@ClarissaClemens on Sharing Her #Erotic #Poetry & Dealing with Writer's Block - #AmWriting

How do you feel about sharing your erotic poetry?

With the shield of my pen name and anonymous feeling it brings, I love to share my erotic poetry. After I had shared some of my erotic poetry with close friends and saw their reaction, I realized I might have something I need to share. If there was any doubt, these same friends convinced me that no matter what it took I needed to get my poetry out to a world starved for sensuality and a way to express it.

I am extremely happy that I have begun this journey. It has been so rewarding to hear from people who have felt compelled to let me know how my poems have affected their lives and more specifically their love lives. I am thrilled that I overcame any hesitancy to share my erotic poetry. This has been a most amazing adventure.

How do you deal with writer’s block?

The way I deal with writer’s block these days is by going into Twitter, finding a seductive photo and then let the words flow to me. From the tidbit of my tweet I am able to expand into a full poem. It seems like once I push back past the block an avalanche of words will follow.

Is Clarissa O. Clemens your real name?

No, Clarissa is not my real name. I chose it while taking my nightly walk in the green space next to my home. I needed to have a pen name to keep our privacy. Going public with my poetry made me a little nervous with its subject matter being so sexual. I thought it would be best to have an alias and for the first year or so I didn’t even post a picture of myself online. I wanted to have a name that lent itself to sensuality and yet had a literary feel to it – Clarissa O. Clemens was the name that popped into my head and now I even answer to it.

How do you come up with the title of your books?

The titles to my books come to me the same way both my pen name and my poetry does – they just kind of fall into my head and a light bulb goes off. I share the idea with friends to see what they think and then it’s a done deal.

Who designs the covers of your books?

The first volume of my erotic poetry series, The Poetic Art of Seduction was designed by a staff member at Createspace (the print-on-demand subsidiary for self publishing on Amazon). It was exactly how I envisioned the cover to be and she captured it perfectly in that seductive image. I use that image for my avatar in social networks and it has become my brand image for marketing purposes. In the subsequent volumes, I decided to play off the same theme and was able to design the covers for all my other 5 books. I taught myself how to use Adobe Photoshop Elements and very much enjoy the visually artistic outlet I get to explore putting together book covers.

What was the hardest part of writing and putting together this book?

Writing the poems is the easy part. Once I get the first few lines, the rest flows out with a little coaxing and with the rhyming website open to stimulate ideas. When I envisioned my books in my mind’s eye way back when, I visualized scattered photos interspersed amongst the poems in tasteful black and whites to give sensual depictions and interpretations of the words of my poems.

The hardest, or at least the most time-consuming part, of putting together my books of poetry has been sourcing the image that I see inside my mind on the photo stock websites. I find myself looking through probably 100’s if not 1000’s of pictures by the time I find all the ones I want. I am also kind of a perfectionist and will not give up to I find what I am looking for. By the time I finish putting together my books for publishing, I am so tired of looking at photos, lol.

Will you write others in this same genre?

I foresee myself writing endless odes to my passion for the sensual world. It gives me so much pleasure and satisfaction composing erotic gems. You will definitely be reading many more poems and erotic works from Clarissa O. Clemens 

Have you included a lot of your life experiences in your poems?

Yes, I have. Many a moment floating in that space with the afterglow freshly settling over my being, I find myself composing in my head based on what has just transpired. I am so very fortunate that I met a Man who is my playmate in the sensual world. He is the Dominant to the submissive part of me. Way before the 50 Shades phenomenon hit mainstream I was exploring this side of myself. Many of my poems and future stories touch on my real life experiences in this sexual arena. Additionally, all of the poems in my other series, The Poetic Diary of Love and Change, were written from the depths of my soul after separating and divorcing my ex-husband. There are also several poems written more recently during the natural ebbs and flows of even the healthiest of relationships.

What are your goals as a writer?

My goals are to continue letting the poetry flow and herd them into books for the reading public to consume. I have several short stories that have been brewing inside my head for a while now and I am excited about releasing them in a book later this year. I foresee, a never-ending stream of consciousness played out in prose feeding and populating many books  to come. Creating is my goal. My hope is that my popularity will continue to grow and I will be able to reach more and more imaginations along the way.

What dreams have been realized as a result of your writing?

