Sat, 25 May 2013 05:48:36 -0800WeeblyWed, 22 May 2013 15:28:53 GMThttp://www.genevieveash.com/2/post/2013/05/into-the-darkness.htmlI have been away. Away from the world I created. Away from the bliss of letting my characters live through me. Away from the light of fantasy. Real life has a habit of creeping in and sometimes it leads us into the darkness, covering the life we choose, with the life we must live. Sometimes the lines blur and reality becomes fantasy and fantasy a very real force to be reckoned with.

Choosing to live our dreams can be frightening, but each step we take toward achieving those dreams, feeds us with the courage to stay on the arduous path toward finding ourselves. Sometimes we need to take a break. Sit by, fix what is broken, rest, recover and prepare for the next leg of the journey. We can remain in the middle of the road forever, let the apathy take over, but it is a lonely place to be.  The journey never ends and can often become more difficult, but I find it is easier to keep moving forward rather than turning around and going back. The past may be familiar but the future holds the hope of something better just around the corner.

My mother always used to say, “Pick yourself up by your bootstraps and move on,” so again, I move forward. I have no idea where the path might lead me, but I am looking forward to all I will discover along the way--and I am sure it will provide ideas for some great stories to come.  

]]>Sun, 10 Mar 2013 14:52:48 GMThttp://www.genevieveash.com/2/post/2013/03/keepin-on.html

The new year has brought a flurry of activity and the winter has hurried by. Several new audios from eSensual Books have been released to Audible with a projected fifty total new titles for this year. Surely there will be something to please everyone.

The Second Oldest Profession; Seductive Sexy Spies, an anthology I edited with Essemoh Teepee  has just been released in partnership with Renaissance-Sizzler and  the audio version of Cream of the Crop, the successful anthology we partnered with Xcite Books is due out this month.

Along with social networking, conferences and real life, there is little time left for writing, but I have sent off a few new novellas and recently completed my first collaborative effort with Essemoh Teepee, the first novel in a series entitled, Practical Research.  An anthropology graduate signs on as a research assistant involving studies of a very intimate nature and soon finds that the subject material too hot to handle. What she doesn't realise is that she is the subject to be studied and the sexy Professor and his hot Brazilian housekeeper will become very intimate indeed.  Read the adults only excerpt below.

Enjoy!

From Practical Research:

 “Ooh, are you going to spank me?” Callista put on her best innocent pout and girly voice as she pulled at his striped silk tie. Tugging it from side to side, she loosened it and slipped it over his head. His hands were hot on the bare skin of her shoulders and she thought she felt them tremble.

Anbu had an urge to put his fingers around her throat and squeeze but her next words made his spine tingle.

“You could tie me up with this…if you want?” She pushed her hips against him yet again, letting her pelvis slip from side to side, grinding against him. The gorgeous agony of his cock trapped between her and his body was making him want to thrust against her. It took all his will to control his urge. Callista was no longer a subject of study at that moment, all the time he had held himself back from women since Africa, all the suppress emotion was bubbling up inside. It was getting to be just too much. The image Callista had conjured was too strong. 

She saw he wasn’t moving, wasn’t trying to stop her, he just looked at her—or was it through her.

“You would like that wouldn’t you?” His voice was throaty, full of his desire. “If you don’t stop moving your hips like that, I will do more than tie you up and spank you.”

It was the word ‘more’ that tipped her into direct action, Callista’s vision became blurred and her breathing short as she pulled his shirt from the waistband of his trousers and then reached up for the top button. Anbu grabbed her hand and held it there, pressed against his throat. All Callista could hear was their mingled breathing and the blood roaring in her ears, she could feel the pulse in his throat under her fingers, racing in tandem with hers. She had never wanted anything-or anyone more than she wanted Anbu at this very moment.

“Kiss me, Anbu.”  Callista kept her gaze steady and waited. His face moved closer and she began to tremble uncontrollably. His lips brushed over hers gently before moving to her cheek. More! I want more. She turned her head, searching for his mouth; Anbu sucked in a breath and bit at her bottom lip. Callista gasped, his sharp teeth feeding her desire. His mouth covered hers and he kissed her deeply, his tongue plunging into her mouth. Callista wrapped her hands around his head and pulled him closer. His kiss was hungry, his tongue searching, she felt the power of his need reaching into her core and she began to melt inside. Whimpering, Callista pushed all of her body against him looking for intimate contact. Something to stop the ache she felt inside. It was like a cold shower when Anbu broke the kiss and pulled from her grip, with the words,

“Damn it Callista, No!”

