Samhain Publishing Ltd. Weblog

*GASP!* Romance In Sci-Fi??

I’m addicted to the Smart Bitches, Trashy Books blog (honestly, I think there needs to be a support group). I religiously devour every post every day and – on the odd occasion – actually muster up the courage to pull myself out of lurkdom and comment (I am, by nature, quite a shy person. S’true.) Anyways, one of their more recent posts investigated and responded to the ludicrous statement made by one disgruntled male that science fiction has been ruined by female intrusion of the worst kind – romance.

Romance in sci-fi?? Golly, gee! No! What an atrocity! What will happen next? Boys and girls going to the same school?

Vamps, Demons, Bondi Beach and the Apocalypse?

What more could you want?

Death, The Vamp and his Brother is now available! Cause when mankind’s just about to experience the ultimate battle between good and evil, who do you want on your side?

When it comes down to love or duty, pick a side—and pray your heart survives.

Death exists for one purpose and one purpose only: to sever the life-threads of the living. She does her job with pride and an unwavering commitment. Nothing ruffles her. Until she encounters Patrick Watkins. The Australian lifeguard pushes all her buttons—and makes her tailbone itch like crazy. And when her tailbone itches, it means trouble is brewing. Big trouble.

Ven’s gut tells him that Death is taking aim at his kid brother. He should know—he died and was turned vampire while trying to prevent another failed murder-attempt eighteen years ago. Patrick is meant to do something important in the world, and Ven will do anything to keep him safe. Even take on Death herself. In more ways than one.

As far as Patrick’s concerned, the whole thing is a load of bull. But what if everything Death tells him turns out to be true? How is he expected to save mankind from the worst fate of all—the Apocalypse? Especially when all he can think about is how quickly he’s falling in love with the most feared Horseman of them all…

Warning: This book contains enough heresy to shame the Devil, more scorching sex than one person can handle, Oh, and lots of Australian colloquialism. A bloody lot of Australian colloquialism.

I’m sure I’m going to be struck down by some Higher Power from what I’ve written and I keep checking the skies for lightning bolts, but I had an absolute blast writing Death, The Vamp and his Brother and I hope you have just as much fun reading it. But do take heed of its warning. It’s not an exaggeration :)

Enjoy

Lexxie Couper
Lust. Desire. Danger.
http://lexxiecouper.com

Blogging By The Seat Of My Pants

Or…Damn, It’s Yesterday In America!

Or…Chuck

OK, that sub-heading probably doesn’t make sense, but here’s the thing. I just woke up and realised, oh, golly, I slept through 5pm Friday. (Actually, my language was a touch more R rated, but it’s only early in the morning Down Under and I try to reserve my public displays of profanity to after 10am at least). So the question I hear you asking (or is that crickets I hear? Hmmmm), is what on Earth is Lexxie carrying on about. At this moment in time I’m carrying on about anything that comes to mind until something slams me in the face to blog about. (Yes, I know, I should have been prepared for this, but here’s the thing, I am the most disorganized person in the world. Even my iphone is on the verge of filing for divorce due to irreconcilable differences. Its attempts to alert me to “very important” events and appointments have gone largely ignored since we began out tumultuous relationship and as such, it is giving up on me sniff)

Castle, Or Why Writers Make Good Heroes To Writers

Firstly – Damn you, International Date Line. I’m late. I should have blogged at 9am. Instead, I got my hours messed up and am blogging now. I’m late. I’m very very late and I’m very very sorry.

Secondly, this blog is a drool-fest. Just thought I should warn you, I am in serious lust with Nathan Fillion. Continue at your own risk…

Writing A Sex Scene With A Child Wrapped Around Your Leg

(Please excuse the lateness of this post. My husband underwent surgery on Monday and my father was rushed into hospital last night)

The image of an erotic romance author is one of seductive glamour, naughty escapades and skimpy knickers. When my husband tells his mates his wife writes erotic romance, he gets a slap on the back, inevitably congratulated by his fellow males for his success. When my mother tells her friends her daughter writes erotic romance – “you know, those books with lots of S-E-X in them” she gets a look of commiseration and a pat on the back.

