Heartbreaker’s Live Anthology (2009).  This time, “Square One,” recorded live in Missouri, June 17th, 2006. I hope you enjoy it. It’s a song that gives me a lot of hope. I know, somehow, I’m going to get to a good place. Okay, I love you guys. See ya.

“Square One”

Had to find some higher ground.
Had some fear to get around.
You can say what you don’t know.
Later on won’t work no more.

Last time through I hid my tracks.
So well I could not get back.
Yeah my way was hard to find.
Can’t sell your soul for peace of mind.

Square one, my slate is clear.
Rest your head on me my dear.
It took a world of trouble, took a world of tears.
It took a long time to get back here.

Tried so hard to stand alone.
Struggled to see past my nose.
Always had more dogs than bones.
I could never wear those clothes.

It’s a dark victory.
You won and you are so lost.
Told us you were satisfied,
but it never came across.

Square one, my slate is clear.
Rest your head on me my dear.
It took a world of trouble, took a world of tears.
It took a long time to get back here.

© 2006 Tom Petty

Getting There

I think the full moon is making my brain a muddled mess today.

I keep puttering around, doing weird stuff.  Sort of sticking to my morning routine, sort of not. I even sat down here to post to the blog, totally forgetting that I hadn’t even done yoga yet, so I came to the unexpected decision that I’m not working out today. Even though I’m wearing my little “do yoga” outfit as I type this.

I also decided that I had to do laundry today — it was suddenly imperative. So I put the dirty clothes in the washer and there was maybe a half an inch of clothes! I sort of stared at it, wondering why I was so hellbent to do laundry, then I went ahead and started the machine anyway.

And even the trash pick-up truck seems to be acting strangely this morning. I’ve seen them drive by my house 3 times already, but they haven’t picked up my trash yet — they’re going on a whole different route. Which is incredibly weird because we have about 6 streets here in Crazeysburg, so why on Earth would you suddenly need a new route, you know? Is it more efficient to drive past people’s houses 3 times?

Not sure what’s going on there. But part of me immediately panics when I see them pass me by, thinking that I forgot to pay the trash pick-up bill again. But they seem to just be driving strangely today.  So before I call them up and lose my fucking mind on the phone, I’ll just wait and see what happens.

Okay, well, yesterday evening, we came SO CLOSE to ordering the test proof for The Guitar Hero Goes Home. The print-preview machine was grinding out the proofing copy over at Amazon, it took forever, but when it was finally finished, the cover art was a fraction of a hair’s breadth too big for the template.

And this was after just a whole big long line of things yesterday that had already exasperated Valerie in trying to get the cover art, within the template specs, to me so that I could upload it. So it was disappointing. But we are almost there, gang.

I already know I don’t like some of the aspects of the layout of the text (well, 2 things), but they are super minor, and the next time around, I know better than to type an entire manuscript into a Beta-testing template. So on we go, right?

And another weird thing — suddenly, this morning, Instagram has started putting people I don’t even know at the top of my feed, putting the posts of people I actually do know, down lower in the feed. Of the 13,704 people I now follow on Instagram, I know maybe 4 of those people, so I would really like to have their posts at the top of my feed, since right now, I don’t have time to hang out scrolling on Instagram; I want to see only my favorite posts at the top of the page and then get off Instagram, because I need every spare moment right now to sit here and quietly lose my mind.

Actually, one of the downsides of letting go of my private Instagram account and making it a public one, is that now I have way too many people that I’m following. And the people I really did enjoy following for such a  long time,  almost never come up in my feed anymore. Yesterday, I saw a post from Benmont Tench and it was the first post of his that I’d seen in, literally, months. And he’s someone who posts all day long. I used to see him first thing in the morning and then last thing at night, and his posts were always funny, charming, etc.  And I really loved his posts. (He was the life-long piano player for Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers.)

Oh, which reminds me. Today is the anniversary of the death of Conway Savage, who was the piano player for Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds for a really long time. Nick Cave wrote an amusing tribute to him in his Red Hand Files for today. You can read it here.

Okay, well. I’m hoping today will be productive, even though I am clearly in this strangely befuddled mindset. I had wanted to drive into town today to do something very important but now I’m wondering if getting into the car and driving 95 miles an hour today is the best idea. I guess we’ll just find out.

I’m just in one of those weird spaces where life feels intensely unmanageable. I know it will pass…

I’m going to leave you today with Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds’ version of “Stagger Lee”, because for some reason, I always really liked Conway Savage in this video. Well, I like everybody in this video. I just love this video. I’ve posted it here before, of course, but here it is again.  I hope you have a good Wednesday– enjoy that full moon (btw, they just picked up my trash! So if I lose my fucking mind today, it won’t be while I’m on the phone talking to the trash pick-up people). Okay. Thanks for visiting. I love you guys. See ya.

Another New Adventure in Pussyland!!

Oh jeez, people — you know?

No, I’m still not done with the new erotic short story, but we’re getting there. Yesterday was all about spending 7 hours streamlining a page and a half of text down to one and a half paragraphs.

That kind of thing — it takes forever, it taxes the brain, but it is really worth it once it’s done. But that kind of focusing takes a lot out of me, and while it’s going on, I have to battle with the feeling that the whole story is insane and why am I even writing it?

That kind of unproductive thinking leads nowhere productive.

But “Half-Moon Bride” is just one of those stories that I rarely write , wherein the sole reason it exists is to be erotic. There is only the flimsiest story arc (a wedding night). And the alleged character arc only serves as the vehicle to tell the flimsy story — we have the half-moon bride herself, who is the “female” hermaphrodite because she only grows her male appendage (minus any testicles) on the full moon (a half-moon futanari). Otherwise, she’s entirely female.