The shock was making her whole body shudder, No this can’t happen, not now, I need this too much.

Callista tried to calm her voice and sound reasonable,

“Anbu, take it easy. What’s a kiss among friends?”

Anbu stomach was churning, seeing and feeling things from Africa, it was as though he were in two places and times, then and there as well as here and now. Another beautiful woman in his arms, ready for him, wanting him and he wanting in return. He spoke then about the past and the present,

“It is never just a kiss. We cannot, must not do this.” He pushed Callista away even though he wanted to crush her breasts to his chest and grip her hips, push himself against her, instead saying, “It will skew the study.”

Callista wanted to scream with frustration, and shuddering desire. She nearly shouted at him, “Fuck the study, Anbu. You want to know how freeing from inhibition and social sexual repression affects women - I am showing you first hand.” Anbu hands shook as he brought them to his head and he ran them through his dark hair, his eyes avoiding hers as she went on. “Think of it as practical research.” Her words stung him, his research in Africa had become entirely too practical, with tragic consequences.

Callista could see the something in his glittering eyes, a strong emotion, indecision. She took his hands in hers and placed them on her chest, the soft swell of her upper breasts filling his palms as she pressed them against her.

“Anbu, feel my heart beating. I am alive. Touch me.” For a moment the past became distant, this women in his grasp was very much alive and it had been so long. Anbu bent his head and kissed the soft rise of her breasts.

Callista mumbled into the soft hair on his head as his lips worked against her skin “You can’t hide in the study—or the past.”

Anbu looked up, the sharp new anger in his eyes made Callista shiver.  He stepped from her, pushing her away and took a deep breath. Oh shit, me and my big mouth…

“What do you know of my past? You know nothing about me.”

Desperately trying to recover the moment, Callista said, “Then tell me.”

Anbu felt the upwelling of emotion overwhelm his simple desire for intimacy and comfort. He needed to remind Callista, and himself of what was between them.

“I am not your boyfriend, we are not going to hold hands and…share.”

Callista felt like his words were slapping her head from side to side, “Why do you have to be so cruel? I just want to know why you always reject me?”

“I have told you, this is an assignment. You are merely an assistant and a study subject, nothing more.” He had half turned from her as he spoke, trying to dismiss her again she thought.

That made her snarl, “I don’t think the bulge in your pants is work related.”

Anbu, stopped his hand from moving to cover his crotch, that was juvenile he thought. This needs to be a grown up conversation.

“I am human. When a beautiful woman throws herself at me what do you expect?”

Throws herself…Fucking arrogant bastard, who the fuck does he think... Callista stomped toward the door. She tried to fill her lungs but her anger left no room for air. “You know what your problem is, Professor?” She walked back and faced him, her hands on her hips and heels spiked widely into the carpet. His mouth was sneering but his eyes were still glittering, though with what she was no longer sure, but his words were horrid.

“Oh, do tell…”

Callista so wanted to slap the smug smile off his face. She let him have all her bitterness and disappointment.

“You’re so self-absorbed you couldn’t possibly care about anyone else. Maybe that is why your precious little Arab houri, Halgan, is no longer in your bed. News flash, Master Anbu, Sir; the world does not revolve around you!”

Turning on her heel, Callista took a step away towards the door, a sob beginning to force its way up her constricted throat.  Anbu felt something snap inside.

When Anbu grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her into his arms, the force and shock made Callista cry out, half whimper, half moan. His embrace was overpowering, all encompassing. She was both frightened - and aroused by his unexpected show of strength. Trying to twist out of his grasp he only held her tighter, his breath hot on her face. His hands were hurting her arms, the pain oddly warming low down, making her want to slump against his chest. His eyes were darker than she had ever seen them, as though his black pupils had expanded to engulf all the grey. She struggled to make sense of his words.

“And your problem, Ms. Makris, is your inability to respect boundaries. I am going to teach you some respect.” His fingers digging into her wrist, Anbu dragged her to the couch.

