By
Pauline Allen (Guest Blogger)
Hello
everyone. I wanted to take a moment to thank you, Lisabet, for
hosting me here on Beyond Romance. I'm excited to join your readers
and chat about my personal writing process and how I used my style to
develop the characters for my debut novel with Loose Id.
A
writer's process is sacred and as personal as any emotional
attachment one might develop in a lifetime. For me, it begins with
music. I'll be in my car and hear a new song I've downloaded and the
"click" will happen. I zone out, drive, and the movie in my
head begins to play. I'm just a bystander, watching as the pictures
progress and the story unfolds. I can develop my hero and heroine
character arcs and plot summary in approximately one hour when the
muse of music hits.
I
then frantically write down everything flowing through my head into a
spiral bound notebook, returning later with a fine-tooth comb to work
out more detailed plot points and the character's tone of dialogue.
My "voice" is quite distinctive. I have, what I call, a
Trent Reznor vs. Alice in Wonderland tone. My characters are broken
and disheartened with life, but there is always a sense of something
more out there for them, that they can find love through the
darkness. Alice comes into play because I have a whimsical sense of
humor that is always injected into the shadows of my writing.
The
music that inspires me reflects my style. I listen to everything from
downtempo like Portishead and Osho, R and B like Tank and Chris
Brown, or singer/songwriter like Lykke Li and Damien Rice. There's
always a little Madonna thrown in there for good measure. For See
Me, my novel with Loose Id, the song that "clicked" is
by Kelly Dalton. "Let Me In" spoke volumes to me about
Sean, my hero, and his struggles with incarceration and building a
life after being in prison.
Now,
how in the devil did I get to a point with my character that he was
in prison? I drive by a state prison facility three times a week on
my way to work. At four in the afternoon, on warmer days, the "boys"
are out in the yard playing basketball, baseball, or running on the
track. One on particular day, I was driving along on my merry way and
there was a young man leaning on the fence with his arms over his
head, watching the cars go by. Now, mind you, I live in a rural area
and the cars are few and far between. My eyes caught his and I slowed
my car to watch him as I rolled by. Our gazes locked and in that
instant I knew him.
I
sped up and the pictures started. His name was Sean and he was in for
illegal mixed martial arts fighting. The fight went bad, the cops
came, one blow to his opponent's head and the guy died. Sean was
convicted and sentenced. When he got out...now "Let Me In"
by Mr. Dalton started playing in my head...he struggled to find
employment. He wanted to better his life, met a friend at the gym,
and the start to his new life began.
My
heroine sparked to life with a song as well. Her spirit came to me in
a song by Tori Amos. "Me and a Gun" is a story about rape
and violence against women. Abigail's story was saturated with
loneliness and fear. Her business, Fantasy Emporium, was inspired by
one thing. Pornography! I interviewed a performer and built the adult
entertainment world in my book from information I gathered on the
inside of the industry.
The
evolution of See Me is typical for all the books I write. I
hear a rhythm and the process ignites like a wild fire. During the
writing phase I'm obsessed with the characters. I hear them whisper
to me. They become true entities in my life and I speak about them as
such. My friends and family get to laughing because I feel such a
rollercoaster of emotions when I'm writing. If my heroine is hurt or
depressed, so am I. If my hero is cocky and lustful, so am I. I tend
to have a heavy hand on the male point of view and write more from
the inside of his head. Maybe because the male species is a total
mystery to me and writing in their consciousness makes me feel like
I'm getting to listen in on a juicy secret.
I'm
a writer who writes in every environment once the story gets flowing.
I write on vacation, in the car, at work (yes, I will still bring you
your pain meds. *giggles*), and on my huge front porch. Every time I
change the scenery, a new part of the story twists and richens the
plot. I do, however, have an office in my home.