Whereas the “male” hermaphrodite, a man of enormous proportions in every imaginable way, completely larger-than-life (the Oracle who lives in the palace up in the mountains — whatever the heck that really means), is what’s called a “full-package futanari” — he has it all, all the time. Fully male, fully female.

So the only “character arc” is for the female, who starts out sheltered, naive, clueless, and virginal in every way. She finds out that she’s not only a half-moon futa, but also who she’s the intended bride of, on the same day.  And then her character makes the fretful but wonderful journey from “naive, clueless and virginal” to a little less naive and clueless, as every imaginable aspect of her virginity is done away with — quite rapturously — on her wedding night. (And I guarantee you, I only wish that either one of my wedding nights had been even a fraction as rapturous as the half-moon bride’s is. Jesus.)

And since these are two hermaphrodites getting married, there is truly an amazing number of ways in which this young woman is a virgin. (And it is my humble job, as the lowly yet often celebrated writer, to unburden her of every single one.)

Anyway, it is really, really fun. And it often makes me laugh, but it is also just filthy as hell, with no real reason for existing except to be filthy as hell.

Although, actually, in reality, the story was “inspired” by the real-life person of Peter Freuchen, who was both a large and larger-than-life Danish explorer in the early-to-mid 20th Century. (You can read about him here — he truly had an amazing life as an anthropologist and an Arctic explorer, starting back in 1906.)

Here he is, with his 3rd wife, a Danish writer and editor for Vogue and Harper’s  fashion magazines. (They met in America in the 1940s.)

An Irving Penn Portrait for the Coldest Days of Winter: “Peter and Dagmar Freuchen” | The New Yorker
Photo by Irving Penn

So you can see the “gigantic proportions” I am referring to. Why I made them hermaphrodites is anyone’s guess. But honestly, you don’t have to be me to look at those two and wonder what certain personal things were like, right??? What the possible challenges were…

So anyway. For some reason, I’m using a sort of archaic and formal language for the story, as well. Which tends to make it even stranger.  (Words like vagina, testicles, rectum, vulva, eventually give way to words like cock and pussy, once she goes from naive to a little less naive in the course of her wedding night.) (She has to stay at least somewhat naive, though, throughout, otherwise the D/s aspects of the story just don’t work.)

And there you have it — the utterly intense and insane world I am steeped in for hours and hours and hours at a time, every day, for something like 10 days running, so far. So I’m sort of exhausted.

Meanwhile, last evening, I went to bed sort of early. Not to sleep, really, just to hang out on the bed, listen to music and collapse. And while I was lying there, the blond guy on the blue motorcycle, zoomed by twice. God, is he lovely — his energy (see yesterday’s post). But it made me feel wistful — thinking of all the things I had hoped would work out in my life, but didn’t. (Primarily, two marriages, no children.)

And for some reason, I had decided to listen to Tom Petty & the Heartbreaker’s Live Anthology (2009) while hanging out on my bed.  When I drove into town yesterday morning, I was listening to the live version of “Learning to Fly” from off that album and it is just incredibly gorgeous. So I decided to listen to the whole album, while lying in bed as the sun was going down, forgetting that the reason I don’t usually listen to that album, is because 2 summers ago, when I fell in love with the man who died, we listened to Live Anthology constantly while making love.

I guess I don’t have to say that I was suddenly flooded with memories, and then I realized September is upon us, which marks the 2nd anniversary of his death, so I just got really, really, really sad.  Just sobbing for a little while. I miss him so much. And those songs — the music, it just brought it all so vividly back to life.  It just all came out — those things I miss so much that I try never to think about or to dwell on. It all just smacked right into me, and I had not been expecting it at all.

I eventually stopped crying, because I felt like his spirit came into the room. I really did feel it. And I know that I have to figure out some way for the future that is ahead of me, for however long is left — for it to just be okay. That something good could still be waiting for me, somewhere. (Perhaps not a wedding night like the half-moon bride’s, but something comparably rapturous!) And in the meantime, I will simply continue to write.

Beginning, once again, with today.

So, Nick Cave’s Cave Things announced another new “coming soon” product this morning. (And these Polaroid-thingies sell out immediately once they get posted, folks, so if you want one, you should probably just stay poised on the website indefinitely for its release and then immediately hit the purchase button. I don’t remember how much they cost, but they’re not cheap.)

All righty!! So I’m going to get started here. My printer ink arrives today, so that’s pretty darned exciting! I hope you have a terrific Tuesday, wherever it leads you. Thanks for visiting, gang.  I leave you with the live version of  “Have Love, Will Travel” from the Live Anthology and you can fill in your own rapturous boudoir memories, if you so choose!! Enjoy. I love you guys. See ya.

“Have Love, Will Travel”

You never had a chance, did you baby
So good-looking, so insecure
And now you say you can’t remember
When the lines you drew began to blur

Yeah, when all of this is over
Should I lose you in the smoke
I want you to know you were the one

And may my love travel with you everywhere
Yeah, may my love travel with you always

Maggie’s still trying to rope a tornado
Joe’s in the backyard trying to keep things simple
And the lonely dj’s diggin’ a ditch
Trying to keep the flames from the temple

Oh, and if perhaps I lose you
In the smoke down the road
I want you to know you were the one

And may my love travel with you everywhere
Yeah, may my love travel with you always

How about a cheer for all those bad girls
And all the boys that play that rock and roll
They love it like you love Jesus
It does the same thing to their souls

And when all of this is over
Should I lose you in the smoke
I want you to know that it’s all right

And may my love travel with you everywhere
Yeah, may my love travel with you always

© 2002 Tom Petty

It’s Monday — Already??!!