One of the greatest things a person can do for themselves in their lives is to set goals. Without goals, you are just a ship floating at sea at the whim of the current. After I separated from my ex-husband, I needed to figure out how I was going to proceed. I had been a stay-at-home mom for several years and had never finished my college education. I realized that it was going to be up to me to be the financially stable parent to take care of our 2 daughters and also I wanted to be a great role model for my girls so that they knew the importance of being self-reliant.

After looking through the classified section for job opportunities, it became clear that I needed a college degree to get a good paying job to take care of my responsibilities. My first goal was to go back to college and get a bachelors degree in an area that I would always be able to find a job. 5 years later I earned my Bachelor of Science degree in accounting and had moved up in my place of employment to become a department manager earning an income that was sufficient to take care of all of our needs. The other goal I set up for myself was that after I had earned my degree, I would find a way to publish my prolific backlog of poetry.

Because of my goal setting, I have reached a place in my life where I feel accomplished and fulfilled. My goals have been obtained and I continue to set new goals to reach charting the path for my future successes.

What or who has influenced your writing style the most?

I would say that listening to the lyrics in the songs of musicians that I’ve admired through the years has been my biggest influence for my writing style. If you read my poetry, you will feel a strong sense of rhythm and syncopation throughout the poems. I have often thought of my poetry as songs without music. Had I been more talented musically, I probably would have ended up putting my words to music and tried my success at being a musician.

A collection of all 3 volumes of Clarissa O. Clemens’ erotic poetry book series, The Poetic Art of Seduction, under 1 cover! 

An erotic gift of lyrical rhyme to keep on every bedroom nightstand for play. Kinky yet classy erotic poetry painting sexy pictures and scenes with seductive words to read to each other and get the mood soaked in seduction. 

What critics have said about Clarissa’s poetry: 

“…A delicious dance with words…” 
“Impossible not to be aroused…” 
“…mouth-watering feast of erotic rhyme…” 
“…her words ebb and flow with a superb sensuousness.” 
“5 Stars is just not enough for this exquisite work of erotic art” 

78 Passionate poems of seduction are waiting for you to be devoured with lust and desire. 

41Beautifully sensuous photographs have been included to heighten your visual experience with Ms. Clemens poetry. 

A must-have for every couple looking for new ways to add the spark back into their flame.

Buy Now @ Amazon

Genre - Erotic Poetry

Rating – R

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Connect with Clarissa Clemens through Facebook & Twitter

Erick Galindo on Family, Boredom & Writing by @ErickGEEE #AmReading #AmWriting

Tell us a bit about your family.

I come from a large Mexican-American family. Both my parents were born in Mexico and came to the US to escape some of the oppression in that country at the time. They are both now naturalized citizens and I remember how proud they each were when they came back from their respective swearing in ceremonies. I’m the second born of five and the first born in the US. We have some Irish and European ancestry so two of my brothers, various cousins and I have red hair and freckles. It was unique growing up in the 90s looking white and being Latino.

How do you work through self-doubts and fear?

Sometimes the self-doubt grips me and I might take a moment to indulge. But most of the time, I try and use it to my advantage and turn it into the fuel that drives me to improve.

What scares you the most?

Boredom.

What makes you happiest?

Driving with no particular place to go.

What’s your greatest character strength?

Generosity? My parents taught me through example to help others when you can.

What’s your weakest character trait?

I’m kind of an asshole sometimes.

Why do you write?

I write because It feels good. It feels right. And I write because there are moments in life that I can’t fucking bare to let go. So I try and recreate, understand or even improve them.

Have you always enjoyed writing?

Well it started with a love for reading at a very young age which along with writing quickly became a way for me to escape into other worlds and explore my imagination.

What motivates you to write?

Moments. It can be anything really. Something as small as seeing a pretty girl through the bottom of an empty whiskey glass to the death of a loved one. There’s just something about the moment that makes me want to recreate it and break it down from my perspective.

What writing are you most proud of?

I’m proud of So Go On and Live because it is my first novel. And I think I nailed what I was going for.   http://www.amazon.com/So-Go-Live-Erick-Galindo/dp/1490451552/

A winner of the Hollywood Book Festival, So Go On and Live poignantly and bitingly captures the angst and restlessness of modern American youth. Pedro “Pete” Salcedo, a young but worn down journalist, is on a figurative and metaphorical journey through the absurdity of life, America and beautiful women. 

After accepting a prestigious job in Washington, D.C. and subsequently losing the love of his life, Pedro loses himself, first to his work, then to the road and eventually to the apathy, alcohol and cynicism that permeates through youth culture. Pedro struggles, like many of his generation, to get his life in order and hang on to love, sanity and pathos in this modern world, where women, relationships and sexuality are constantly evolving. 

