Tag Archives: writing

At Balticon back in spring, while I was at the table selling paperback copies of book two in my Vengeance Cycle series, I heard the same question a number of times, “Are these two books in a series, or are they separate?”

Both covers do look completely different, and it really does make the books look as if they have no relation to each other. I decided to remedy this, and had asked Steven Archer to do the same treatment on the image for It Never Ends that he’d done for Devil’s Gambit, since he did such a kickass job – and he didn’t disappoint. Thank you Steve!!

After a few tweaks, I present a preview for the new cover art for It Never Ends.

Once It Never Ends is available with the new cover art, I’ll let everybody know.

INE book 1 FINAL cover with text

Crimson Daughter (flash fic)

An old piece of writing from the archives – an oldie, but a goodie – and timely:

The crimson tide. It makes slaves of us all. I’d do anything to be rid of it.

Once a month, my face contorts in a grimace of pain, my fingers clawed as I clutch at my gut. All this torment, and you expect me to believe that it’s because some vengeful asshole that lives in the sky is angry that the progenitor of tits and vag units ate an apple one time?

Come on, man.

Some idiot once told me that the reason the pain comes on so hard was because women didn’t PRAY hard enough. We were supposed to suffer. “God’s Will” and all.

Honestly? I could give a shit. But I can tell you where it’s going.

I’ve been doing my research, HARD core. Sympathetic magic? It WORKS.

I’ve found a way to make my blood work FOR me instead of against me every month.

The clay statue resting in the alcove in my basement seems so innocent; its googly eyes rolling this way and that when I handle it. For seven months now I’ve been talking to it, cooing to it as if it were the very child that was supposed to issue forth from this body.

The one I refuse to have.

Birth control, ain’t it a bitch.

Mother nature may hate me, but I have that bitch by the balls now.

THIS is my child now; a reddish stained horror that I mold by hand with the heat from my menses.

Sharp, wicked teeth to bite and tear make its mouth a cruel, grinning slash. It’s a caricature of madness with a tuft of hair matted down with dried blood along the side of its face.

Month after month, I squat before it, eyes bright with anger and pain as I smear it reverently with the reddish ‘mud’ meant to nourish the egg that’s being ejected from my body.

I whisper to it, telling it my secret things. The list of enemies is growing longer every day.

Soon – soon it will be ready.

I can hear it talking back now, watching its posture slowly shifting as the days pass. The smile grows wider as it grows stronger, eager to complete the varied tasks I’ve set before it.

It made its first sound today. I could’ve sworn it said ‘mama’.

I’ve never felt prouder.

Get ready, world. My daughter comes.

© Copyright Jhada Addams 2013

And now, a short erotica break

My fingers flutter against the keyboard, the rhythm soothing as it helps me to pull things – ideas into creation. An enticing phrase here, a playful double entendre there, it’s all part of the art.

I can tell that I’m getting into the scene because I can almost feel a warm puff of breath by my ear, gentle fingers caressing my shoulder, soft lips pressing against my skin. The phantasmal touches become stronger as the story flows and I can almost feel fingers brushing along the pale hair on my arms. They move down to rest on my hand, helping to guide the scene in a surprising direction; one I never see coming.

I’m almost used to you now, my ghostly muse.

My pulse jumps as I feel teeth gently scrape against the side of my neck and a rush goes up my spine as I suppress a moan, stopping for a moment to try to reorient on the story.

With a shaky hand, I begin typing again, breathing a little heavier now. I can never quite decide if it’s irritating or irresistible, the way you tease. A few uninterrupted moments pass, then a light brushing of fingers against a nipple causes me to shiver. It’s followed by a pinch that takes my breath away. Something brushes against that oh so sensitive spot back behind my right ear, and all my words fall out of my head, forgotten.

With a chuckle that I’m not entirely certain that I’ve really heard, you’re gone. I try to bring you back by writing something full of heat and promising slickness, but the moment’s over. I notice it lasted a little longer this time. I sigh, then smile, falling back into the story easily now. I don’t know if you’re real, or if my subconscious is really good at this headfuck.

If you’re part of me, I just need to find a way to bring it out more often – when I’m ready to play.

I’ll figure it out eventually, cheeky bastard. Then we’ll see.