I have a treat for you today. The lovely Muffy is on my blog to answer my nosy questions and to tell us about her new release. Now, by her own admission, she is a bit wordy...
*smiles and nods*
...so grab a cuppa, have a buiscuit or two and get to know her.
So glad you could join us Muffy!
*****
Thank you so much Doris, for having me here today. Gosh,
I am so excited! Having a book (Memories
& Kisses published by Yellow Silk Dreams) and two stories released in
an anthology (Once Upon a Menage edited
by Rachel Kenley and published by Ravenous Romance) in the same week is so
tremendously exciting. To be able to share my joy and personal accomplishment with
you and your readers is such an honor. You are such a generous and gracious friend,
but then, I think everyone already knows that about you!
*blushes*
Thanks, Muffy. It's great to have you here. On with the questions then :-)
Can you tell us a
bit about yourself?
I was raised in a military family. My father was a USAF
Colonel whose work took us to all points from Alaska to France. We moved every
two or three years, so I didn’t have what most would refer to as a traditional
childhood, more like Leave it to Beaver
meets the Jetsons. We lived in two
small towns “one the economy”, near Laon AFB where my Dad was stationed,
Bruyeres and Notre Dame de Liesse. Many
of my ‘firsts’ were in France as my formative years developing were north of
Paris. So, my first kiss, my first taste of escargot, my first hot dog on a
French baguette was at the top of the Eiffel Tower, my first bikini (I was
thirteen) was on the French Riviera and I fell in love with a thirty-something
lifeguard named Aldo. I thought my father was going straight to an early grave.
My mother thought it charming and funny since I wound up looking like a
blistered, crying lobster with the
worst sun burn ever. No need to worry about Aldo. A few years later, my mother
and I were shopping in Paris; it was the day she bought me an alligator
handbag, a small one, with a bright red leather interior. I still have it. We
were on the Champs Elysees on a corner and everyone was wailing and crying. It
was 22 November 1963 and I was 14 years old. It was the day John F Kennedy was
assassinated and I witnessed as the world was crushed and Camelot fell. I think
I grew up a lot that day. We had to hurry home, 90 miles north. The Base was on
lock-down and red alert. It was a day the world stood still yet was fiercely
frantic beneath the surface.
My generation was filled with growth and exploration. It has
been an exciting time to live. We wanted to explore everything: limitation,
space, the human spirit, religion, segregation, peace, politics, oh God, the
politics! It was a pivotal time in our growth and the growth of our country.
The Viet Nam war changed to dynamics of war, so did we. I am not so sure we
were equipped to take on such lofty pursuits, but we didn’t know that at the
time. We burned bras, draft cards and belonged to the SDS in colleges across
the country. We wanted to change the world. Looking back, we did, but I am not
so sure it didn’t change us more.
Right now, after my illustrious professional marketing career
of being “the first woman this and the first woman that”, I am a successful
real estate agent and diva smut muffin in SW Florida.
What made you
write ‘this’ story?
“This” book is a compilation of three separate stories.
It is really a kind of trip down “Memory Lane”. I just turned 65 and I think
those ‘trips’ are common among those of us that are aging into the
stratosphere! We know we are aging, but
our memories do not; in them we are still young. Nor do they lose any steam or
ardor and we can all use a moment or two to remember those times that spurred
us beyond our wildest dreams. I think we all have those shared memories of stolen
kisses, nubile embraces, love lost still burning bright.
Old memories are like old red wine - all the richer for
time passed. And the kisses taste sweeter too. Three romantic and very
sexy stories take us back to things as they once were, and forward to the
wonderful times to come. Memories &
Kisses has three stories of old loves remembered; a grieving woman rescued
from the sea, two childhood friends growing old friendship into passionate
loving, and two long separated teenagers finding that time has mellowed them
both and maturity has brought a passionate intensity they had never imagined.
All three stories are of rekindled love that survived decades of longing and is
now ready to burst into flame.
