Last year, I was fortunate to stumble on one of the most spectacular talents to have sloshed out of small publishing since... well, since! You see, Natalie R. Collins is a good buddy of mine. I tell people, "I knew her when she was nobody." She writes books about Mormons in Utah and as a result, she gets lots of requests from Utah authors for blurbs.
Now, when you're a Big Name Author from a Big NY Publisher, like Natalie is, you get a lot of requests to blurb absolutely awful books, mostly small published, self-published, and POD vanity published. And you don't have a whole lot of time to comply—especially for the bad ones, which you must read to find out they are bad and then deal with the fallout from the disappointed author when you refuse to blurb the book. Said fallout is often quite nasty. It's enough to make many BNYP-ed authors turn down all indie books sight unseen.
But Natalie is a nice lady; she was quite anguished. We talked it over. And we wandered through JulieAnn's web site—which was, at the time, a fright. I stumbled on JulieAnn's blog, though, and it convinced me. It was funny. It was crazy. It was quite well written with an incredible voice. I said, "Nat, give this chick a chance." But Natalie, on the horns of a pressing deadline just couldn't commit to it. But I was so sure, I offered to screen the book first. Deal was, if I loved the book, she had to read it.
Well, I got JulieAnn's book in the mail and started reading it before bed. And then I stayed up til 4 AM finishing it. I don't do that with too darn many books! I wrote to Natalie, saying that she absolutely HAD to read and blurb the book. And I wrote to JulieAnn about how much I loved her novel. And we became friends. The rest is history. Someday, I will be proud to say that I knew JulieAnn Henneman when she was nobody.
On today's blog, JulieAnn Henneman is our guest blogger sharing the travails of writing erotica while parenting a small boy...
Is the Spin Cycle Sexy?
She reached for him, and felt his hands cover her breasts before their mouths collided in a fiery...
"Mommy, I want lunch!" My four year old smiles at me with his little gap-toothed grin and I smile back at him, feeling as though I was just caught by a cop in the back seat of a Chevy.
"In just a second, mommy just needs to finish this one little bit of work, okay?"
"Well, can I watch tv in your room? I wanna watch Blue's Clues."
"Okay, there. Now shush, so mommy can work." I begin again by reading and catching up.
... a fiery melding of tongues and hot breath...
"A clue! Mommy there's a clue!"
"What? Oh, that's great sweetheart, be quiet now, okay?"
I suddenly here a loud beeeeeeeep followed by loud, rhythmic pounding. The washer is off balance again. I make my way down to the basement trying to come up with a phrase that is the equivalent to "quivering" or "swollen member". I adjust the load for the thirteenth time. I ascend back up the stairs.
My son is standing at the top of the stairs in his Spiderman underwear and wearing my red, Italian leather pumps.
"Mommy, do I look pretty?"
My son has two older sisters. They ask him this question before they leave for school every day. He invariably tells them they look 'booger'.
I tell him that yes, he looks very pretty, and to go finish watching his tv show.
Back to work.
"Where should we go?" She asked, panting into his ear.
"Here." He lifted her from behind so her legs straddled him, and moaned as she felt his—
"I want peanut butter and honey but not too much peanut butter on the bread mom."
—desire for her straining through his—
"Mooooom, I went poo-poo and pee-pee in the big potty. Come wipe my bottom!"
My son kneels on the bathroom floor with his derriere perched up in the air like the All-Seeing Eye.
"Okay, son, I really need to finish some work, so you need to be really quiet for a while. Alright?"
"Okay, but what happens if apples get warm?"
"I don't know, son. Just play with your toys for a few more minutes."
—trousers. She could feel his need and she ground her hips into his laundry—
The laundry buzzed its final buzz and I continued. But little did I know the laundry wasn't quite finished.
Her breathing was haggard as his hands wandered over her body.
"I love you Dora"—
"Dora? Her name's not Dora!" I yell.
"Yes it is! Can I? Can I please watch Dora instead of Blue's Clues?"
"Son, finish the show. I'll be done in a minute."
But that's it. My sexual libido and creative fire have been whittled down to a memory and a piece of cold coal and I know I'm done for the afternoon. I fix my son lunch and watch as he happily plays with stickers while eating quietly. The laundry begins to pound again and I'm fed up.
The washer practically jumped off of the floor as it shook and I vow to never wash rugs with towels again. I had adjusted this load too many damn times today and it's almost done, so I hop on the washer, my weight bearing down on it so it made merely a jittery tremor.
Bump, bump, bump, bump.
I begin to like my washer as it hums mercifully below me. I find myself giggling with... with what? Glee? Happiness? With... oh...oh my!
I make my way up the stairs lazily, a half smile on my face. I trip a bit on the upper stair and break into laughter.
"Look mommy, I'm being good so you can work!" He says proudly. He has now donned a black cape.
"Yes you are baby, thank you. Mommy's done working for a minute, so why don't you get some stories and we'll read and take a little nap."
I'll get back to my story after our nap—when I put in the white load.
JulieAnn Henneman lives precariously in suburban Utah, USA. She is the mother of three children, a poet, creative writing instructor and coffee freak. She is the author of Always Listen to the Ravings of a Mad Woman (Draumr Publishing, 2006), and four other completed but unpublished books which she is marketing to agents and editors. JulieAnn also writes award-winning erotica under the pen name Trinity Wolf, with her debut short story available at Forbidden Publications.