He sat, still holding her wrists tightly and closed his eyes before taking a deep breath. He opened them and Callista saw only power within them. His voice was deep and calm.

“On your knees, Callista.”

Callista knew her mouth and eyes were equally wide open in surprise. She snorted, closing them both quickly to find some escape, then opened them slowly saying quietly,

“No.”

Anbu looked at her intently. Callista did not even think he was blinking. He was holding himself so still, it frightened her. He spoke very quietly, but forcefully,

“I said, on your knees.”

Callista stood firm. Her wrist was burning where his encircling fingers dug into her. She shifted the weight on her feet, her calves aching from the unnatural arch enforced by the high heels. Anbu reached out and pulled her by the waist, forcing her face down onto his lap. She was taken off guard and the wind knocked from her lungs as her body hit his knees. She tried to protest but could only gasp.

The sting of his hand as it made contact with the second skin of smooth leather stretched tightly across her bottom made Callista cry out. Again, he spanked her, this time harder than the last and the slow burn spread over the tightly encased muscle of her ass, leaving a delicious tingle in its wake.

“Anbu, stop, you’re hurting…” Her plea turned into a moan as she felt his long hard fingers on the bare skin of her legs, pushing the leather skirt up and over her bottom, exposing the hot skin to the cool air. His fingertips were tracing delicate circles on her tender flesh, the light touch of his hand on the newly depilated skin causing a frisson that had Callista’s nerve endings on fire. She didn’t want to like it, but oh, she did. She liked it very much.

“Anbu, please, I…” Her words trailed off, she didn’t know what to say. Callista did not want to tell him to stop.

“You need to understand how to behave.” Anbu spanked her again three times in rapid succession. Then he stroked her naked bottom again and asked,

“Do you want me to stop?”

Callista could feel the droplets of moisture trickling down the walls of her cunt. She didn’t want him to stop, she wanted so much more. Callista parted her legs slightly, gently shifting her hips form side to side, pressing her mound against the tense muscles of his thigh. She heard him inhale deeply and groan. “I can smell you.”  His words made her melt even more, she could feel the lace and satin of her thong soaking wet between her thighs.

Anbu massaged the naked cheeks of her bottom with strong fingers. Callista hoped that he would leave marks that she could see later and make her remember. His deep penetrating caress parted her moist labia; wet swollen flesh opening and coming together against the soaking material of her panties, the erotic sounds like that of a soft kiss. 

He spanked her again—hard, three times. She whimpered and moved her hips to grind her clit into Anbu’s knee. Again he spanked her and she screamed her need. Reaching between her legs he cupped her sex, the heel of his hand pushing at the remaining scrap of satin, sliding against her swollen clit. Callista circled her hips pushing back and up into his hand.

“You are so wet for me.” She heard him say, with wonder.

Callista was afraid to speak. She didn’t want to do anything that might stop him. The pressure was building inside her, she felt every inch of the skin covering her body as if it were stretched too tightly on her frame. She knew her juices were soaking Anbu’s pants.

“What do you want from me?”  His words were faint, pensive, not so much a question as a plea as he peeled the damp cloth from between her legs and slid it down her thighs. Callista felt the wet trail of her own desire and lifted her bottom to ease his action, opening her legs wider when they were free, inviting him to explore.

 She felt the whoosh of air as he raised his hand once more. Tensing the muscles in her cheeks, she waited for the brutal sting of his touch. Nothing! She wanted to cry out, beg for his burning blow, but she held back, surrendered and waited. Crack! His hand made sharp contact with renewed fervor and the rain of stinging blows were intense. Callista felt the first wave of orgasmic release push toward her core. The pressure to come was intense, filling her up to the brim and near overflowing. Her breathing grew short, her pleasure mingled with and amplified by the pain. She was hanging on the edge, needing something more. The cloth of his slacks was rough against her clit and she rubbed faster, looking for relief. So close the words were torn from her,

“Oh God, Anbu, please!”

His dark chuckle was edged with victory. He reached between her legs and slid two long, questing, fingers inside her. The walls of her cunt seized on them, squeezing them, trapping them inside her. The cool air soothed her glowing bottom making Callista more aware of the fire inside her as his fingers began to move there.