Blurbs:
The Storm ~ a
newly widowed woman unable to face the world alone and lonely, buries her
husband. Overcome by grief, she walks into the rough, grinding pitiless surf in
an effort to blend the gray in her heart with the gray on the horizon. She is
saved from the crashing waves by a man, a bearded white haired man who brings
her back to life and gives her a reason to live again.
The Park ~ two
childhood friends, now adults, reunite on the eve of the dedication of their
once favorite playground now slated to become a high-tech water park. The
destruction of their favorite playground makes them melancholy; reliving their
dreams as children in this park inspires them to greater, more passionate long
buried desires they never responded to as teens, but knew existed but in their
memories.
The Story of Us
~ high school friends, once nearly sweethearts, reconnect in their sixties. The
Internet removes the veil of uncomfortable shyness. They are open and revealing
in emails about their youthful teenaged desires for one another. They discover
what we all hope is true: that love is eternal. Surviving decades, not only in
the shadowed recesses of our memories, but in a kiss, a touch, a magnetic
embrace love thrives.
Do you have
memories of a love that once was?...of a love that was lost?...of, perhaps, a
rekindled love that survived decades of longing?
I know I do, so I wrote about some of them. Lord knows,
there are more!
Tell us about your
cover.
You know, all of these stories are about young people ten
to Twenty years out of high school in The
Park, and older lovers in The Storm
and The Story of Us. I wanted a cover
that evoked memories, no matter one’s age. She did that for me with her
penetrating eyes, forlorn look as if she paused to rejoice in a privately
shared memory. Her scarlet lips stirred the erotic by suggesting something
burned deeply within her, perhaps lost love or unrequited love? She is young,
younger than my protagonists, but I wanted to suggest that memories begin the
moment the yearning for love and connection begins. I think she does that, She
appears to be looking back, and don’t we all do that when we trip down Memory
Lane? I hope her look beckons other’s to look back with her and her crimson
lips suggests it is going to be a very sensuous trip.…..
Describe a typical
day’s writing for us
I like to write in the morning and late afternoon. I rise
and have coffee with my husband in the morning as I have for the last nearly 30
years. We chat, catch up on the news and work-out tough crossword puzzle clues
together. That is early. By 8am I have usually settled the house, answered
emails, messages and the mail, fed and emptied the dog. I attack my Social
Media then write. With all my morning chores done, I feel comfortable catching
up on what my character have been up to over night while I slept. Before I was
retired, I had to get to my work and wait until after dinner to spend time with
my “imaginary” friends. If I leave them alone for too long, they have way too
many mischievous antics to share. I stop for a small lunch with my husband then
onto the afternoon scenes. I usually stop about three until after dinner. I
spend that time on household chores, commitments, banking…whatever needs my
attention; I drink water all day and cocktails at 4 with my husband. I go
online once in the morning and once at night. I have an addictive personality -
obsessive compulsive - so I try to stay away from temptation: Facebook,
chocolate, TV (although background noise does not bother me) and any kind of
over-indulgence except writing.
What inspires you?
Life inspires me: the news, talking to my friends,
meeting new people, any kind of growth be it plant life or the life of men and
women. My son inspires me, his pride, dedication, loyalty. Where does that come
from? Where does love come from? Why do I feel blue when it rains? How can
swimming lift my spirits? Why do sunsets make one think of loss or love? Walking
my dog in the morning mist and dew makes me feel young and hopeful, forward
looking - why is that? Ask me any question and I take a voyage to find the
answer which opens a tributary uniting dozens of ancillary offshoots. I could
wind up anywhere and be inspired by anything. My husband says I would talk to a
door knob if it would answer, I am that inquisitive. I think moving every 2-3
years with my Father’s reassignments made me interested. One has to be flexible
quickly in order to assimilate and fit in quickly. We never had much time to
build relationships because time was of the essence; we would be moving again
in a quick 2 or 3 years.
If you weren’t a
writer what would you be?
All that I have been: wife, mother, a business leader,
owner and activist. What I would like to do now, if I didn’t write, I would
have to do something. I couldn’t sit around watching TV. I would take piano
lessons and sing in a piano bar. My aunt sang torch songs and played piano in
smoke filled supper clubs and piano bars. I always wanted to do that.