Stephen
King in On Writing stated that a writer must have his/her
writing space close to home. My husband and I live in a three story
Victorian Presbyterian Manse. It was used by the church for the
pastor's home and social functions for the church in the 1900's. My
wonderful husband took the painstaking time to make my writing room a
replica of a bordello in the old Storyville in New Orleans.
Storyville was the red light district of the city of New Orleans. My
room in decorated with all the paraphernalia that I've collected from
the naughty city over the years.
I
travel to NOLA twice a year to recharge my creative battery and of
course eat the hearty cuisine. The city is steeped in a velvety
history of violence and lust. It's the perfect playground for Erotic
Romance inspiration. Writing is an essential part of my being. Life
eases forward at a proper cadence when I'm entrenched in a harrowing
plot or fleshing out why a character is so complex. The phrase, "Life
is Good" was written for a writer who is in the zone, stomping
out the keys, listening to the voices, and wading through the arcs.
As for this writer, life is pretty damn good.
My
debut novel with Loose Id is titled See Me. It's a
contemporary erotic romance novel with a sexy, street-wise hero and a
curvy, brave heroine. Abigail Swanson’s spirit has been battered, a
body left for dead to recover to find fear and loneliness. Due to an
abusive relationship, she is unable to feel the one thing she longs
to have again. She builds a lucrative business specializing in the
commodity she can’t afford to experience. Passion.
Sean
Drennan traded his fists for a portfolio, but the cost was too great.
Now, considered damaged goods, he’s unable to find employment.
Desperate to gather some quick cash, he reluctantly agrees to take a
job in the field guaranteed to make him sell his soul.
So
what does a successful pornography entrepreneur do when her clients
are demanding a tattooed hunk and her performers don’t fit the
bill? She puts all her trust in an ex-con who has nothing to lose.
Can he save her business and her heart at the same time or will his
fighting ways leave him cold and lonely yet again?
For
one voluptuous, scared woman it’s love at all costs. For one man
it’s a new experience he’s more than willing to fight his way
into. But can Sean and Abigail survive the dangerous ride?
Excerpt:
“Abigail
Swanson, this is Sean Drennan.”
Ron
introduced him like it was a legitimate interview, like he wasn’t
standing there in the spacious office applying for a job in porn.
It felt weird.
“He’s
finished the application. We’ll do the rest after he’s done
with you.”
Sean
extended his hand and was quickly greeted with a sweet smile. An
innocent, full pair of lips parted to reveal white teeth beneath.
Had he ever seen a sweeter smile? Not one focused in my
direction.
She
took his hand into her soft grip. “Mr. Drennan, it’s nice to
finally meet you. Ron has told me a lot about you.”
He
has? Like what, the size of my dick or how many reps I can do on
the trap bar?
He
knew his hand lingered too long, but God, she was fucking with
his head. Abigail Swanson was supposed to be a porno filmmaker,
one of those dirty women wearing black latex and carrying a
riding crop. A Jenna Jameson or Heidi Fleiss.
The
woman standing behind the metal desk was no Jenna and definitely
no Heidi. She was apple pie and pompoms. She was the girl who
wouldn’t have given him the time of day in high school. She’s
a sly-look-and-run-away, just like the woman in the café. Only
ten times hotter.
The
long auburn waves hung past her shoulders, and that shirt…
Betty Boop, really? And jeans? He wasn’t complaining.
They hugged her full curves. He’d been so used to the gym girls
he’d forgotten what real women looked like. They looked like
Abigail Swanson. Think, dumbass! “Sorry I’m late, Ms.
Swanson.” He let her soft skin slide across his palm as she
released his hand. The loss was instant.
“It’s
all right. The rain was coming down pretty hard. I’m sure the
drive took a while. Please.” She motioned to the wingback chair
in front of the desk. “Have a seat.”
Sean
swiped his gaze over the room. It was decorated like the lobby,
only more spacious… and with more plants. He wanted to smile.
The air carried a hint of something spicy, exotic. Incense, he
concluded when he glanced over to see the ceramic Buddha holding
the thin stick. Filmy curls of smoke waved up only to disappear.