So Go On and Live is a wild and emotional expedition into the existential and farcical perspective of a drunken, Mexican-Irish, would-be poet offering a new breed of optimism that comes with a nihilistic twist.

Buy Now @ Amazon

Genre - Literary Fiction

Rating – PG-13

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Connect with Erick Galindo through Twitter

Website http://www.erickg.com/contact/

#Excerpt from BIRTH OF AN ASSASSIN by @Stone_Rik #Suspense #Crime #Thriller

Adrik waited in the guard’s room a couple of corridors along from Kornfeld’s cell. There was only one way out, so the Jew had to pass this room. He spun a Makarov on his finger, aimed at imaginary targets and thrilled at the thought of using it. The gun was standard issue, but he would’ve chosen it anyway. Totally reliable, pull the trigger and out pop the bullets. The blowback design expels the spent case to the right and loads the next cartridge into the chamber – easy. And fully armed with eight rounds, he would use them all.

This wouldn’t be his first killing and sure as hell wouldn’t be his last. Kornfeld was a pain, and it was Otto who mattered. He would do anything for him. Why should he care about some Jew who got in the way?

But time dragged, and Kornfeld hadn’t yet made a show. For one horrible minute he thought there might be another way out – but no, that isn’t even possible. Calm down, be patient… Try as he might, he couldn’t, and the idea ran around his head, irritating him beyond measure.

He left the guardroom and paced the corridor outside. At first a short distance and then a bit further into the next passageway. No good – he had to find out what had happened. With gun in hand and footsteps stealthy he reached the cell door – it was slightly open. Oh shit, did that mean there was another way out? Or maybe Kornfeld had gone deeper into the prison block. Or maybe he was in the cell hoping the element of surprise would be with him.

Possibilities ganged up. Kornfeld knew Lubyanka well. What if there was another way out and that little bastard knew it? If so, Otto would kill him, never mind the Jew. He kicked the door fully open, slammed it against the cell wall, stood back and then moved in, pointing the gun around to make sure Kornfeld wasn’t hidden on either side of the opening. The cell was dimly lit and he found it difficult to see. He would stay put until his eyes got accustomed to the light. A body, he saw a body. It was covered with a greatcoat, on the bunk facing the wall.

He was clearly supposed to think it was Kornfeld. In that case he’d be under the bunk waiting… But then that’s obvious too, so he might be on top with the guard pushed underneath. That made more sense – it would be easier for him to make an attack from on top – but, shit, wouldn’t that be what he wanted him to think?

To be sure of the kill, Adrik wanted to shoot above and below – but he couldn’t. How would he explain the soldier’s death? Oh, Otto, if only Otto was there to tell him what to do. But he wasn’t, he had to make up his own mind. The Jew was on top – yes, definitely on top.

Cautiously, he edged forward, pointed the pistol to the back of the person’s head and pulled the body towards him with gun steady and ready to fire. As quickly as his huge form allowed, he pulled the greatcoat away.

Fuck! The guard! No time to react. A leg came from under the bunk with incredible speed and wrapped around the back of his. At the same time, the Jew’s other foot came against his knees and pushed. Adrik had brought his legs together when he tore the coat away and Kornfeld used the imbalance to his advantage. Adrik’s arms went out. He hovered awkwardly, then almost regained control, but Kornfeld pushed harder and Adrik went flying backwards with his legs in the air. A sense of suspension ended and he fell heavily, striking the hard stone floor. His head bounced, shudders chased through his brain and he found himself staring at the ceiling, wavering between conscious and unconscious.

The pain pierced his skull and he noticed his head had rested in a pool of warm liquid. He hadn’t seen that when he came in. Numbness consumed his body; he couldn’t move. But then his blurred vision saw the bleary outline of the Jew. Awareness came that his body was being rolled over. He was paralyzed, but it didn’t stop the surge of fear that ran through every fibre of his being.

Set against the backdrop of Soviet, post-war Russia, Birth of an Assassin follows the transformation of Jez Kornfeld from wide-eyed recruit to avenging outlaw. Amidst a murky underworld of flesh-trafficking, prostitution and institutionalized corruption, the elite Jewish soldier is thrown into a world where nothing is what it seems, nobody can be trusted, and everything can be violently torn from him.