I would learn Spanish, in SW Florida, there is a huge
Latino population and learning to communicate properly, I think, makes them
feel welcome and humanize us. I would learn Yoga and dancing. I never knew what
it meant when people used the phrase, “Life begins at ---”….fill in the blank:
40, 50, 65? I do now. Life has you by
the nuts until your kids are grown, you are making good money and then
retire…not that being held by the nuts is such a bad thing. It definitely has a
time and place!
Do your characters
ever surprise you?
My characters are a lot like me. But, I have little
control over them and I have a conscious. I write what they do, where they go,
what they eat, who they sleep with, whom they love (which is not always the
same person…ahem). My characters live a life of freedom and a pure lack of
restraint or guilt. Some of that I edit out, sometimes I elaborate on it, as
the whim strikes me. Most of my characters act as though they have nothing to
lose, until they realize that they do - they do have something to lose. We all
do. They can’t be much different than the rest of us except in the areas off
limits to the rest of us earthbound mortals. They need to win where we are
afraid to go, or have been and failed. They have to show us that everything is
possible and the results are spectacular.
What could you not
do without when you’re writing?
Background noise and water. I like music or the TV even.
I am used to having distractions, which I find comforting now. I always had to
be able to do 15 things at once and then get back to whatever I was doing
without missing a beat. I was the Midwest Regional Director for IBM’s Real
Estate and Construction Division. Juggling balls (there I go again!),
employees, crisis’, customers and executive management required I get back on
track quickly. So, distractions can also be a periodic welcome relief. When my
husband and I retired, I was 39. He was 53. We moved up to a little Island in
the middle of Lake Michigan and Green Bay, bought a historic bar and expanded
it over 13 years to a bar, restaurant and motel. One can’t do things like that
if they are easily distracted. But, I need noise and water. I got a lot of
noise and distraction with a bar, restaurant and 28 employees. Water, not so
much - mostly beer, but it worked. Now, I need chocolate and water…whew, how
times have changed.
What words of
wisdom do you have for the aspiring authors out there?
Write. Write. Write. And READ! Everything and anything
that interests you. Don’t let anyone discourage you, because they will try. Don’t
let YOU discourage you. No one values your work and what it means to you, with
the exception of YOU. “Everyone writes books; everyone has written a book.” My
husband always says that. “Oh, a guy that has written another book!” It is so easy to publish a book, today; everyone is
doing it. If you have ever tried, you know that isn’t true. It is a solitary
life, one you live inside your head - alone. Nobody ‘gets’ it until they read
something you have written and if it is erotica? You are nothing short of a
porn star.
So, write, don’t get distracted, exercise self-discipline
- lots of it - and bring chocolate. Pair with someone you trust. Agree to be
one another’s coach, no-holes-barred. A coach is invaluable. They set a bar for
you that you cannot see yourself. Listen to them and do not take it personally.
They want you to be wildly successful.
Where do you see
yourself in ten year’s time?
Oh, gosh…..writing, retired from real estate. Sipping
Manhattans, eating chocolate, looking at great pics of young men and editing.
Do you have a
favourite quote?
I do, I always have. Marilyn Monroe was burdened by such
self deprecating guilt because she was beautiful, not because she was smart because
she was then grew and developed herself into something no one else could be -
her. When I entered the business world after dropping out of college, I was
bold, assertive and devilishly determined. I also had, and still do have, a
monstrous work ethic. But then I was surrounded by men; all my peers, superiors
and even subordinates were men. There were two things that kept me on point. As
I advanced, I made a lot of presentations. My mentor gave me the best advice I
ever needed and that was that every person (all men) watching me, put “their
pants on the same way - naked” which always made me smile when I looked out at
the audience or board members. The chuckle leveled the playing field for me. I
relaxed knowing I was one up because mine were panty hose. My other favorite
quote, when I was in business in an all-man-world was:
“Any woman that strives to be a man's equal lacks ambition." - Marilyn Monroe
What can I say about that? Marilyn was brilliant, but over looked, like an undetonated armed bomb. Her intelligence and self-deprecating commitment to her career never was revealed until her death. Neither was her frailties and doubts, which we all have.