Honestly, gang. I cannot believe it is already Monday again. Time to drive back into town and go get the groceries. It feels like I just did that!!

However, the fact that I have only a pint of blueberries and 2 cartons of yogurt in the fridge assures me that it is indeed Monday. So off I will go to town (the next county), as soon as I’m done posting this.

(And the good news continues, as the number of active cases in the next county continue to plummet!) (However, what continues to rise, is the number of college students coming to Ohio with active COVID 19 cases… Ohio has tons and tons of colleges including the massively huge Ohio State University, which just announced 922 new cases!! ) ( I am exaggerating, gang!!!! But it’s just a ridiculous amount of college kids here, heading in to college infected.) (Hope their summer was nothing but FUN.)

I also cannot believe it is now the last day of August. Sometimes I feel like I am just going to sail off into oblivion, and that the fears & politics sustaining this current virus are never going to leave our culture (and where were the “politics” when 60 MILLION Americans had swine flu in 2009 and the country did not shut down??), and that this is just it and that my life, happy as it actually is, is just sort of over. And that each day, I’m simply sailing deeper into the sweet hereafter. Because nothing makes sense anymore — even while I’m gaining clarity on more and more things in my private world (and my private world is the only thing I take with me into the sweet hereafter, right? So….).

Well. I guess only time will tell if I’m actually still alive here or not.

The petunias are still looking great, but there are fewer and fewer blooms as they begin to bloom themselves out — a sure sign that September is on its way. It’s bittersweet. But we still have  several more weeks of blossoms ahead of us. And my toad is still doing great! Whenever it gets super hot, he still comes to sleep in the soil in that one specific planter on the front porch. I think he’s had a terrific summer. He looks really hardy!!

Yes, the erotic short story (“Half-Moon Bride”) continues… Each day, when I sit down at my desk to begin working on it, I think to myself: this is probably it; it’s probably going to come to the end today. And yet, I am always completely and thoroughly wrong.

And not only has the story not yet come to an end — even though I now know how it will end, I just have no clue how we’re getting there — I spent quite a good chunk of time yesterday, writing several pages of ridiculously filthy stuff, only to realize it was meant for another story altogether.

Yes, that’s correct. Over the weekend, while I was feverishly scribbling away on “Half-Moon Bride,” several other additional erotic short stories began coming to me, and so I was scribbling notes on those, at the same time

Too weird, right?? This sudden outburst of erotic short stories, while I have been focusing on erotic novels and memoirs for such a long stretch now? It feels like a proverbial dam has burst, or something, and now I am scrambling to keep up with the flow.

But anyway. Yes, so I worked on that whole section yesterday afternoon, and then realized, when I stole down to the kitchen to grab something quick to eat , and was on my way back upstairs to my desk: Wait! That whole thing is for a different story!!

So, I sat down at my desk, looked at the manuscript, and thought: Jesus. I need a break here. And so then I went back downstairs and watched the final episode of Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries from way back in Season 1 (2012), and tried to air out my brain. Then I began watching that brand new special full-length movie, Miss Fisher & the Crypt of Tears (2020). I only watched about 15 minutes of it, though, before I made myself go back upstairs and write some more.

I don’t know how many of you loyal readers of this lofty blog can remember all the way back to the spring of 2018, right after I first moved here? I happened to glance out an upstairs window one Saturday afternoon, as it had suddenly started to rain, and I saw this amazing teenage boy — long blonde hair, tall, lean, beautiful, wearing a plaid shirt, blue jeans — standing in the yard across the street from my house, right by the railroad tracks. And he was sort of rapturously taking in the sudden downpour. And I immediately fell  (maternally) in love with him and wished he were my kid! The joy, the freedom, coming out of him, and also the fact that he was just standing there, totally alone and so happy.

Well, I don’t know how old he actually is, but I think he’s still in high school — perhaps a senior now? (Meaning, his final year.) But he is clearly old enough to drive and now owns a motorcycle! And this is a very recent development.  All weekend long, (no helmet, of course), he was riding a blue motorcycle all over the streets of Crazeysburg, always coming to a stop at the STOP sign just outside my house, so that’s how come I knew for sure it was always him.

I was up here working away on the intensely filthy erotic tome, I’d hear the motorcycle come to a stop outside, I’d glance out the open window, and there he’d be — so fucking free and beautiful. And then off he’d go.

Boy, was he happy on that thing. And he is still so fucking CUTE. Long hair still,  but in a ponytail now. Just so young and so free.Alas,  I really wish he was my kid…

Although, when I was in Junior High and High School, I had no less than 4 male friends  die from motorcycle wrecks in the space of 3 years.  So, if I actually were his mom, I’d probably be freaking the fuck out over that fucking motorcycle and the “helmet optional” laws here in the State of Ohio… (And yes, I realize, I’m actually old enough to be his grandmother…)

Well, all righty.

I suppose I will close this and head into town now.  I hope you’re having a great Monday, wherever you are in the world. Thanks for visiting, gang. This morning, we were back to the Nocturama CD  by Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds (2003), specifically the song “Right Out of Your Hand”. So I leave you with that today! Enjoy, gang. I love you guys. See ya.