“Oh, fuck yes, Anbu, yes!” Callista lost all control. She had to surrender everything to him, needed to surrender herself. Suddenly the awareness that giving up control was not for the weak washed over her. Panicking, she felt the tide rush back, retreating from the brink into the pool of pleasure in her belly. Don’t think; just let it happen…please. Callista squeezed her eyes close and let go of her breath.

Anbu was in a dark place, his focus was on the feel of this woman on his fingers, in his lap, her helplessness, completely at his mercy. He felt the rush of power as he knew he could make her orgasm at his desire. The words came from somewhere other than his consciousness,

“You’re mine.” 

Anbu slipped his thumb through the slippery wet folds between her thighs and down, over her clit. He circled slowly over the smooth hard button under his thumb, at first increasing his tempo to match the increasing speed of her gasping sighs, then to his own rhythm and desire.

Callista was beyond caring about Anbu’s past or his distance from her or his fucking Bruna. What she cared about with all her shuddering body and soul was coming and coming very hard. She felt muscles clench in her belly, pushing the desire from within, bearing down hard on the thrusting twin fingers inside her. She exploded with a cry, expelling Anbu’s fingers from within her tightening sex with the sweet wet, rush of her release.

“Oh, fuck!”  Callista cried out, in the agony of climax.

  

---

]]>Sat, 12 Jan 2013 16:11:28 GMThttp://www.genevieveash.com/2/post/2013/01/transitions.html

Put on your own oxygen mask before assisting others… the video instructed as I made my journey home from dropping my only child at college for the first time. When I was younger that same phrase bothered me. I did not understand the – what I thought- was a selfish concept. Of course I would help my child, my mother, my friend, a neighbor, before helping myself. What was wrong with these skewed instructions, I wondered.

Now, as I sit on the very same porch I did two weeks ago and I think about the future, I finally understand. I have spent the better part of my life giving to others first, sometimes misguided. Altruistic- I like to think so. Folly-sometimes. I would not change the fact that my son came first, but now that he is off on his own for the first time, I can only hope that I gave enough. Enough time, enough instruction, enough love and encouragement to help him understand that you have to love yourself first. That people are basically good if you give them the chance and if you find they are not, move on. But he is finding his own way now. I have no control-- not that I ever really did, and he will rise and fall on his own merits.

But, what of me now?  I still have family obligations to tend to, a life that requires my participation in the everyday and I will always be his mother, but instead of feeling desolate and alone in my now empty nest, I feel a sense of freedom I have not known in many years. ‘It’s my turn,’ is my mantra for 2013.

I have plans. Big plans, crazy plans, plans that will make friends and family shake their heads and say; you can’t, you shouldn't, are you crazy?  And for the first time in my life, I don’t care. I know what I want and I intend on making all my dreams come true. It won’t be easy. I will sometimes lean too heavily on the support and encouragement of those who want the best for me. I am bound to disappoint those who have grown accustomed to me putting others first and I am sure to make some bad decisions along the way, but  it that is life, in all its wondrous, messy glory. New adventures are waiting, so I am putting my own oxygen mask on first and heading for the sky. 

]]>Sun, 23 Dec 2012 14:29:55 GMThttp://www.genevieveash.com/2/post/2012/12/happy-holiday-wishes.htmlGiven the fact that the world did not end at 11:11 GMT on the Solstice…  I wanted to take this opportunity to wish you all a peaceful holiday season filled with love, wonder and of course, a healthy dose of naughtiness.  Here’s hoping that at least one or two of those tinsel bound presents under the tree will be something to spice up your life and help you to Experience the Fantasy.

At eSensual Books we have launched for the Holiday a very new venture in Audio experiences we call Couples in Touch.  With all the pressure on the poor men in your lives to live up to the expectations put out there by Mr. Grey and co, we thought a little help might be in order. The first experience for loving couples is titled ‘Intimacy’ and is available from Audible.com, Amazon, iTunes etc.

Check out the Couples in Touch page and find out what this unique series of audios might do for your mutual eSensual pleasure. www.esensualbooks.co.uk

The holidays are very much a time to put your arms around one another and remember what is important in your world.  So when you see the glittering lights, remember that your own light shines on the world. As you open your gifts, remember to always give the best of yourself to those that matter and when the stress and busyness of the season threaten to overwhelm you--stop, take a deep breath and feel the magic of the season all around you. 