Now that I am older and ‘wiser’, if I were to have my favourite quote on my headstone, I think it would be "What lies behind us and what lies before us are tiny matters compared to what lies within us.” ...
~ Oliver Wendell Holmes Sr.
Do you ever suffer
from writer’s block?
To say no, would be nothing but a lie. Some days, not too
often, then yet…the spirit needs a break and refuses to cooperate. I feel it is
a sign that I need to step back and spend some time with my husband or doing
something else. Muses do talk to one another, you know. They plot against you.
Sometimes, it is just better to ignore them. It pisses them off and gets them
to sparring.
What other books
can your readers look forward to?
I have three more books that will be released by January
2015. If I am lucky, they will all be available by the Holiday rush of
Christmas. Beyond that, I have a control list of about fifteen projects which
will be concluded by mid-year and 25-30 projects that will require my attention
by year end 2015. Only another Virgo will appreciate how organized I am about
my work. Some refer to it as being obsessive compulsive. I can role with that.
I am finishing:
“The Para-Portage of Emily” for Secret Cravings
Publishing
“Taylor Savior” for Decadent Publishing
“Cheerleaders in Heat” a self-published project and
collaboration with another published author.
And finally can
you share the blurb and excerpt with us?
Yes, of course, from the first story “The Storm” in my
new release, “Memories & Kisses”. Thank you so much for asking.
Excerpt from The Storm:
I walk to
the surf, heaving for breath, weak from running against the rain, fighting the
storm, the sadness, my loss - your death. I walk into the surf and keep
walking. It is surprisingly warm and enveloping. I suddenly feel comforted, my
heartbreak no longer a penetrating pain. I know you are with me and I seek out
your embrace. I cry again, scream at the thunderous surf, and then I am gone. I
can’t breathe and I am falling, rolling, tumbling in a hazy grey darkness that
is wet, ferocious, and demanding. Suddenly my dizzy comfort turns to fear and I
struggle against the pounding, relentless waves. What have I done? I am a good
swimmer and an athlete, but can I beat this? Instinct overcomes me. My heart
pounds. I start to kick wildly. Moving my arms toward the surface, the current
catches me again, tumbling me over and over. My lungs burn. I lose my
bearing—which way is up, down? I start to get a sickening feeling of death, my
own impending death, and, just as I start to give in, I feel the hand of God
grab my hair and hood in a fierce grip and yank me to the surface. I feel the
sky darken and the surf diminish. Everything tastes salty, gritty, and then my
body heaves, relaxed, and my world goes black.
I awake to
pounding on my chest; I am being rattled and something is covering my mouth and
nose. I cough, retch, and then vomit the last vestiges of the ocean from my
body. My mouth is filled with grit, sand, and the salty taste of taffy. I open
my eyes and see God reaching down toward me. He leans over me and the salty
ocean water drips from his face to mine. He is big, strong, and gasping; he is
surrounded in a glowing aura which intensifies his white hair and white beard.
I am frightened. I must be dead. But that cannot be! How foolish I am. He sits
me up, tenderly and gently helps me to my feet, all the while holding me
securely with large strong hands and then he speaks to me.
“Are you
alright, miss? You scared me near to death when I saw you walk into the surf.
Why in the world….Where do you live?”
I am alive
to my senses.
“Wha. . . ?” My knees weaken and I fall
further into his arms. Quickly, he catches my descent and carries me to a bench
where he sits me down, moving the errant curls of hair from my cheeks, and
speaks to me again.
“Where are
you staying? Shall I call the police?”
I can feel
my heart pounding against his chest.
“No,
please, I’m . . . I’ll be fine. My key, my pocket; it’s in my pocket. Please…”
I can’t
remember my hotel or where I am or why. As he unzips my pocket and removes my
hotel key, he pulls my hood up over my head to shelter my face from the pelting
rain. Collecting me under his arm, my body firmly in his grip, we walk slowly
back to the hotel. The traffic is still sparse, no taxis to be seen. It seems to
take forever. The storm is so much worse, the surf so high, sucking the wind
into the watery folds as it retreats to the ocean. At once, I am so scared that
I begin to tremble and yet, I feel protected.