Right Out of Your Hand

Please forgive me
If I appear unkind
But any fool can tell you
It’s all in your mind

Down in the meadow
The old lion stirs
Puts his hand across his mouth
He has no use for words

Poor little girl
With your handful of snow
Poor little girl
Had no way to know

And you’ve got me eating
you’ve got me eating
You’ve got me eating
Right out of your hand

I mean you no harm
When I tell you you’re blind
Give a sucker an even break
He’ll lose it all, every time

The airborne starlings circle
One the frozen fields
The hollyhocks hang harmlessly
And the old lion yields

And you’ve got me eating
You’ve got me eating
You’ve got me eating
Right out of your hand

© 2003 Nick Cave

Perfect Treadmill Weather!!

Yes, it is the most beautiful Sunday morning here in Crazeysburg, gang. 60 degrees Fahrenheit and sunny!! And going up to 80 by this afternoon!

So I indeed got on the treadmill this morning (see yesterday’s post re: 98% humidity…) and you know what else? The first 2 minutes felt endless, but then suddenly I had actually gone over the allotted time without even knowing it.

With me and this treadmill that is unheard of!! I don’t know if I ever mentioned that not only does the treadmill get you off and running walking at  a brisk and often unwelcome 3.2 miles an hour, but it is also set on a permanent incline, so regardless of anything, you  are always walking slightly uphill. Always. I think that’s the hardest part of this treadmill. Because usually, I really enjoy treadmills. But this one I now have — it just always makes you fucking work.

Anyway! It’s done!!

I forgot to mention the other day that there is another new poster available at CaveThings.com — it is “Ink and Solace,” the image being used for his current exhibit in Copenhagen, including the cover for that great book that is the companion to the exhibit (Stranger Than Kindness). The poster is £10 plus shipping.

You can purchase it here if you so choose!!

Yesterday got us ever closer to completing the new erotic short story, “Half-Moon Bride,” however, I did run out of printer ink and loyal readers of this lofty blog no doubt recall that I hate that! For some reason, it is much easier for me to catch typos, as well as get an overall feel for a page of text, by printing it out.

It’s by no means the end of the world!!! I can still read straight from the computer screen, it just makes me feel unsettled to have to do that. But the ink won’t get here until Tuesday…

However, on we go!!

So no, I’m still not done, but we’re getting there. I have decided to have the new erotic stories not only available for download on the upcoming MarilynsRoomBooks.com website (which will be processed by Lulu, which accepts Paypal, Apple Pay, Google Pay, Shopify, and CC);, but also (free) on Kindle Unlimited, and then also on Smashwords, which offers pretty much every eReader format there is. All short stories will be .99¢ everywhere (basically the lowest price you’re allowed to use), except for Kindle Unlimited. obviously, which is free.

I will post free excerpts here, so you can find out beforehand if you want to read the whole story. And when the stories are really short, I will offer 2 or 3 in the same download.

So that’s the plan for the new erotic short stories!

And any moment, the new novel, The Guitar Hero Goes Home, will be ready for its test print!! So we are most definitely moving along.

Well, not much is actually going on here right now, besides phone calls with Valerie, and then spending hours at my desk, working. The new script work for Abstract Absurdity Productions is on hold until I can at least get the new novel out in the marketplace (which also means setting up that new Marilyn’s Room Books website). (I know — I always have 1700 things on my plate at once.)  But, you know, it’s the end of summer here and things, in general, are slowing down. Ab Ab Pro will pick up again in September.

All right. Well, I hope it’s as beautiful where you are today as it is here in Crazeysburg. Enjoy your Sunday, wherever you are in the world!! Thanks for visiting. I leave you with my breakfast-listening music from this morning, “This Game of Love” (2020), a stunning song from Mark Lanegan’s Straight Songs of Sorrow (2020). He sings a duet with his wife, Shelley Brien, on this one. It’s beautiful — hypnotic. Okay. Have a good day, people!! I love you guys. See ya.

“This Game Of Love”

Don’t let me burn like this
Save me from the fire
I know the art of loneliness
I see straight down the wire
I see straight down the wire
See straight down the wire

Free my soul of emptiness
I know the taste of sorrow
Tonight I am delirious
I live to play tomorrow
Live to play tomorrow
Live to play tomorrow
I live to play tomorrow

I came in to this town
No comfort or peace of mind
Just as the rain came down
I swear I don’t wanna lose this time

Gonna take my rightful place
In the sun high heaven above
Or there’ll be hell to pay
Am I gonna lose this game of love?

Now I lay me down to rest
Cold ground up against my back
Time and again I failed a test
As painful as a heart attack
As painful as a heart attack
As painful as a heart attack
As painful as a heart attack

Don’t make me burn like this
I know the art of loneliness
Free my soul of emptiness
Pull me from the fire

I stepped down off the train
Not looking to do no harm
Just book a room someplace
And hold devotion and warmth in between my arms
Devotion and warmth
Devotion and warmth
Devotion and warmth in between my arms
But the to and the fro
The wrath and the sloth
The back and the forth took my world apart

Lord I’ll take my place
In the sun high heaven above
Or there’ll be hell to pay
Am I gonna lose this game of love?
Am I gonna, gonna lose
Am I gonna lose this game of love?
Am I gonna lose
Am I gonna lose this game of love?
Am I gonna, gonna lose
Am I gonna lose this game of love?
Am I gonna lose
Am I gonna lose this game of love?

© 2020 Mark Lanegan

Wow, Let’s Just Stay in Bed Awhile!!

Okay, gang — can you say 98% humidity??!!