Buy Now @ Amazon, B&N, Kobo & Waterstones

Genre - Thriller, Crime, Suspense

Rating – R

More details about the author

Connect with Rik Stone on Facebook & Twitter

Website http://rik-stone.simdif.com

Where was everybody? - #Excerpt from COPYRIGHT: A NOVEL by @LeskoLori #Thriller #TBR

The sports car pulled up to our coffee-colored two-story house. I looked at the shutters on the windows and the roses planted along the walkway to the cream-trimmed door. When Karen turned off the engine, it was eerily quiet.Where was everybody? I slowly advanced out of my side of the car with Karen’s help. I wondered if the kids were hiding in the bushes waiting to jump out at me.

“You know, it’s not a good idea to scare a woman who’s just had a heart attack!” I yelled toward the house.

“Relax, heart attack honey, I got you covered,” said Karen as she supported my weight. Her touch felt foreign to me. My purple dress hung on my thin shoulders, flapping in the wind.

“Is that my new name, ‘Heart Attack Honey’?” I inquired.

“Yeah, babe, I think it’s kinda catchy.”

“Fuck you,” I responded.

“Not for at least six weeks,” she smirked.

I had to bite the inside of my mouth so that I wouldn’t laugh. Karen opened the door and ushered me in. The living room was spotless and looked the same as always. I glanced toward the kitchen, not looking forward to entering that room. It was the place I had created all those heavenly and luscious meals whose ingredients had lovingly clogged my arteries. My relationship with my kitchen would be a different one now. A feeling of melancholy came over me as I entered and inspected the room I had once found solitude in. I adored cooking, whereas Karen couldn’t care less. She hadn’t cooked a meal since I’d known her. When I was away on a book tours, she’d take the kids to restaurants or get take-outs.

I left the kitchen and headed back to the living room to look around. I heard muffled voices coming from the dining area. “Can I say it now?” I could hear my little Kira asking Danny.

“Yes, now!” I shouted, ever so delighted to see her.

Kira burst through the dining room door. “Welcome home, Mommy!”

She ran to greet me with a huge hug. I buckled over, but Danny caught me. My little princess wore a crown we’d her got from a costume shop downtown. I noticed she only wore it when she was nervous, which was understandable given the current circumstances.

“Mommy missed you so much,” I said, tears rolling down my cheeks.

Kira lifted her head and smiled the smile that always stopped me in my tracks. With her sparkling ruby slippers on and her magic wand in hand, she said, “I command you not to be sick anymore.”

“Me too, my love,” I said hopefully. I looked up at Danny, who was trying to be brave. I gave him a big hug as well and observed that his shirt and jeans looked the same as the ones he’d worn when he’d visited me. Alice, Danny’s girlfriend of two months, was also in attendance. She was dressed in those kind of short shorts that might as well be a pair of underpants. I tried not to be critical of her, but she really didn’t seem to be Danny’s type.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t come to the hospital, Ms. Tyler. They just sorta freak me out,” Alice explained.

“It’s okay, they freak me out too,” I said.

Kira pulled on my dress. “But, Mommy, you didn’t say how much you liked the balloons.”

“Yes, I love the balloons so much,” I said, starting to feel dizzy.

“Okay, let’s get Mommy to bed,” interrupted Karen. “She’s had an exciting day so far and needs to rest for a little bit.” Karen took me by the arm as Kira held my hand tightly. They led me toward the dining room and I saw that it had been transformed into a bedroom.

“No, no,” I quietly protested. “I want to sleep in my own bed, upstairs.”

“Remember what Dr. Casey said; no going upstairs until you have healed,” said Karen.

“Yeah, Mom,” Danny pitched in. “We spent a lot of time and effort making this room cozy. Alice brought down all of your pictures and your favorite comforter.”

“What about me? I helped too!” Kira chimed in. “I gave you Sammy, look he’s right here.” She led me to her stuffed bunny, which now had a weird mouth and only one eye.

“Okay,” I smiled at her. “As long as I can have Sammy, I’ll be fine.”

“Good!” Kira said. And all was right in the world again. I had to admit, they had done a nice job with the decorating. Though I would have loved a warm soak in the tub for three hours to get rid of the hospital stench that permeated from my body, I knew it wouldn’t be allowed. No, it would be sponge baths for me until my sutures were gone. I dreaded Karen seeing me in the nude, all diced up. She might recoil at the sight of me. Hell, even I was disturbed when I saw myself in the hospital bathroom mirror for the first time. I had dressed quickly, unable to look at myself a second longer. Yes, I was one sliced up writer.

