Okay, so anyone who has been following this blog for a while has probably heard about this novel ad nauseum but part of the reason why it took me so long to release it was because I wasn't sure how to chop it up. That sounds so harsh, doesn't it? The problem is I have been working on this novel for over three years. As it stands at the moment, it is over 200,000 words or well over 800 paperback pages. I am not Stephen King and have no wish to release something that daunting.
So, I decided to make
DeGeneration, the series, into six parts. Each part will be between 55k and 60k long therefore novel length and each part will be sold at a decent price. As this IS a serialized novel, you can start when ever you want to but I would suggest you start at the beginning and read each part as it is released. I planned on releasing them every other month or thereabouts as it isn't a fortune what I am charging ($3.99 - $4.99) given the subject matter and the sex and the erotic aspects, but it isn't money I expect people to hand over to me every month.
If I thought it made sense, I would have released it in two parts as I planned to do but just going through the material, it is too much
everything including psychologically intense for anyone to handle that much angst in a setting. It isn't, to me, so much about price gouging (let's face it: this series isn't for everyone and I don't consider it "commercial" in the least as it is about black American woman and French man in an intense, obsessive relationship where no taboo is left undisclosed).
It has more to do with this long epic novel is my baby and it holds a special place in my heart. It doesn't involve any sort of paranormal or urban fantasy aspects but those fans of mine, don't fret.
The Supernaturals and
The Hart Family Saga aren't going anywhere but my writing will expand into other genres.
I will address that in another blog post but for the time being, in celebration of the premiere of
Love Voodoo, I would like to share the premise and an excerpt from the novel. Enjoy and have a wonderful weekend. :-)
The Wedding Invitation…
Brigitte Rousseau receives a phone call from her best
friend, Pilar Bourquin, to attend her exclusive wedding in Paris. Although she
is more than happy to oblige, attending Pilar’s wedding means running into the
love of her life and ex-flame, Lucien Bourquin, Pilar’s brother.
Memories…
Brigitte finds herself trapped at the same function as
Lucien where passion ignites and old wounds reopened. She finds herself pulled
between their present situation and the past while their togetherness sparks an
all new sexual exploration between them neither can stop nor control.
The Past Revisited…
Brigitte’s togetherness with Lucien yet again begins her
journey of the way they were, how they became a couple and the ties that
continue to bind and unbind them to one another. When love is pain and truth is
beauty, where does the deception stop and real life begin?
Excerpt
It seemed like yesterday I'd
stepped off a cold, rainy street in the 5th Arrondissement in Paris
into a trendy restaurant-bar I was due to meet Pilar. As usual, my American sensibilities
had manipulated me to turn up on time while Pilar was no where to be found. I
immediately ordered an expensive red wine from the Burgundy region on the menu
and took a seat at a table meant for four. She'd been elusive but mentioned she
would be bringing her boyfriend, Daniel, whom I had yet to meet though they had
been in a relationship for the past six months, and another male friend I would
surely get along with so all would be happy for the night.
I was always a bit dubious
concerning Pilar's choice of men as they were usually third-world,
first-generation French citizens or tortured, Euro-trash artists of
questionable credentials and backgrounds.
Her great “loves” during my one
year of French language immersion at university in Lyon had been Claude, a
half-French, half-Cameroonian with perfect, upper-class French and a penchant
for kinky sex and kleptomania; Erik, a half-German, half-Dutch painter who saw
himself as the next Van Gogh and proceeded to hack off one of his ears during a
bad acid trip; and Luca, an Italian “count” from a titled family in Milan with
breath-taking good looks and absolutely no money. She'd dumped him as soon as
she realized he expected her to marry him to finance a lifestyle of debauchery
and pleasure in France.
Pilar waltzed in suddenly, all
French confidence and nonchalance of the bourgeoisie but I loved her anyway;
she was my best friend and “second” sister as my full-blooded American one
resided with her husband in the United States’ capital city of Washington,
District of Columbia. Her dark auburn-brown hair fell just below her shoulders
and her crystal blue eyes shined brightly with love untold. Her newest lover,
Daniel, was quite the catch indeed and certainly didn't seem like a snob,
psycho or gold-digger.
He was smartly dressed in the
cool, Parisian way that only a city native could pull off with such authentic
and flawless fashion. The product of an Alsatian father from Dingsheim and
French Caribbean mother from the island of Martinique, his light bronze complexion
complimented wavy dark brown hair, the most beautiful golden hazel eyes I had
ever seen, a crooked Roman nose and sensual full lips.
Pilar, no slouch at 5’6”, had
her seductively slim body clothed in a sensible yet irresistibly chic outfit of
indigo skinny jeans and a body-conscious scarlet cashmere sweater paired with
three-inch stiletto ankle booties. She acted as the perfect foil for Daniel who
was at least 6’4” with an athletic yet lean build.
As striking as alabaster-skinned
Pilar and her bronzed god of a boyfriend were, my heart stopped beating when I
saw the companion accompanying them. This tall glass of water was only an inch
or two shorter than Daniel, and equally athletically built but had perfect skin
with signs of only a hint of a fading summer tan, aquamarine eyes, perfectly
styled light brown hair and was also smartly dressed but certainly not a
native Parisian.
There was an air of almost bored
detachment which seemed to seep from the very core of his being; he was much
too busy appraising the various female merchandise on display—he seemed the type to flee if he
felt nothing appetizing existed on his own personal sexual menu.
The music in the cafe—a catchy dance single by David
Guetta suddenly changed to a soothing, mid-tempo yet sexually-charged R&B
number by M. Pokora; definitely a needed transition expressing my conflicted
feelings and sudden interest in this mystery man.
I waved toward the three of them
in a cool yet vague way. Pilar waved, murmured something to Daniel and his friend
before she proceeded to stride over with a panther's prance. The two men walked
over to the bar and began to study the selection of alcohol the establishment
served.
“Chérie, how are you? Did
you find our little shack okay?” she exclaimed in a festive voice before
leaning in to give me the traditional cheek-to-cheek, air-kiss greeting, our
cheeks touching lightly yet firmly.
“Well, I would hardly call this
place a shack. It is way above my pay grade at the moment. I am barely getting
any work so I thank you for inviting me out at all.”
Pilar raised expertly shaped
eyebrows. “I told you it would be a struggle. You are trying to sell your wares
but the job market has been shit for les français for years; how
do you think you would make out as une étrangère?”
“Yes, I know,” I responded in a
rueful tone, “but I have a new idea to explore and I think I will be able to
solve my money problems but I need to contact that elusive brother of yours.
He's still in publishing, isn't he?”
She gave me an ironic smile, a
twinkle in her blue eyes. “You do know what kind of publishing house
Mélange Trois is, don't you? In case you're mistaken and think it is in some
form a relation to ménage à trois, may I inform you that they publish
horrible, unreadable, coffee-table, bourgeoisie merde, chérie.
How could he possibly help you?”
“Because,” I paused and took a
healthy sip from my wine for courage, “I have a piece of horrible, unreadable,
bourgeoisie, coffee-table merde he might just be interested in and I
have to at least meet him and discuss the project with him so I know whether I
have been wasting my time.”