Yes, that’s what we’ve got going on here this morning in Crazeysburg!! It’s not hot, but it’s humid.

I laid in bed for awhile, after breakfast, meditation, etc., and I drank my coffee (and I thought about sex & love & real estate) and I wondered why I was so thoroughly averse to getting on that treadmill today, until I looked at the weather app on my phone and saw that humidity index and realized – oh, that’s why. Because if I get on that treadmill in this kind of humidity, I’ll be dead in under 2 minutes! (I have no AC here to filter it out.)

I didn’t even feel like doing yoga, but I forced myself, because I’m going to spend another entire day sitting at my desk, working on the short story, and I have to at least do something physical before I sit my quite comely behind down on my desk chair for the next 9 hours! Otherwise, there will be a lot more of my behind to get comelier!!

And that said — yes, I am still hard at work on “Half-Moon Bride”! Can you believe it? It was already dark out when I closed down the laptop for the night last night, and as I sat down on my bed and wondered if I was basically coming to the end of the story, a whole other chunk of it opened up in my head!

OMG, it’s probably going to be more like a 30-page short story, at this point.  It’s insane. But I’m still loving every minute of writing it. Except that last night, as I was re-reading what I had written during the course of the day, I came upon a paragraph that was kind of really insane, and I thought: You know, Marilyn, you might want to re-think that when your brain is fresh because by any definition under the sun, that paragraph is just plain rape. The “questionable consent” aspect of that is indescribably paper thin.

So tweaking that into something a little more acceptable is the first thing on my plate for this morning!

The whole D/s thing can really cross over some lines, especially if a reader is not into D/s. (And I’ve been assured by Wikipedia, that most people in the world are not into D/s — how does Wikipedia know something like that, anyway? Have they polled everyone in the Universe??? I don’t remember them polling me. Of course, they probably didn’t have  to — they simply read everything I’ve ever written over the last 30 years and likely concluded I was one of the pathetic few who was “into” it.)

Anyway!!!!

At breakfast this morning, I was thinking about what they’d said on Wikipedia about D/s and it was sort of jarring, because I have always been into it, even as a little girl. Just always, always into it. Long before I even understood what D/s was. And then, in NYC, almost everyone I knew was into it. So I’ve just sort of taken it as a given that there is nothing weird about D/s and that it’s actually only a handful of people in the Universe who aren’t into it. To one degree or another…

But apparently the experience of my own life has left me misinformed.

I am, of course, exaggerating a bit here, but it was sort of a shocking moment– “most people” aren’t into it? Have I just been classified as part of the marginalized society? Again???? To be honest, I can’t imagine life being appealing to me any other way. (I’m talking strictly about my sexuality here, gang, in case you’re losing track of my insanity here this morning.)

In fact, on a somewhat related topic…

I saw something on Instagram that really disturbed me last night, right before I went to bed, as it turned out.  The worst time to encounter something disturbing, right? An ex-colleague of mine in Paris has a new book out. A collection of essay-memoir type pieces.

This is the woman that I had mistakenly thought was a really good friend of mine and then she absolutely ruined my last trip to Paris — on purpose. I have not spoken to her again since that trip. In fact, she was so mean to me — I’d gone there to do a book-signing in a bookstore in Paris and it was really, really important to me, and then she did her best to ruin that event for me, too. And so the very next morning, I packed my things and simply left. Took the metro out to Charles De Gaulle, put a big black “X” over Paris in my mind, removed it from my map of the world, and got on a plane to Exeter, where a really wonderful Croatian, musician-photographer friend of mine lives.

(And then Exeter’s airport was a little nightmare, because I was an American writer, flying from Paris into this tiny little airport in England and it raised all these little red flags for airport security there. Jesus. They took me out of the line and questioned me forever and looked me up on their little computer and I knew  by the non-look they had on their faces, as they questioned me over and over and over again about who I really was and why I had come to England by way of such a small airport, that they knew exactly who I was… Back then I was still dealing with an FBI issue regarding an international ring of pedophiles attaching themselves (unbeknownst to me) to my illustrious “pornography” career.)

Well, long story short, that trip was really difficult.  And as time has gone by, I have tried to wipe that woman from my memory completely, and have tried to re-embrace the idea of Paris and, you know, allow it to be on the map again. But I have, on occasion, tried to figure out what the hell was up with that woman and why she suddenly got so outrageously mean to me.

She was a well-known writer in Paris, and a financially successful one, but in her private life, she was a Dominatrix (heterosexual). I had no problem with that at all. I knew  plenty of other women who did that, all over the world, I just personally have never been into that whole scene.  Ever. It does nothing at all for me. In my opinion, that whole scene is strictly Sadomasochism and not D/s, and that’s not something I’m into.

But I have wondered if maybe she had gotten it into her head that I was a masochist, and she was trying to force me into some sort of psychological scene . I don’t know.

Then suddenly, last night, I see she’s got this new book out and what is it about? Her experiences over the last few years of basically forcing women into Sadomasochistic relationships with her and what she learned from it!!

Jesus. Just reading the PR blurb about it totally creeped me out. Fuck, you know?? For that, she had to totally ruin my trip to Paris? She couldn’t have just asked me if I’d be into it?  Of course, I would have said ‘no,’ but still. It just made me feel sick and disgusted and really just totally creeped out. No other words for it.

