Thursday, 23 October 2014

Get to know Muffy Wilson (@SexyMuffyWilson) #authorinterview #newrelease Memories & Kisses

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:

Amazon:                         https://www.amazon.com/author/muffywilson
Ganxy:                            https://ganxy.com/i/97419/muffy-wilson/memories-kisses
XinXii:                             http://www.xinxii.com/en/memories-and-kisses-p-355588.html
Kobo:                              http://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/ebook/memories-kisses
iTunes:                           https://itunes.apple.com/au/book/memories-and-kisses/id924012792
Smashwords:                https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/485334

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!!
Buy Link at Amazon

Previously Published:
Oysters & Chocolate, Decadent Publishing, Ravenous Romance, Yellow Silk Dreams





2 comments:

  1. Thank you, so much, Lady Doris, for hosting this interview!! I didn't realize I was quite so long-winded. ***knock-knock-knock*** Wake up, Tardis fans!! I have taken a breath now!! Much gratitude and love, Doris. Love 'n Huggs, Muffy

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