It was massage-parlor-meets-boardroom.
Ron
handed her his application. “I can fax a résumé over.” They
both stared at him as if he’d spoken Vulcan. “I mean, if you
want it.”
Ron
grinned. “And what kind of qualifications would we find on that
resume, Sean?”
The
guy was fucking with him. He felt like an ass. Of course they
didn’t want to hear about his internships and degree
qualifications. There was only one requirement for this job, and
it sure as hell wasn’t listed under the achievement section on
his résumé.
“Right.”
Sean decided to shut his mouth and stick to just answering their
questions.
“Ron,
could you shut the door on your way out?” Abigail’s
expression was neutral as she continued to flip through the pages
of his application.
“Sure
you don’t want any coffee?” Ron asked.
Sean
readjusted in the seat. The chair felt too small. “No, thanks.”
Ron
left, leaving behind a room full of silence. Sean waited for her
to read through the application and drop the bomb that he’d
heard so many times before.
“I
see you left the fetishes section blank.” She finally looked up
at him. Her gaze flitted to the computer screen, then back again.
“Is there a reason why?”
Sean
wanted to swallow his tongue. That section was on the
next-to-last page. That meant she’d already read his answer to
the have you ever been in jail question. He’d been
incarcerated, and she chose to ask him about his lack of
fetishes? He didn’t know what to say. He decided to treat the
conversation like one of the million other interviews he’d been
on over the last year.
“I
don’t have any fetishes, but I’m open to new experiences.”
Good answer.
“I
see. So you don’t prefer blondes to brunettes. How about
voyeurism to exhibitionism?”
What
to what? “I like to watch women swim in the nude. Does that
count?”
He
didn’t smile until she did. Her lips parted like a blossoming
rose.
“Of
course watching women swim naked would count. It’s rather
vanilla, but it counts just as much as a man who enjoys watching
a woman smoke a cigar. It’s all relevant to the one with the
fantasy. Do you have a preference for skinny women or
full-figured women?”
“Men
like that, watching women smoke cigars? I have a preference, I
guess, but it wouldn’t interfere with me performing my job.”
By
the way she ignored his answer, she didn’t seem too happy with
his response. “Sure, men and women like a lot of things, even
smoking cigars. We’re here to provide a visual experience of
their fantasies. Has Ron filled you in on what Fantasy Emporium
really is?”
Sean
thought about it. No, he hadn’t. All Ron had said was that he
had what the company was looking for, and he could make some fast
cash doing porn films. He didn’t want to sound like he hadn’t
done his research, but he hadn’t done his research. “Yeah.
Yes. He told me the company makes pornographic films.”
By
the way she lifted her eyebrows, he knew she’d caught him
bullshitting. “Come here.” Sean leaned against the edge of
the desk as she turned the computer screen so he could see it.
Her nimble fingers flew over the keys. Her fingernails weren’t
the ones with the white tips. All the women who talked to him had
fake fingernails, fake tans, and fake tits too. The chipped pink
nail polish made his stomach do something weird.
“This,
Mr. Drennan, is Fantasy Emporium.”
See
Me can be purchased at:
Bio:
Pauline Allan is a woman on a mission. Curvy girls of the
world unite! She writes erotic romance for the ordinary woman who
fantasizes about extraordinary possibilities. Pauline strives to
make every reader feel sexy and desired by the time she turns to
the last page. The Midwest is home, but her heart stays tethered
to New Orleans where she travels three times a year to recharge
her creative muse. She is amazed that she gets to wake up every
morning next to her hero and go to bed each night listening to
her two little boys argue over who gets to put the hamster to
bed. When not writing, Pauline enjoys listening to music and
watching Mad Men. She has a writing room that she considers a
sacred space. A place draped with velvet tapestries and colorful
masquerade masks. A place where forbidden fantasies come to play.
Contact
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