So, anyway. Yes, there are lines within D/s that can get murky indeed. Communication, of course, can take care of a lot of the murkiness, though. To me, D/s is a fluid, creative, emotionally-nuanced erotic exchange of power, that relies on trust and a deep sense of fun and play.  Not the rigid, pain-inducing, psychologically restrictive structure of Sadomasochism. To me, they are two totally different worlds.

Well.

For the last several mornings, upon awakening, a very specific section of Cat Stevens’ song “Moonshadow” has been playing on a relentless loop. I would wake-up, and my mind was right at the exact spot in the song as it had been for days on end. I find that stuff really interesting, but what was even more interesting, is that today I woke-up and my mind was singing an ENTIRELY different song!!!!!

Finally!!

But the song I was suddenly singing couldn’t have been more unexpected, or perhaps even more bizarre. (I have not thought of this song in probably light years. I didn’t even really realize that I actually knew it.) But I embraced it, joyfully! Because, at last, it was a new song! And I’m leaving you with it here, on this fine Saturday morning. And in the highly unlikely event that you need access to the lyrics, I have included them below. Enjoy!! Thanks for visiting, gang. I love you guys. See ya.

In Heaven There is No Beer

In heaven, there is no beer
That’s why we drink it here
And when we’re gone from here
Our friends will be drinking all our beer.

(Repeat, indefinitely)

© 1956 Ernst Neubach

Howdy, Howdy! Sorry I’m late!!

Kevin, the director of my play, Tell My Bones, has been hard at work, streamlining the play for the upcoming staged reading on StreamYard. And this morning, I had to read through what he’s come up with so far, and it absolutely amazed me, what a great job he’s doing!

I am so excited about this reading, gang. I just cannot wait.

But anyway, that’s what I’ve been doing here this morning — reading over the play. And so now I am late posting here.

Wow, is it humid today. Just unreal. It’s supposed to rain most of the day — I think remnants from Hurricane Laura. So we’ll see how that goes. But all I’m planning to do today is sit at my desk and finish writing the new short story.

I believe it is almost done, but, honestly, I don’t really know, since I wasn’t expecting to write this story in the first place. And I’ve just been sort of letting the story tell itself. (It’s about 20 pages now.) And I’m getting the pronounced feeling that a lot of people will be offended by the story, but what I’m hoping is that those kinds of people will read it and think they “should” be offended by it (or aspects of it), but instead find it disturbingly erotic.  (That’s when I know a story is a success!!)

I’m only partly kidding. But it is a really strange story.  (See previous posts from the last several days, re: “The Half-Moon Bride”.) You know, even when I’m reading over it, tweaking it, revising it, sometimes I’ll get to the end of a passage and just think: Wow, that was fucking EROTIC.

But then I’ll also laugh at myself because it’s just — I don’t know; it is such a weird story and it just keeps coming out of nowhere. And it is totally D/s, because I can’t seem to write anything that is not totally D/s for the life of me. Which means it goes down some of those murky “questionable consent” paths which are getting more and more “unmarketable” nowadays.

But I figure, my erotic stories have always been known for that. And some (women mostly) people get offended, but for the most part, readers are okay with it. I guess because they like D/s. And since I’m publishing myself now — oh, well.

So I just keep moving forward with the story, letting it be what it wants to be. And I think I am almost done, but we’ll see what today reveals.

All right. I’m going to get started here. Thanks for visiting, gang. I cannot believe it is already Friday — how the heck did that happen??? But enjoy the day, wherever you are in the world! I’m leaving you with a Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds song that I had not thought about in a really long time. (I saw it mentioned on Instagram yesterday and found it kind of staggering.)”Sail Away,” 1994, originally a B-side from Let Love In.

And when I was playing it yesterday, it occurred to me that I haven’t played Discs 1 or 2 from B Sides & Rarities (2005) in a really long time. I always just stick in Disc 3 and play that one. So now I have Disc 2 in the CD player in the kitchen, which includes “Sail Away”…

Anyway, today I’m leaving you with “Sail Away.”  A darkly beautiful song. So enjoy. I love you guys! See ya.

Sail Away

[Verse 1]
I climbed the hill, lay in the grass
A little dark-eyed girl drifted past
She said all the best is come, it could not last
And the worst, it has come true
Her hands are small and fluttered up
I lay amongst the buttercups
I pulled on my coat and buttoned it up
For the worst, it had come true

[Chorus]
Sail away, sail away
To a place where your troubles can’t follow
Sail away, sail away
Save all your tears for tomorrow

[Verse 2]
Orphans of the city moved toward us
And the swallows swooped and the starlings warned us
And the peril in everything
It assured us that the worst had come true
And all my sorrows made their bed beside me
The shame, the disgrace and the brutality
And she whispered then “Let laughter flee.”
For the worst, it has come true

[Verse 3]
Dry your tears, forget while we’re here
Leave all your sorrows behind you
Never lose heart, all things will pass
To a place where your troubles can’t find you
She came beside me amongst my coat
Her breath was warm against my throat
We clung to each other so very close
For the worst, it had come true

[Chorus]
Sail away, sail away
To a place where no one can betray you
Take my hand through this night without end
For the worst, it has come to claim you

© 1994 Nick Cave

Welcome to Bizarro Land!

Okay, so. Yesterday produced about 4000 more words on the new erotic short story, “Half-Moon Bride.” And I’m still nowhere near done.

So that means that once again, today, I will be spending unending hours writing intensely erotic stuff about 2 hermaphrodites on their wedding night. Not a topic that I ever dreamed I would spend even a moment’s time thinking about, let alone carefully crafting.

I’m still having a blast doing it, but it is so fucking strange. Mostly because I have no clue where this story is coming from.