SAVAGE RETRIBUTION - PAPERBACK!!!

Sorry about the three exclamation marks on that title, but I’m pretty excited. I received my paperback copies of Savage Retribution last week and have spent quite a bit of time fanning the pages of the copy I’ve decided to keep for myself and I have to confess…it’s addictive :)

I really need to say a HUGE thank you to Heidi, my wonderful, patient editor. The next one IS coming, Heidi. I promise.

Anyways, Savage Retribution is available to buy in PRINT 29th December. What better way to celebrate the end of one year and the beginning of another with some wild, wicked Irish werewolf and his kick-arse Aussie animal-rights lover.

Just to get you all in the mood, here’s Savage Retribution’s book video. Enjoy :)

The Writing's On The Hand

I’m in the middle of writing a book. Not the next, long awaited, oft asked for sequel to Savage Retribution (sorry bout that to everyone who has sent me emails) but another book that has become bigger than Ben Hur. I’ve become obsessed with it. It’s consuming me. My husband is getting sick of hearing me chew over dialogue aloud while I’m preparing dinner, driving the car, changing my youngest daughter’s nappy…well, just about any time grin This blog entry today isn’t about that book however. This blog entry is about my hand. Of more to the point, what I did to it today.

I Wrote A Book Once

It was a pretty good book, I think. A different book. Irish werewolf finds himself in, of all places, Australia. Trapped in a cage by his most hated enemy. The readers seemed to like it. I had so much fun writing it, I knew immediately I wanted to go back there. There were characters whose stories begged to be told. Minor characters who weren’t in the slightest bit satisfied with being backseat drivers. Those characters DEMANDED I write about them. They all but leaped out of my laptop and smacked me on the head. And then…
…I fluffed about.

Help! I Can't See My Plot For The Fog!

I think I’ve bought just about every writer’s guide on the market. If there’s a book out there about writing, I’ve bought it. I read every one. At the end of every one I feel inspired, determined… and then I begin the first step each of these wonderful guides strongly suggest and I falter. Actually, that’s probably an understatement. I freeze up, my fingers refuse to move and my muse catches a bus to Splitsville (a lonely, isolated and depressing little berg just south of Dumpsville and down the road from Whoop-Whoop).

What is this hideous technique so thoroughly and comprehensively endorsed by so many writers guides that brings all my dreams and creative aspirations to a screaming halt? Pre-plotting. Knowing everything that is going to happen chapter-by-chapter – and, in one particular guide, page-by-page! (Boy, did that How To book make me feel like a failure!) According to just about every guide I’ve read, pre-plotting is vital to writing a book. No, not just vital… vital! With italics. And double exclamation marks!(!) I’ve tried pre-plotting, I truly have, but when it comes to writing, me and pre-plotting don’t mix.

I get bored with the story, or so bogged down in the details of each scene that I lose focus of the story (a writer’s equivalent of not seeing the forest for the trees, I guess). Or, worse still, the excitement of the idea is lost by the time I’ve finished planning and what I write is dry, lifeless and stale.

So, what is the alternative? What other dangerous, rebellious, reckless option is there?

Procrastination or Seeking The Muse?

Or Rather, Calling Out To The Muse and Begging Her To Behave.

I received the Samhain Blog reminder the day before yesterday and immediately my stomach clenched into knots. God! I have to blog! What am I going to say?? As I’ve mentioned before, I’m not an overly deep or profound person. I’m not altogether insightful either. I can babble on about all sorts of inconsequential fluff for hours (example – did you know mosquitoes prefer children to adults, and blonds to brunets? Or there is a recurring motif of food in Shakespeare’s Macbeth? Or if a color-blind woman marries a man with normal vision, all of their sons will be color-blind, and all of their daughters will have normal vision?) but when it comes to writing something that will make people think, my muse – the cantankerous she-devil – freezes and stares into the metaphorical headlights like a small animal on a busy freeway.