Happy
Tuesday, dear friends! I don’t know for you, but here, in Paris, it’s awfully
hot. And the writer I’m welcoming today is going to add more heat… Yes, so be
sure to have a bottle of water near you, and some tissue… (I’m sure you’ll know what to do with the
tissues).
This
being said, let me introduce my guest. She’s a woman (a very sexy woman I must
add!) and we have one thing in common (well, maybe more than one thing, but
this one is the obvious one). No, it’s not being a writer since I’m not one. We
love the same kind of men… That gives you a hint how tasteful she is, right?
She’s
also a very (and I mean VERY) prolific writer. I don’t know how she can write
so many stories… talk about a fertile imagination!
Oh!
And did I tell you that it was her birthday today? No? Well, it is. So HAPPY
BIRTHDAY Lady Dayne!
Okay,
I will stop here and let you enjoy Miss Cassandre Dayne!
The morning, you are tea or coffee?
One cup of
coffee and then I move to bottled water.
What kind of books do you write?
Boy oh boy
the better question is what kind don’t I write? I write erotic, including
thrillers, in same sex, BDSM, D/s, DD, science fiction, paranormal, cowboy,
spanking… The only thing I won’t write is historical.
Why did you choose this genre?
Because I
like all of them.
When you write, are you keyboard or paper?
I do keep a
notebook for ideas, which come at the strangest times, but always on my Mac
laptop.
Are you more motivated to write when the sun shines or when the weather
is gray?
It doesn’t
honestly matter. I’ve often said I could write heavy sex in the middle of a
hurricane.
Where do you find your inspiration?
Everywhere
and anywhere. From dreams to hot men crossing the street or the fact my mind
never shuts off.
When you start a book, do you already have the whole story in your head,
or is it built progressively?
I generally
don’t have every detail worked out. The short stories I have an idea and just
start typing. The thrillers I do plan out at least major detail wise.
How do you feel before the release of a book? Fear, joy? And after?
Well I used
to feel all of the above. Sadly now I have been feeling trepidation from
certain negative aspects about being a writer and the hatred around those some
think are successful.
Between your first and last novel, do you feel a change? Do you write
differently?
Um – a bit.
Technically I am a stronger author, but I continue to learn. I am trying to get
back to some of my roots, the strong love of writing and not just feel like
it’s a business.
They say that writers project themselves into the skin and into the head
of his hero / heroine, is that the case for you?
In some of
my books, the character is all about me – like On Becoming His, a woman’s
emotional journey moving into a D/s lifestyle. Jezebel is the woman buried
inside. The rest are simply observing other people.
You define yourself more like a bookworm, a city mouse or a country
mouse?
None of
those. I am a kinky gal who can fit into to a majority of environments BUT
people around me seem to have trouble with me LOL.
Molière said: “Writing is like prostitution. First we write for the love
of it, then for a few friends, and in the end for money.” What do you think
about it?
I think I’m
a good case in point. While writing is a business and you MUST treat it as such
and with that level of respect, you cannot lose the love or your stories will
suffer.
Your books have already been translated?
You know? I
don’t think so.
Do you pay attention to literary criticism?
Only if a
pattern develops because there are a lot of people who do nothing but go around
leaving 1 star reviews to make other authors look better. Give me a freaking
break. We work hard at our craft.
The days are 25 hours. You spend that extra hour in the garden or in the
kitchen?
That’s a
tough one. Depends on the season. I love both. I used to own a catering company
so maybe kitchen…
What is the book you would bring with you on a deserted island?
HA – The
Story of O
In the evening, do you turn off the light directly or do you take the
time to read?
Lately I
write up until the time I have to go to bed because my hours are so limited.
Not necessarily good for sleep but the concept creates all kinds of new ideas
burning in my wicked mind.
Decision (the second in the Domestic Discipline trilogy)
Honor and
obey. Those were the two words Shannon Parker had committed to when signing the
contract and entering into an alternative lifestyle with her husband. Embracing
the challenges of domestic discipline with David was without a doubt a last
ditch effort to save their crumbling marriage. Discipline and a strict regimen
helped her focus and for a few weeks everything was almost perfect. Almost.
Then she began to unravel, the willful and highly opinionated woman she’d been
bleeding through her newfound restraints. She needed more from him and he
simply wasn’t available, so she made a series of choices. Now there was a new
word and it was ugly. Betrayal.
David was
confused, concerned about his growing resentment toward her lack of obedience
and his need to take more control. Instead of being the mentor and teacher she
so craved, he was nothing more than an argumentative spouse, allowing Shannon
to break the rules. His business booming, time restraints alone kept him for
pursuing his dominant role. But there was more. Guilt. Something he was going
to have to face in an effort to bring them closer together. When her behavior
became increasingly childish, he was determined to tame her – until one fateful
night, one that opened his eyes to the woman hiding behind an obvious mask.
A damaged
marriage, broken trust and two souls bent on achieving more. Coming to terms
with the state of their marriage wasn’t easy, and the decision made was
difficult as well as life changing yet again. Finally, they both had to face
haunting secrets. Was it too late to save something so precious?
Excerpt
Closing her eyes, she did something she hadn’t
done in so very long. Shannon prayed. Rusty, she tried to think of words to say
in her mind, thoughts about what she could do better, or more of or… She folded
her arms across her chest and lowered her head, finally resigned. Her marriage
with David was over. Maybe it was really for the best. Yeah. Maybe it was.