Anyway.

Loyal readers of this lofty blog no doubt recall that the summer that I was 14, my boyfriend — with whom I was incredibly obsessed — was killed in an accident. And today marks the 46th anniversary of his death.

Even though it’s really sunny out right this minute, it is supposed to thunderstorm most of the day, and the drive to the cemetery is an hour each way. So I have decided not to go to the grave today, and just stay home and work on the short story.

I do honestly believe he visited me this morning, when I was down at my kitchen table, writing in my Inner Being journals. He came through with a few sentences, even though I wasn’t asking him to, or anything. But I do think he really did that. When I was a lot younger, he would sometimes visit me in spirit, but I was too young to have any frame of reference for that kind of thing back then and so it would terrify me. Nowadays, I’m used to that kind of thing, but he doesn’t visit me, ever. He’s been gone such a long time. So I certainly wasn’t expecting anything today, and yet I do think it happened.

He basically said that Life is not what it seems to be, and to remember what was beautiful, and to focus on what’s coming, don’t look back.

So I think he might have also been saying to leave sad things like graves alone for today, and work on a story that’s making me feel happy, instead.

Well, when I went back upstairs with my coffee, I went to the storage closet and got out my yearbooks from Junior High School (they call it Middle School nowadays, but back then, it was Junior High). And even though High School yearbooks are what most people keep & treasure & all that, for some reason (well, partly because I hated High School), I have no yearbooks left from High School but all 3 of the ones from Junior High.

Two of them have photos of Greg in them and those are now the only photos I have of him. I have moved so many times in the 46 years that  he’s been gone.

So here he is — in the full length one, he is 14. He was really tall, but you can’t tell from the photo. You can’t really tell much at all from the photo because he seems to have been in the middle of laughing.

And then there’s a yearbook photo of me from the same year, at age 12. I’m in the 7th grade. (Where my hair is longer)

And then in the other photo of him, he is 15 (graduating Junior High that year,  so that’s why his photo is more “formal”.) And he will be dead a few months later.

Then me, that same year, at age 13. When it became extremely fashionable to have really thin eyebrows!

I did have a real fondness for plaid palazzo pants back then, too…

Greg 1973

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

MJL  12 years old

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Greg 1974

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

MJL 13 years old

Anyway, there it is — all that’s left, really, from those brief years.

They were awful, by the way — worst years of my life. If you have read Letter #2, “A Beach to His Waves,” from my in-progress memoir, Girl in the Night: Erotic Love Letters to the Muse, Greg is the boy I was writing about there.

It is best to try to remember what was beautiful from back then and let the rest go and just face forward. So that’s what I’m going to do.

Okay, that’s it for today. Have a good Thursday. Thanks for visiting, gang. I’ll leave you with sacred music. John Rutter conducting the Cambridge Singers, “All Things Bright & Beautiful,” one of my favorite hymns, and my very favorite version of it. Enjoy. I love you guys, see ya!

All Things Bright and Beautiful

Refrain:
All things bright and beautiful,
all creatures great and small,
all things wise and wonderful,
the Lord God made them all.

1 Each little flow’r that opens,
each little bird that sings,
he made their glowing colors,
he made their tiny wings. [Refrain]

2 The purple-headed mountain,
the river running by,
the sunset, and the morning
that brightens up the sky. [Refrain]

3 The cold wind in the winter,
the pleasant summer sun,
the ripe fruits in the garden,
he made them, ev’ry one. [Refrain]

4 The tall trees in the greenwood,
the meadows where we play,
the flowers by the water
we gather ev’ry day. [Refrain]

5 He gave us eyes to see them,
and lips that we might tell
how great is God Almighty,
who has made all things well. [Refrain]

© 1848 Cecil Frances Alexander (Words)

Dear Diary, Yet Again, Life Continues to Astound and Amaze!!

Wow, I got more great writing done on that new erotic short story yesterday, gang. (See yesterday’s post re: “Half-Moon Bride“) It’s evidently going to be a longer short story — maybe 10,000 words or so? Maybe more? I’m going to try to finish it today, but I honestly have no clue. Everything about this story seems to be coming to me from out of nowhere, so I’m just flowing with it!!

I can say that it is making me really happy. I’m having a lot of fun with it. And even though I have an overall, general idea of where it’s heading, I can’t really say for sure how we will get there. But in the meantime, it’s a great ride.

I think we are all finished with the cover layout for The Guitar Hero Goes Home. So now I guess we put it all together and I order a test print. That’s exciting, because even if it needs some tweaks or fixes (they usually do), it will be such a joy to have that novel in my hands finally as an actual printed book.  It feels like it’s taken forever for that to happen. (Although, in reality, it’s probably the same length of time it took, in the old days, for traditional publishers to print my books, and in some cases, this has been way shorter. Still. I feels like forever.)

So I’m really happy.  And then we will move forward with all the rest of it. After I give Valerie maybe, I don’t know — a 5 minute break?

Okay. Well, yesterday was all about rain and torrential downpours for a change. But today — so far — it’s back to being a sunny day.  And there was indeed a schoolbus back in the neighborhood, early this morning. So here’s hoping we can just move on.  I am just so ready to be over it. I’ll wear my mask when I’m supposed to wear it, but other than that, I’m done with it. Done looking at the numbers. Done worrying about it. Done wondering where it’s heading and when it will stop.

I don’t know about you, but psychologically, I simply need to move on and make decisions based on a (new) normal life. It’s been 5 fucking months already, at least out here around Muskingum County.

