Tuesday, July 23, 2013

Interview: Cassandre Dayne

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?



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.


“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.


“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.”






On Becoming His Page

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