As we move into a new year full of possibilities, we look forward to sharing it with all of you.  So from myself and all of us here at The Manor , we wish you the happiest of holiday seasons.



]]>Wed, 14 Nov 2012 15:39:36 GMThttp://www.genevieveash.com/2/post/2012/11/cream-of-the-crop-disciplined-sex.html

Cream of the Crop; Disciplined Sex, is now available!

A riding crop is a potent symbol of mastery and dominance over a powerful natural force. Cream of the Crop is a Baker’s Dozen of erotic stories of adventures in sexual surrender following the chance discovery of a mysterious riding crop.  In one of the stories the crop is found in an unexpected place and the tattered tag attached to it read: ‘This crop is travelling the world and has been found by you. Use it in any way you see fit and send your story to the email address listed below before passing it along to the next lucky recipient’. In these erotically charged stories, domination and submission has many exciting manifestations. What would you do with a riding crop?

My story, A Pleasure to Meet You, tells the tale of a woman’s trip to meet an online lover for the first time. She takes along a riding crop as a joke- to keep him in line, she tells him. What happens with the crop once she arrives turns into a journey of self- discovery and sensual delight. On her voyage home she decides to leave the crop on a train for someone else to discover and use as they see fit, the only catch—they must send their story to the email address attached to the end of the crop. So begins the journey of the travelling riding crop. Read the anthology to find out just how far the crop goes—and just how far those who use it will go!

The anthology process while exciting, can be time consuming, but it is worth the wait to see all the pieces of the puzzle come together to make a whole finished product. An anthology provides a great opportunity for readers to sample new authors—and genres. It also gives them the ability to fit their reading into their busy days--a short but complete snippet that allows them to step off the world for a while. For writers, it is an opportunity to not only get their work out to readers, but for newer names, sales can be quickly driven by some of the more familiar authors in the collection.

The signature eSensual audio book edition for Cream of the Crop will be available at month end from Audible. Listen to these powerful stories of sexy escapades involving a mysterious riding crop and be transported to a world of powerful sensuality.

If you haven’t read or listened to an anthology; why not? Cream of the Crop; Disciplined Sex is now available at online retailers everywhere. Produced in partnership with Xcite and eSenusual Books.

Find out more ;

www.xcitebooks.com

www.eSensualbooks.co.uk

---

]]>Fri, 26 Oct 2012 10:51:51 GMThttp://www.genevieveash.com/2/post/2012/10/haunted-garden-halloween-hop.html

---

I love autumn! The crisp cool air blowing away the heat and dust of summer, the flurry of activity to get ready for the winter ahead, long walks through the woods--colored leaves trampled underfoot. Spooky stories read by the campfire.

I have always enjoyed paranormal romances, so it was natural that the genre would focus in some of my own stories. As a girl it was gothic romance, as a teen Anne Rice transported me to another world—and still does. Christine Feehan, Laurel K. Hamilton, Kressley Cole, Sherrilyn Kenyon- so many great choices for an easy escape. Reading takes us away from reality for a while; a daydream where we don’t have to do the work of thinking. I like paranormal stories because as fantastical as the stories might be, and as difficult as it might seem to relate, the characters experience real emotions in much the same way as you and I.

eSensual books, (www.esensualbooks.co.uk),has just released my new collection of paranormal erotica, Loving Afterlife; Passion never dies. This sexy collection of paranormal tales explores some of the age old mysteries of the Afterlife and is available exclusively from amazon; http://www.amazon.com/Loving-Afterlife-ebook/dp/B009UFYO9E/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1351014398&sr=8-2&keywords=loving+afterlife
Are some passions so strong that even death cannot quench their burning fire? Do some lovers need to be brought back to life long before their time has even come? Is true love enough to cross the barriers between two very different worlds? I believe the answer to those questions is a resounding yes! What say, you?

