The Romance Reviews (TRR) - Escape

The Romance Reviews (TRR) - Escape



5 STAR Review and Top Pick! Best review I've ever gotten! I quote: There are so many amazing descriptions in this story that I could fill this review and easily have you panting for more. Ms. Ami's ability to craft attraction and seduction between Cyrus and Layla is outstanding. The worlds she creates—both Layla's (Harvard/Dubai) and Cyrus' (especially his)—are what gives this story the strength it needs in the international thriller genre with a hefty dose of romance and erotica. This story is suspenseful, it's smart, it's sexy, it's a page-turner that you will be loathed to put down. - See more at: http://www.theromancereviews.com/viewbooksreview.php?bookid=24066#sthash.sJp0BDR8.dpuf

According to Madelyn: Weekend Reads - Author Belle Ami

According to Madelyn: Weekend Reads - Author Belle Ami

Just Romantic Suspense: I’ve decided not to say goodbye to two of my favor...

Just Romantic Suspense: I’ve decided not to say goodbye to two of my favor...: With: Belle Ami Thank you Just Romantic Suspense for hosting me on your blog.             On July 13 th my latest book One More ...

The Unintended Consequences of Divorce

All of us have experienced the devastation (sometimes joy) of a friend’s divorce.  We’ve watched with vicarious amazement as demonstrative profound undying love suddenly transforms into the hissing vituperative viper of disdain and hatred.  People are mutable, particularly within the emotional realm of who did what to whom.  They say “know thy enemies” but I contend it is far better to “choose thy partners well”.  For many people the happiest day of life is not when they got married, but when their divorce was final.  Battle-scarred they emerge from the divorce arena wary, but wiser (one hopes).  Only time and distance fade the lines that were drawn in the sand when two titans clash. 

One of my friends several years back lived through her personal slice-of-Hell divorce that left her financially comfortable and free as a new born Monarch butterfly of its cocoon.  She embraced her new found identity swearing never to dip even a painted toenail in the unchartered waters of a new relationship.  Even dating was taboo as she had become the world’s biggest proponent since Greta Garbo of “I vant to be alone.”   I listened to her propound in rhapsodic flights of fancy the sanctity of inner peace and the contentment of “no strings attached”.  Naturally, after many months of self-imposed isolation and endless lunches with “the girls” the thrill, as they say, wore off.  Standing at the kitchen counter in pajamas devouring leftover lasagna and brain deadened by the inane reality show The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills (she would have been better off watching First Blood) was perhaps not the surest path to nirvana. The revelation that heaven was not to be found at the bottom of a burnt lasagna pan or that Forest Gump’s cliché “life is (definitely not) a box of chocolates” was for her an earthshaking moment of truth. What to do?  What to do?

 So, let the fun begin… my femme fatale friend was off and running.  Naturally, being an avid listener and never one to lack an opinion, I became the joyful recipient of the tales of courtship that did or mostly didn’t ensue.  First, there were the “ghosts of boyfriends past”.  What a mistake that was, like trying to resurrect the dead.  Some things are better left in the hazy mists of memory, youth, and drink, rather than exposed to the harsh realities of cognizance and the elevated intolerance levels of an emancipated divorcee.  Next came the blind first date with a lawyer, recovering alcoholic and member of AA, who confessed to being overcome with “love at first sight” feelings, fell off the wagon and got tanked, and repeatedly proposed marriage in such an assertive loud voice that half a restaurant was perched on the edges of their seats eavesdropping as my friend slunk ever lower in her seat embarrassed, wishing she was capable of dematerialization.  In other words, “Quick Scotty, beam me out of here.” 

Never one to be flustered for too long my girlfriend returned to her copacetic demeanor and marched forward, which led her to my particular favorite close encounter.  Picture Skybox, Lakers game, fun, food, fix-up, friends, and entertainment; sounds good to me. We’ll just call this one “The Texter”.  Game over, she goes home (alone), goes to bed.  The next day her “blind date” forwards her a strange text message from some guy she has never seen before.  She sees a photo of a handsome, smiling black man with the words, “Sorry I missed the game.  It sounds like we had a Hell-of-a-lot of fun last night. Maybe we can go to a game together some other time.”  What might you sensibly ask is this all about?  It seems our date “The Texter” in his anxiousness to communicate with his new love interest what a good time he had last night, misspoke, I mean miss-thumbed and reached a black homosexual gentleman who immediately texted him back at midnight eager to arrange a future date.  Our “Texter” immediately responded with a text that he must have made a mistake and that the gentleman was not the intended recipient.  It seems the texting recipient could not let it rest at that and immediately phoned to press his suit.  I guess after a long conversation in the middle of the night the two men worked it out.  At least our “Texter” had a wonderful sense of humor and shared the comedic situation.  Otherwise, we would have missed this particularly titillating tale and the laughter it delivered. 

