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Interview with Jocelyn Paige Kelly of Realizing Your Creative Life

Recently I had the pleasure of being interviewed by Jocelyn Paige Kelley: creativity coach, hypnotherapist, and fellow writer.

A snippet:

How does sexuality, gender and music influence the themes within your work?
With the sex scenes, I wanted artistic or spiritual intimacy to happen before anything physical, especially in the relationship Danae has with Alex, because he’s the one who really starts her down the road of music. There is a certain vulnerability in practicing magick with someone else, or opening up your singing voice for the first time, it’s letting your guard down and trusting them. I used all this as a form of foreplay.

As far as gender though, there is romance, but it’s secondary to the adventure. There are other appetites Danae has besides sex and love that need to be satisfied – writing better songs, traveling to different cities, finding her family, learning different forms of magick, the whole question of Do You Dare More which won’t be answered if she decides to stay in her current situation. Pam, Alex, Devon, and Dahlia are all love interests, but each one reveals a different piece of her identity that she would have not have found on her own. All friends do this to some degree, but romance is an electrified form of friendship where you’re really going to find shit out. I wanted these relationships to have a lot of substance beneath them so there’s more going on than sex sex sexxay sex – they’re part of her quest, but not the quest itself.

The practice of magick in genre fiction, wielding the powers of death metal to annihilate writer’s block, and more, here.

FIRST TIME ONLINE! “Infectious” now available from NITEBLADE!

Niteblade March 2013

Bordello? Or hospital? A visitor to Kue’s dingy boudoir may not be asking for mere fantasy play when he wants to be healed – especially not when the rest of the girls break out in gruesome, mind-eating diseases.
Here, try a sample…

* * *

“So, how long have you been working here, Kue?” It was an occasional power play, using my name when I was not allowed to know theirs. Grabbing for any little bit of control they could in this little bit of costly time, away from the electric eyes.

I lowered my lids. It made me look submissive and yielding, and it spared me any pretense of serious conversation with a boor. “Ah. Jando should have given you that information at the front, if that was important to you.”

“It is and it isn’t. But either way, I’ve paid.” There was a unmistakable First District undertone to his voice. The least of us is always more than the best of you. “Surely your talents can handle the task?”

I didn’t answer him. Instead, I took his face in my hands, laid his head in my lap. I ran my fingers across his forehead and wondered if it would go any farther than this, if he really did take me for some kind of vibal practitioner and this would be one of the rare transactions where I could sort of relax. But the tulip was painted on the wall, repeated in ink inside my left wrist. The symbol that announced to all: this one cannot refuse you.

You can choose the tulip, or the factories, they’d said, that day, as they’d pulled me from my mother’s callused hands. The steel gray of their silks were perfectly tailored business suits melted down into the robes of state, I was sure. And few are offered the tulip. I looked back into her grieving face, cadaverous, worn down from years of smoke and soldering. I knew the city would extract its piece of me, as it did from every unfortunate born into one of the Last Districts, one way or another. Through the tulip, at least some of the nights would be mine.

Thumbs soft over his eyelids, hands spread like little fans over his cheeks. Up the hairline and I brushed against something beneath the left temple. A bump. He took my hand before I could touch it again.

He moved my hand down, down, below the sash, within the folds of his robe. I closed my eyes as he swelled beneath my fingers, and I gave myself one moment. One that was mine and mine alone, that I always allowed myself, before beginning work.

This was the moment where I didn’t know yet if he was clean. He may not have washed beforehand. Some didn’t, coming in with months of grime accumulated in their underclothes, enjoying the disgust in our eyes, our attempts to camouflage repulsion with forced sensuality. I didn’t know if he would be gentle, or if he’d grab me my the hair, dig his nails into the tender skin of my belly, my breasts, my throat. I didn’t know if this would be over in the next ten minutes, or if two more hours of my life were about to turn black, disappear into the back of my mind where all the other lost hours were hiding. This was the one moment I needed to steel myself, for the all the ones that were about to happen next.

I took a deep breath. Then I pulled his sash open.

* * *

Formerly only available in print from Not One Of Us, you can now read it all in the March 2013 issue of Niteblade!

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