 In my latest novel, ‘Come to Me,’ from the Wild Rose Press, (www.thewildrosepress.com), Amanda is restoring an old mansion when she begins to experience very sensual and haunting dreams. When the cursed Cameron MacKenzie appears to her offering her the opportunity to visit his Great Grandmother—the goddess Freya, it is difficult for the one-time history major to resist. The trip becomes a magical journey through the very depths of Hell itself, but Amanda’s feelings for Cameron are strong and she is willing to do whatever necessary to save him and break the curse. A strong, independent woman, Amanda is about to discover that sometimes waiting for ‘the one’ is more than worth it.
http://www.amazon.com/Come-To-Me-Genevieve-Ash/dp/1612176747/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1351248770&sr=8-1&keywords=come+to+me+ash


Amanda likes to bake when she is having a rough day. This recipe for pumpkin scones is easy, delicious and low fat.  Enjoy!

1 cup(s) whole wheat pastry flour  

1 cup(s) all-purpose flour  

½ cup sugar  

1 tbsp baking powder  

1/2 tsp salt  

1 tsp ground cinnamon  

1/2 tsp ground cloves  

1/4 tsp ground ginger  

¼ cup light butter  

 1/2 cup canned pumpkin, (not pie mix)  

 3 tbsp fat-free half-and-half  

 1 cup(s) fat-free egg substitute  

Instructions

Preheat oven to 425 degrees. Lightly grease a baking sheet or line with parchment paper Combine flour, sugar, baking powder, salt, and spices in a large mixing bowl. Cut butter into the dry ingredients until mixture is crumbly. In a separate bowl, whisk pumpkin, egg and half and half. Fold wet ingredients into the dry. Work gently to form dough ball. Pat out dough onto a lightly floured surface to form into a 1 inch thick rectangle. Use a large knife to slice the dough into three equal portions, cut each section into 8 equal pieces. Place on prepared baking sheet, bake for 14 to 16 minutes or until scones are light brown.

Now, make a pot of tea, grab one of those delicious scones, and send me a comment about a paranormal story that made you wonder; is anything possible? Is love strong enough to conquer death? Or perhaps you have a real life ghost story of your own to share. Comments will be entered in a random drawing to be held November 1st. Winner will receive a copy of ‘Come to Me’.

Thank you for visiting my blog today. Do not forget to check out all the fabulous authors participating in the  Halloween HOP listed below and at The Wild Rose Press website. Lots of prizes will be given away and plenty of great new reads will be showcased.

Check out these other great authors;

www.shadowsofromance.blogspot.com

blog.dianelayne.com

brendawhiteside.blogspot.com

debbie-peterson.blogspot.com

www.miadowning.blogspot.com

]]>Wed, 03 Oct 2012 15:47:14 GMThttp://www.genevieveash.com/2/post/2012/10/new-developements.html

Exciting news!  www.esensualbooks.co.uk is officially open for business. Stop by and take a look around. With so many choices of publishers out there today we are looking forward to earning your trust. See what we have to offer and decide for yourself. We have several new projects ready to launch and are actively seeking new submissions in all categories. Don’t forget; www.alternatepress.co.uk is open to mainstream fiction submissions as well.

I am also excited to announce that, Come to Me, my first full length novel is available from the Wild Rose Press. When Amanda’s erotic dreams become very real, will she be willing to forget her past mistakes and step into another world—a world of sensual delight? History, humor and hot sex- pick up your copy today: http://www.wilderroses.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=180&products_id=899

Alternatepress, the parent company of eSensualBooks will be launching a taut new psychological thriller this month. 365 Hours by Max Sandford ; A beautiful young woman wishes to be swept off her feet and gets more than she bargained for in this darkly thrilling tale of abduction, human trafficking and the power of submission.   Held against her will, bound and helpless, she discovers that pain and pleasure can make strange bedfellows. Trapped in a secret web of money, influence and international slavery she struggles to survive and find herself. Sometimes the chains that bind us are the only thing that will set us free. Nicolette and her captor discover in the depths of despair and humiliation that other bonds can grow, but broken promises can be costly, who will have to pay the ultimate price?
http://www.amazon.com/365-Hours-ebook/dp/B009MQ8FBY/ref=sr_1_6?ie=UTF8&qid=1350403464&sr=8-6&keywords=max+sandford

Check back soon for more exciting developments.