Maybe it was time to move on and do something else. And then she could… Well,
with her career she could…
“I…don’t know…what to do.” The words whispered,
she bit back a scream as she slammed her fist into the cabinet. The thudding
sound made her laugh. Hollow. Bitterly hollow was the way to describe the
noise.
Tilting her head, she continued rocking for a
few minutes then knew, she just knew she wanted nothing more than a stiff
drink. Maybe two. Hell, maybe ten. Who the hell cared any longer? She needed
something to keep her from becoming hysterical. With every ounce of strength
she had left she managed to rise to her feet. Very gingerly she set the papers
down and brushed the tip of her index finger across. The words has been spelled
out carefully, thought about for a few days, no months, and they’d been so
heartfelt when written down. Now they were nothing more than words.
Every step becoming more difficult, she moved
toward the back counter, her hand shaky as she grabbed a wine glass from the
top cabinet. The merlot was open and she poured a full glass, barely
registering the pour sloshed over the rim and onto the counter. The moment she
pulled the glass to her lips, she felt better, stronger. Yeah, so much
stronger. The gulps was long and as the liquid slid down the back of her throat
she shuddered. How in the world was she going to make it alone?
Taking two more hefty gulps she wiped her eyes
and wanted nothing more than to slide into something soft and very comfortable.
She wanted to merely curl up and cry herself to sleep. Exhaling slowly, Shannon
dug her nails into the marble counter before moving toward the door. I’m such a fucking idiot. Stopping
short, she sniffed, glared at the wine, took another sip then reached back and
grabbed the bottle around the neck. She certainly wasn’t going to stop drinking
tonight.
Her feet heavy she walked toward the kitchen
doorway, stopping just long enough to scan the room. There was little in the
way of love in the gleaming kitchen space, nothing that would indicate a loving
couple. Instead there was nothing but a quiet space, a ticking refrigerator and
a reminder of what was so very cold. She turned off the light and walked into
the living room, passing by the single potted plant they owned together and
couldn’t help but wonder who was going to take the ugly fern. She giggled and
flicked her finger across the top leave, now strutting into the room.
What the hell. Let him leave. Let David be the
bad guy. Yeah. She’d show him and he’d never forget what he was losing and…
“David.” The sight of him, his head lowered, his hand on the glass, strangled
whispers coming from his mouth managed to still her. For a few seconds she remained
quiet. When he finally turned his head, acknowledging she’d discovered him, she
was taken aback by the look on his face. In a few short minutes he seemed to
have aged so much.
“David.”
“Don’t,” he breathed, the sound barely audible.
“I can’t.”
Shannon bit her lower lip and took two
tentative steps forward. He was sweating and she could tell he’d been crying.
“I thought you’d left.”
“I…uh, did. I got in the car, started the
engine and rolled out of the driveway. Then I couldn’t move. I was paralyzed.”
“Why?” Easing the bottle of wine and glass on
the coffee table, she held her arms, the chill deepening.
He tilted his head, his brow furrowing.
“Because the would have just been running away. From us. From our problems.
From the fact that…”
When his eyes glazed over, his voice trailing
off, she bit her lower lip. “But?”
“But that would mean the end. I know that. I
realize that I’m to blame for this.” Slapping his hand on the glass, David
groaned and lowered his head. “I’m to blame.”
“No you’re not.”
“Oh, yes I am.”
She closed the distance, unsure of how to get
through to him any longer. Maybe she was trying too hard, or not hard enough. What is wrong with you? This is your
husband, the man you’ve spent every good and wretched moment with. “It’s
not your fault. It’s both of ours. I’ve been horrible to you. I broke our
contract. I lied to you. I’ve kept thing from you. I’ve in a sense betrayed
you.”
“Betrayed?” He snapped his head in her
direction.
“I mean…I mean that I haven’t held up my end of
what we agreed on.” Why did her voice sound so tiny, so fearful? Because you feel guilt. You stupid idiot.
You’ve wanted another man. Any man. Licking her dry lips she gingerly
placed her hand on his arm. When he recoiled she whimpered.
“I’m sorry. I just don’t know what to do. I
don’t have any idea how we can fix any of this.”
“We talk. We listen. We learn. And…”
“And?” David’s voice was hopeful.
“And you do what you’re supposed to do. You
discipline me.” Shannon realized her voice sounded stronger, full of
conviction. The question was, did she really believe being spanked in any way
was going to do her any good? By the wary look on his face she knew he doubted
anything was going to help.
“Shannon…I…”
“Please don’t!” She interrupted.
David’s eyes flashed.
“I’m sorry. I’m just frustrated.”
“And you think I’m not?”
The exasperation in his voice was horrifying.
Turning toward the window, she gazed out at the street, the well-coifed homes
and manicured lawns and wondered whether any of her neighbors were going
through something just like this, something neither could control. She also
wondered if it showed that they’d changed as people, as a couple, or did they
simply appear to everyone like the perfect match. The words she’d heard
frequently. How untrue they were. “Of course you are and you have every right
to be.”
HOW TO CONTACT CASSANDRE
Blogs : http://www.cassandredayne.com
Email:
cassandre@cassandredayne.com
69 Shades of Smut Page - http://69shadesofsmut.wordpress.com/cassandre-dayne/
On Becoming
His Page http://wp.me/P1a53P-Fi
Thank you so much for having me!! Loved it!
ReplyDelete