So, in that vein, I’m going to finish up the laundry and get down to work on the short story here. I know this is a brief post, but all I’m really focused on right now is the short story.

I hope you have a great Wednesday underway, wherever you are in the world. Thanks for visiting, gang. I’m going to leave you with something I’ve posted here before, but I totally love it and it was the first song that popped into my head at breakfast this morning — Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers, doing a live cover of an old Dave Clark 5 hit, “Anyway You Want It.” (The best kind of lover to have, in my opinion!!)

This is the version off of the Live Anthology (the song was recorded on June 11, 1983, at a concert in Irvine California). There are a couple of bootleg albums out there, too, that have great versions of this song. But I haven’t posted this version to the blog before, so enjoy! It is such a great upbeat song for a great upbeat kinda morning. All righty! Have a great Wednesday. I love you guys. See ya.

Who the Heck Knows Anything, Right??

So much for working on Thug Luckless: Welcome to P-Town yesterday.

For some unknown yet delightful reason, I suddenly began writing a new erotic short story yesterday — I didn’t even know it was lurking in there, even though I do want to write more erotic short stories (see yesterday’s post). I came back from the market, put the groceries away, sat down at my desk and suddenly, the story was there.

It’s maybe almost halfway finished. I’m already at 4000 words. (I know! So odd, right? How stories will just suddenly come. Aside from speaking with Valerie for a bit yesterday, I was working on the short story for 9 hours, and will be working on it all day today, too.)

And what’s even all-out weirder is that it’s a futanari story. Futanari is now pretty much only a hentai porn term for hermaphrodites (generally: extremely sexy females who also have huge cocks) (in hentai animation). But it used to be more of a Japanese folklore term, a long  long time ago.

But anyway, I am not into futanari porn.  I find androgyny sort of appealing, a tiny bit, maybe,  but not enough to think I would ever in a million years write about it erotically. Ever.

And yet… 4000 words later, I’m not even halfway done.

So strange. But I won’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

The story is titled “Half-Moon Bride”. In Japanese folklore, a “half-moon” futanari was someone of one sex who switched sexes on the full moon. So I’m guessing you can kinda see where the bride on this particular wedding night is headed…. (and our poor bride has no idea what she is yet, but as luck would have it, she’s marrying a full-futa and so he/she is going to be able to help her out with that.)

I won’t go into any more of the details. Obviously, it’s hardcore fantasy erotica which is not the kind of erotica I usually write. So everything, on every level of this story, has been a complete surprise to me.

Well, okey-dokey.

The trip into town yesterday was illuminating. With school starting back this week, the grocery store was empty. However, the Home Depot parking lot next door to it was jammed. And some of the more breakfast-type restaurants were busy again (by social distancing standards). But, overall, lots less cars on the streets.

Going back to school seems to still change everything, with or without COVID. It just signals: Fall is coming. (And yet, it’s still August…)

Anyway. Life’s good.

Valerie and I are just about ready to sign off on the cover layout for The Guitar Hero Goes Home. And then I can order my test print and see if I’m happy or not. I still have to format the ePub file, but once I do that, the eBook will be published, too.

So we are almost there.

Well, I’m going to get started here today. I hope you are having a truly terrific Tuesday, wherever you are in the world!! I leave you with a song I have posted here before — one of my favorite songs by Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds, “Do You Love Me (Part 2),” from that truly amazing album Let Love In from 1994 (which seems like yesterday, but my higher math skills assure me it was 26 years ago… wtf???). However, in case you missed it the last time I posted it, here it is again!! So enjoy and thanks for visiting, gang. I love you guys. See ya.

“Do You Love Me? (Part 2)”

Onward! And Onward! And Onward I go
Where no man before could be bothered to go
Till the soles of my shoes are shot full of holes
And it’s all downhill with a bullet
This ramblin’ and rovin’ has taken its course
I’m grazing with the dinosaurs and the dear old horses
And the city streets crack and a great hole forces
Me down with my soapbox, my pulpit
The theatre ceiling is silver star-spangled
And the coins in my pocket go jingle-jangle

There’s a man in the theatre with girlish eyes
Who’s holding my childhood to ransom
On the screen there’s a death, there’s a rustle of cloth
And a sickly voice calling me handsome
There’s a man in the theatre with sly girlish eyes
On the screen there’s an ape, a gorilla
There’s a groan, there’s a cough, there’s a rustle of cloth
And a voice that stinks of death and vanilla
This is a secret, mauled and mangled
And the coins in my pocket go jingle-jangle

The walls of the ceiling are painted in blood
The lights go down, the red curtains come apart
The room is full of smoke and dialogue I know by heart
And the coins in my pocket jingle-jangle
As the great screen crackled and popped
The clock of my boyhood was wound down and stopped
And my handsome little body oddly propped
And my trousers right down to my ankles
Yes, it’s onward! And upward!
And I’m off to find love
Do you love me? If you do, I’m thankful

This city is an ogre squatting by the river
It gives life but it takes it away, my youth
There comes a time when you just cannot deliver
This is a fact. This is a stone cold truth.
Do you love me?
I love you, handsome
But do you love me?
Yes, I love you, you are handsome
Amongst the cogs and the wires, my youth
Vanilla breath and handsome apes with girlish eyes
Dreams that roam between truth and untruth
Memories that become monstrous lies
So onward! And Onward! And Onward I go!
Onward! And Upward! And I’m off to find love
With blue-black braclets on my wrists and ankles
And the coins in my pocket go jingle-jangle

© 1994 Nick Cave