---

]]>Wed, 29 Aug 2012 20:10:35 GMThttp://www.genevieveash.com/2/post/2012/08/closing-time.html

Sometimes I think that it takes me longer to finish the last chapter of a story than the rest of the entire piece.  The characters have been with me for the duration; their dreams, desires and emotions. I have laughed with them, cried with them—been intimate with them. It is difficult to say goodbye.

I often wonder what will happen when I have left them on their own, but in the warped imagination of my writer’s mind they live on. They have lives like you and I do. Good days and bad. They get bored, they fight, they make-up, but they always love each other. I don’t often revisit them, once a story is finished it is finished, but the memory of their time still resides in a corner of my heart. I never really have to miss them because they are always there.   

As I packed the last of my father’s belongings, I found a scrapbook that was unfamiliar. In it was every card, letter and picture I sent to him. Masculine designs, dark colors with boats and cars and leaves; it was the sentiments tucked within that spoke of a daughter’s feelings for the first man she ever loved. Most of them said how much she would always need him and now, when I need him most of all, I finally realize the true depth of my loss.  Yes, he will always be tucked away in a corner of my heart, always there, but unlike my characters, I will miss him every day. As I reached the end of the album, I found the long auburn pony tail from my first real haircut. I knew then, that he had never completely let go of the little girl I once was, and I would never let go of the wonderful father he will always be.

]]>Thu, 19 Jul 2012 14:41:18 GMThttp://www.genevieveash.com/2/post/2012/07/self-reliance.htmlMy father passed away last night peacefully and on his own terms. He was 89 and had lived a rich, full life. He volunteered almost to a fault, always willing to lend a hand to someone in need. He trained people to excel in their career and worked hard to provide for his family. Most importantly he raised three children to be self-reliant, well-rounded and successful adults.

His generation had survived difficult times and they had learned to not give up. Keep moving forward until you overcome the obstacle in your path. He never told us which direction to go or how to fix it once we got there; he just stayed close by, holding our hand until we figured it out for ourselves.  I remember when I was young I had asked my father to scratch my back, he told me to go rub against the corner of the wall. I was hurt that he would not help me—until one day twenty years later and living alone, my back began to itch. As I rubbed against the corner, I realized how much my father had taught me about self-reliance. A simple lesson that would last a lifetime.

My father was proud of my new success as an author. His pride was not in my accomplishments, but in the fact that I was determined to make my dreams a reality no matter how slippery the slope. I try every day to pass that message along to my son.

I am fortunate to have the love and support of many people during this difficult time, but ultimately we travel down our path alone. The others are standing by the side of the road, cheering us on, lending support or just smiling as we pass by—some will even travel with us at times, but in the end, we must make the choice to live our lives as we wish and we must be prepared to do it alone if necessary.

We sat by his bedside yesterday watching him fade but it wasn’t until we left the hospital that he passed away; alone and on his own terms. Like a steadfast rock in a moving stream, the water wears away bits of stone washing it downstream until they become part of the great big ocean and gain new purpose. I do not know what his new purpose will be in this wide open universe, but I do know, he has already volunteered to do whatever is necessary to make it happen. I will miss him every day. They say you do not truly become an adult until you lose a parent, I don’t know if I will ever grow up, but I do know that even if I do , I will always be Daddy’s little girl.
D]]>Sun, 01 Jul 2012 17:48:40 GMThttp://www.genevieveash.com/2/post/2012/07/memory-maker.htmlCharacters based on real people.Write what you know. Fictionalize reality. I watched a movie the other night where a group of women with a bottle of tequila, were playing the old ‘is it true or not? game. They tried to drum up stories that were fantastical and naughty to stump their friends. Most of my friends know all of my wild stories—what few there are ;-) Some of the details were withheld and the names changed to protect the innocent—I don’t kiss and tell.

Storytelling by its nature leaves room for interpretation and constant embellishment; each time the story is told, like the ‘fish tale’ it sounds a little different, a little more exciting. I write under different pseudonyms, each with a different voice and sometimes pieces of characters from one story flow into another. I wondered what would happen if I put a character from one story in the middle of another, how it would change the story or the character.  Who were they before, who will they become? What made them who they are? Do they play well with others? Is any of it true? As an exercise, I am taking characters back before their story began to see how it all started—perhaps, I will eventually be able to figure out who he/she is or perhaps, he/she is someone I never knew at all. You decide. Loser drinks tequila :-).