All good stories should have a happy ending, and far be it from this writer to diverge from that time-honored course.  Once more our heroine embarked on that enigmatic phenomenon known as the “blind date”.  This time, sparks were flying, pheromones were filling the air, and the stage was set for seduction.  The wine flowed, little bites were shared, and with effusive gushing remarked upon with favor.  When a cake arrived with sparklers twinkling brightly it seemed only natural to partake in it.  Our Romeo, thinking that their friends must have sent a cake to celebrate their meeting, immediately picked up his fork (they say muscles have memory) and began to feed his Juliet.  The perfect spell could only be broken by a voice from a neighboring table, uttering in astonishment, “Oh, look it’s their anniversary too!” 

It seems they were eating someone else’s anniversary cake.  Oh, the embarrassment.  What to do?  What to do?  Rather than confess the error of their ways they decided “mum’s the word” and continued to eat the cake feigning innocence.  The waiters, knowing the error of their ways, but loathe to confess, ran to the kitchen in a frenzy to procure another cake.  Meanwhile, that same voice of a wife wondering where her cake was and why it was taking so long continued to comment on what a coincidence it was that two tables next to each other were celebrating their anniversary.  The winds of fate, at least for one evening, had conspired to transform our romantic divorcees into one more happily married couple…?

To be continued…

Susan B. James: Meet Rebecca Neely. Romance with a punch of suspe...

Susan B. James: Meet Rebecca Neely. Romance with a punch of suspe...: Thanks for being here, Rebecca. Please tell us a little about yourself. I wear many hats, including mother, freelance writer, storyteller....

Just Romantic Suspense: I LOVE GIVEAWAYS & SO WILL YOU!

Just Romantic Suspense: I LOVE GIVEAWAYS & SO WILL YOU!: With: Belle Ami Giveaway Alert! A theme that inspires my writing of romantic suspense is:  How well do you really know the one you ...

SEX, AND WHY NOT WRITE ABOUT IT?

The first book in my romantic/erotic/thriller series entitled The One is published. Part of me wants to woohoo with joy. For the heck of it, I looked up the word ‘woohoo’, and discovered that it is also a euphemism for sexual intercourse. Who knew? Considering that my book has plenty of steamy, romantic intercourse in it, oh, and sex too, I guess woohooing is the perfect reaction to completing the first in this series.

What I discovered by exploring and writing about the behind closed doors side of people’s lives is that it is a hell of a lot of fun to write, and even more fun to read. How many times have you read a book, and just when the hero and heroine are about to finally get some serious physical interaction in you find that all you get is an innuendo of what is to come, and then…the chapter ends? You’re left on edge, wondering, what happened when the lights went out, and why you were left feeling gypped and unsatisfied. For instance when Scarlett woke up with that titillating grin and stretched languidly with pleasure as she recalled the night before when Rhett swept her up in his arms and carried her upstairs to bed. Wouldn’t you have loved to be a fly on the wall during that earth shattering consummation of passion? I’m pretty sure Mitchell’s heroine wasn’t having a “fiddle dee dee!” moment with the macho Rhett Butler.

Real life doesn’t stop, why should a novel? If sex is written well it can only enhance the story and reveal nuances of the characters and their lives that otherwise would be missing. The film and television industries have figured it out, and as for the visual arts, painters have been obsessed for centuries with the object of desire and fulfillment.  So, what’s different about the written word? If sex is an integral part of the narrative then by all means let the reader experience it.

The negation of that argument is, yes, the world has changed and the reading public is far more adventurous than in the past, but aren’t you degrading the art of literature, and more importantly can one dare to even call it literature? The answer is, of course one can? If there is an exciting plot, a worthy theme, compelling characters, stylized writing, and a clear voice, there should be no deterrent to enjoyment.  After all, a good read is a good read.

How you may ask did I come to write in this genre? First, after hearing all of the fuss about Fifty Shades of Grey I was intrigued just like everyone else. I read the first two in the trilogy, and even though I pooh-poohed the quality of the writing, I found I couldn’t put it down. Fifty Shades led to my reading a few others in the genre. Some were better than others just like in any genre. I did find that the novels I read that were romantic and erotic also tended to be a quick read, absorbing, and oft time’s funny. When an idea came to me for a new novel that had a subplot of crime and murder, I thought why not. Why not enhance the erotic, obsessive angle of the story. After all, so much of the story I had in mind was about passion gone wrong. Why wouldn’t that passion be realized within the pages of the book? Without the development of the sexual relationship between the main characters the driving force of passion would be missing and the story would never ring true.  It seemed a worthy challenge, and one that deserved to be attempted. What I didn’t know is how difficult it is to make sex scenes feel fresh and new. That, however, will need to be addressed in a future blog, perhaps entitled ‘Reinventing Sex’.

The fact is, even with my own convincing argument fresh on the paper before me, I still find it necessary to use a penname. Why you may ask? Are you ashamed? No not ashamed, but cautious. I have an award winning novel that I wouldn’t want to tarnish in any way. He who reads one genre doesn’t necessarily read another genre. Why muddy the waters. Then there is the question whether family and friends might find themselves in an uncomfortable situation because of my public persona. Children, grandchildren, wow this really could get ugly. It all added up to my decision to free myself from the fetters of convention and take on a second persona, and so Belle Ami was born. After all who wouldn’t want to be Belle Ami?