Sex Scenes With Travis

 Don't get excited by that title. Okay so most, if not all, of you probably shuddered more than tingled at the mental imagery of the title. Nevertheless this blog is not a peak into my bedroom. Instead, it is a peak at a friend of mine. And trust me, she is a hell of a lot prettier than me so the view is much better.

I have long been a fan of Betsy Dornbusch's blog which has one of the best titles in all of the blogosphere ... Sex Scenes at Starbucks. 

In honor of the release of her new, erotica Sci-Fi romance LOST PRINCE, SALT ROAD SAGA Book 1

 

Yes, Ainsley is Betsy's pseudonym, but don't tell anyone ... it's a secret. 

Ownership of Art

Betsy Dornbusch

Even before the moment of conception, ownership of art shifts. Ideas aren’t single entities but a amalgamation of concepts stimulated by the world around us. Or, in smaller words for the short bus types: There ain’t nothing new under the sun. Art can’t happen in a vacuum. The moment an idea forms it’s already belonged to other people, rather in the manner a Long Island Iced Tea is the sum total of its parts, except more, oh so much more. Anyway, the point is, get over yourself already. Your idea is not your own. It never was and it never will be.

I spend a lot of time at thinking and trying for Original. (True story: my eye doc told me to stare out the window often to keep me from getting eye strain. I was all, “Dude. I’m a writer. That’s what I do.”) Maybe some writers just barf their brilliance onto the page; not so much me. It often feels like Day One of Genesis. (When does “and on the seventh day she rested” come in, huh? I know very few writers who take a day off, like, ever.) But what we’re actually doing is making connections between all the disparaging bits of things we know and think we know and the requisite Wikipedia misinformation.

But it’s so solitary to sit and stare that the influences of the past isn’t always obvious. So we think this ugly baby is ours and ours alone. I liken it to that point in the evening where you’ve hit your stride with drinks and you walk to the bathroom and people are looking at you and you’re thinking “Dude, I’m all catwalk.” But you’re actually just staggering drunk. At this stage we really have no idea what we’re doing or what led us to this point.

Then reality sets in. We make the transition of putting our words out there in front of people. It’s worth noting that this stage is a spike in sharing; here, we’re actually asking people to influence our work. Hey. We’re writers. Nobody every said we were smart. Or sane. Or sober. So for the love of God let these readers be a decent beta or a critique group.

And then the editor takes it. We might not be asking, but we’re going to get more influence anyway, whether we like it or not. I pray you get a good one.

And then, finally, readership. Hopefully the sort that pays rather than pirates. (Don’t pirate, people. You’re not as cute as Jack Sparrow, I promise.)

And here’s where the sharing really comes into play, because all along, while you thought this thing was yours, you’ve had to make room for the reader. They are going to drip your story through their own crusty coffee filter. Nothing you can do about it. Just make sure you don’t overfill the water tank.

*eye color figures somewhat prominently in LOST PRINCE. I kind of did it as a joke. There, trivia you know that no one else does.

Visit Sex Scenes at Starbucks to find out more about LOST PRINCE, read an excerpt, and learn about the author. http://betsydornbusch.com

Buy the book at Whiskey Creek Press

The only thing that’s kept Alaric, the so-called Lost Prince of Calixte, from giving into his grief over his beloved homeworld is the thought of revenge against the man who betrayed his people. But he couldn’t be more wrong about Haydn, who actually saved two thousand Calixten soldiers from certain death and secreted them on an inhospitable planet. There, they’ve launched a fledgling rebellion against the Coalition that rules six galaxies, including the lucrative Salt Road. They only need their prince to lead them.

Alaric needs a pilot to get him to his soldiers, someone too desperate to betray him. Katriel, a hotshot deserter pilot enslaved to Haydn by debt, is perfect for the job. But neither Katriel nor Alaric realize how the battle over Calixte binds them closer than blood, and when they find out, their collision will send shockwaves through the universe.