****

The Memory Maker

She was up earlier than the rest of the girls in her dorm. She wanted the extra time to get ready. First day of her class and she had a new crop of candidates to impress. The boarding school was co-ed, but it wasn’t the pimply faced boys she wanted to impress, it was the new crop of teachers and coaches. Some fresh from college, not much older than her, but old enough to recognize that she was more than a giggling school girl--and still young enough to consider taking the risk.  Wasn’t that what the rigid rules of the military school were for--breaking?

She curled her long blond hair to match the poster that hung on the wall of almost every room throughout the boy’s dorm—the beautiful model in the red swimsuit with the feathered hair. Carefully applying her makeup she smiled at her reflection. She younger, but she looked to be in her twenties. (This helped immensely went they went to town to buy the beer.) She carefully slid the silk stockings on and attached the garters. The wrap dress had a retro feel and she liked the way it swished around her knees when she walked. After buckling the ankle straps of her high heels, she grabbed her books and headed to class.

The usual suspects smiled, shaking their heads. A few mouths dropped as she strode into the, cavernous room were orientation was held, the click, click, click of her thin heels on the weathered wooden floor. The speaker droned on, she gazed out the window twirling her hair around her finger, cracking her gum and dreaming of … A new voice garnered her attention. She turned and a soft sigh escaped her lips, the new dean of students. His piercing blue eyes and all American smile, made her heart pound erratically in her chest. Victim number one, she thought. What’s that old saying, she didn’t remember a word he said, but she certainly remembered the way he made her feel.  

A few weeks later, she had a Saturday detention. Since she was the only one, he held it in his office. Everyone was going to a nearby amusement park and she didn’t want to miss out. She tried to charm her way out of it. No luck.  A short white sundress with thigh highs and lace panties, she wore light make-up and tried the ‘little girl’ approach, he was weakening, but he still would not budge. As much as she was enjoying teasing him—she wanted out. Her legs were crossed, the top one swinging wildly, hair twirling round and round her finger, the ever present gum-popping driving him to distraction, she contemplated offering him whatever he wanted, but knew he was too buttoned-up to take advantage of it.

 Time was running short, she was desperate and that’s when she noticed the paddle. She had never felt its vicious sting. She was a bit of a handful, but a detention usually was enough to absolve her minor sins—the ones that she was caught for anyway. The leather was dry and brittle as it looped around the thick nail protruding from the wall. Almost the size of a ping pong paddle, the implement of torture had tiny holes evenly spaced throughout, crisp and clear in their intention to add to the intensity of sensation. She had seen big strong football players crying real tears after a paddling with the ’memory maker’ as it was fondly called.

“Sir?” she asked in her sweetest whisper.

“Yes.”

“Perhaps, we could initiate a trade.”

“No, you disregarded the rules; you must learn your lesson.”

“Yes, Sir, of course. I was just thinking that perhaps, a quicker but more efficient punishment…” she looked at the paddle hanging on the wall.

He followed her gaze and she saw his body twitch as he recognized her intent.

“I do not think--it is appropriate,” he stammered.

“You are disciplining me, nothing more.” She stood and walked toward the paddle. Pulling it from the nail, she pivoted so that her short skirt would flare up around her thighs briefly, before she turned and handed it to him.

His eyes glittered with lust and she knew she had him right where she wanted. She turned her back to him, bent at the waist and lifted the skirt of her dress.  His soft groan made her shiver and she clenched her thigh muscles and waited. The tick, tick of the wall clock was the only sound breaking the rhythm of his shallow breaths, she waited. She took a deep breath and tried to relax.

Crack!  The burn spread through the lace, through her skin and seeped into her core. The tears rushed to her eyes. It hurt like hell, but the pain quickly turned into something more pleasurable. Crack! Again, this time she moaned as the moisture dripped from inside her, dampening her panties. Just one more, she thought. So close.

She heard the paddle tumble to the ground and the squeaking noise of his leather chair as he turned away from her.

“Go!” he commanded.

“But Sir,” she pleaded, “I like making memories with you.”

“Go now, but you will need to come back next Saturday. I do not think you have fully learned your lesson.” 

]]>