As we walk
into the hotel lobby, the bell captain approaches us and asks if I need the
hotel doctor, whereupon my guardian says, “No, that won’t be necessary, thank
you.” We take the elevator to my floor and I am finally in the sanctity of my
room, as lonely as it is. My savior, my hero sits me in the desk chair while he
goes to the bathroom and starts the shower. He returns. He is saying something
to me that I can’t understand, but he starts to take my shoes off. Then he
leans me forward, removes my windbreaker and sports bra, and helps me stand
while he pulls relentlessly at my wet spandex knee-highs. He kicks off his own
running shoes and removes his blazer. He carries me to the shower but I feel as
if I’m watching the scene unfold from outside my own body. I am unafraid of
this stranger.
The water
is hot and piercing, but he is gentle, loving, and tender. He bathes me and
washes my hair, lifting the removable nozzle to rinse the sand, grit, and
seaweed from my hair and lithe body. My skin is a deep pink from the intense
extreme of the cold grasp of the ocean and the heated comfort of the hot
shower. His hands are everywhere, on every curve, gently caressing my skin with
his soapy fingertips. He deftly, tenderly, washes my breasts, my taunt stomach
and pussy. He controls himself, but I can’t let him stop. I look up at him, and
notice he is watching himself bathe me. He seems to caress my buttocks as he
cleans the sand from between my rounded cheeks. Unembarrassed, he rinses my
body thoroughly, running his fingers though my shoulder-length brown hair. I
feel safe, warmed, yet surprisingly aroused, weakened by my ordeal.
For the
first time, it seems, he looks down at me. He takes me in as I look up at him,
transfixed by his control. I am naked in my sorrow and my pain; he, fully
clothed except for his windbreaker and shoes, smiles, touching my heart. I did
not notice his erection in the shower, he is a complete gentleman. My breasts,
the curve of my belly to my thigh, my face against his chest glisten in the
shower, as I trust him to help me.
Thank you so much for hosting me here today and I hope I
haven’t put anyone to sleep. I know I am yawning! But, thank so much for asking
me here today. I would be honored, if readers are interested, they can buy my
work at:
Author Bio and Links:
Muffy, author of erotic, romantic stories about love, sex,
hope and passion, was born in San Antonio, Texas, to traditional parents. With
two older brothers, she was the youngest, the family "princess,"
indulged and pampered. She adored her older brothers, following them everywhere
and was surrounded by love, stimulation, and pets. Her father was a career Colonel
and pilot in the U.S. Air Force which required the family to travel
extensively. The family lived in most points between Alaska and France. Muffy
spent her formative years in Europe and came of age in France.
Returning from France with her
family, Muffy finished high
school in Northern California and attended the University of
California, Davis, and majored
in
Business Management. Muffy entered the work force, independent with a fierce
work ethic, and retired at 39 from IBM as a Mid-West Regional Director in the
Real Estate and Construction Division. She and her husband moved to a small
Island in northern Wisconsin where they owned a historic tavern, restaurant and
resort business which they since have sold. They now live a charmed life by the
water in SW Florida. Muffy
pretends to be a serious real estate business person but, in real life,
indulges her private interest in writing sexy short stories and sensual
literotica ~ Live, Laugh, Love with Passion.
Please share your recent
publications.
Released 3 October 2014:
Also featuring Muffy's work in this anthology of of
adult Grimm's Fairy Tales, Once Upon a Menage:
An Anthology of Fairy Tale Threesomes edited by Rachel Kenley (Ravenous
Romance), Muffy has two erotic adaptations, The Prince, The Mermaid
and The Siren ('The
Little Mermaid') and The
Prurient Puss ('Puss and
Boots'). They are sexy, just a little naughty and best of all, they are
threesomes!!
Previously Published:
Oysters
& Chocolate, Decadent Publishing, Ravenous Romance, Yellow Silk Dreams
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