As I slowly stretched out on my new bed, Kira placed Sammy by my pillow. Karen covered me up a blanket that had a wonderful mixture of aromas that made me feel at home. I glanced at the four individuals who stood around my bed, and then I drifted off to sleep, wondering, will I ever be normal again?

Amber Tyler is living every author’s dream: her books are all best sellers and she writes full time. She has worked hard and is well-accomplished in her career, and she has the support and love of her beautiful children and girlfriend. 

But the dream soon turns into a terrible nightmare when her latest manuscript is stolen. She decides to fight for what is rightfully hers, only to find that the harder she tries, the easier it all slips through her fingers, putting her career, her family, and her life in jeopardy.

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Genre – Thriller

Rating – PG-13

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Connect with Lori Lesko on Facebook & Twitter

#SummerOfGreed - Excerpt from FATAL GREED by @JWMefford #Thriller #Giveaway

The deserted, ranch-style house looked to be forty years old, give or take. The yard was laced with wiry weeds, some as high as my waist. Window panes had been broken, and two boards were nailed across the front door in an “X.” Rust-colored bricks from the collapsed chimney cluttered a patched roof.

The gas well crouched to the right of the driveway. I walked the paces, one hundred twenty-two of them, to reach the barbed wire fence.

I didn’t see or smell anything odd, only an incessant humming sound felt like it was searing into my brain. With each step, I lifted my knees to make my way through the giant weeds that encircled the ten-foot barrier. A rusted sign warned passersby to stay out of the fenced area. I ran my fingers across the bumps of the black bold letters where it spelled out the name of the company, Tomball Gas. Under it, in smaller print read: a wholly owned subsidiary of OG, LLC.

“OG, Omaha Gas, right in her backyard.”

I thought about knocking on nearby doors to inquire about the health of Rosemary’s former neighbors. But I didn’t want to announce to the world what I was doing. And I wasn’t some ambulance-chasing lawyer looking for suckers to join a class-action suit that might net them a couple hundred dollars. I took a half dozen snapshots, then hit the highway for the trip back home. I thought about veering west and surprising Pop at his farm just north of Lone Grove. Instead, I called him.

“Hi there, Pop. If you look east, you might see me driving by.”

“Feel free to drop in, if you have time. I can throw in another micro meal for dinner.”

We both laughed. He asked why I was in Oklahoma. I gave him a high-level answer, not wanting him to worry about my connection to a murder investigation.

“Pop, what do you know about Omaha Gas?” I asked.

“I’ve known a few folks who’ve worked for them over the years,” he said.

“Have they been in the news for anything you can recall?”

“Hmmm, can’t say I do. Nothing stands out. You lookin’ at a possible investment? I know, none of my business.”

“I’m just trying to learn more about the gas business in general.” I heard three dings from a microwave finishing its cycle.

“I’ve seen some of their wells around but don’t know much about the company,” he said.

I caught a glimpse of a dead armadillo in the middle of the road and veered the car right to straddle it.

“That makes me think about a saying your granddaddy told me when I was young,” he said.

Pop could always find something wise or at least memorable to add flavor to a conversation. “What’s that?”

“He just said, ‘You know land, they don’t make that anymore.’ It didn’t make much sense back then, but looking at the ridiculous real estate prices and companies that make money off the Earth the good Lord made, I can see where your granddaddy was coming from. I get it now.”

We said goodbye. I gazed at the sun clinging to the rim of the barren western horizon and thought some more about the last two days, ending with Pop’s message. Something clicked in my head.

Greed.

Behind the façade of every corporate takeover executives pull levers this way and that, squeezing the last profitable nickel out of the deal. But no one knows the true intent of every so-called merger. 

No one knows the secret bonds that exist. 

An Indian technology giant swallows up another private company that has deep roots in North Texas. For one unassuming man the thought of layoffs, of losing his own job to a bunch of arrogant assholes feels like a kick to the jewels. 

Until the day Michael’s life changes forever.   

Perverse alliances. An affair of the heart. A grisly murder. A spiraling string of events thrusts Michael into a life-or-death fight to save a tortured soul and hunt down a brutal killer…one who lurks closer than he ever imagined. 

Greed knows no boundaries.

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Genre – Suspense, Thriller

Rating – R

More details about the author

Connect with John W. Mefford on Facebook & Twitter

Website http://www.johnwmefford.com

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