Monday, April 8, 2013

Meet Ninette Swann

Hey guys! I know it's been forever since I've blogged, but I had to. I totally had to! See this lovely lady below? She's a relatively new author with a whole lotta talent. I'm kinda nuts about her so please welcome her to the blog.


Ninette Swann is a journalist turned novelist who writes her books from sunny Florida in between parenting, freelancing and editing. She writes all genre of romance, including contemporary, thriller, suspense, and dystopian. Her books include Hit and Stay, Body Combat, Finding Home, Just the Messenger and Direct Combat.

Twitter:, @ninetteswann
When Graciela Merced fumbles a package she’s delivering for her mysterious and sexy boss, Gene Hardy, she finds out he’s more than just a wealthy photographer. Prepared to lose her job, she confronts him…and ends up embroiled in the tricky takedown of a powerful drug cartel pushing cocaine into the heart of New York City.
Marco Valencia is an undercover agent, working against time—and against Gene Hardy—to crack Angel’s Drug Cartel before the story makes it to the press. When Hardy’s luscious Venezuelan messenger literally falls at his feet, he has no idea just how well he’ll get to know the beauty or how difficult it will be to drop her.
Hardened by experience, Gene Hardy takes his undercover work seriously, and charges a hefty price. When Grace makes a careless mistake and hurls him back into the visage of Marco Valencia, he must either fire her, or involve her in a twisted plot that could kill them all.
As the two men battle over their feelings for Graciela—and their attraction to each other—one thing becomes perfectly clear.

Grace is much more than just the messenger.


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Wednesday, May 23, 2012

Meet Ninette Swann!

Hey all! Ninette Swann is a friend of mine who's been in the writing industry for years. Please welcome her as she releases her very first romantic suspense novel! Hit and Stay will be available today at Resplendence.

How to Write a Book When You’re “Too Busy”

I’m a stay-at-home / work-at-home mom and one of the largest battles we face is that we don’t do anything. Our lives consist of trash TV, raising a few super-attached, maladjusted brats, and maybe cooking dinner. If it doesn’t interfere with our bon-bon eating, of course.

You can imagine how upset I was to find that writers face the same nonsense. If you write for a living, apparently you don’t do anything.

Writing is hard. It takes dedication, belief in  yourself, some kind of skill with the English language, and most of all, time. It takes a lot of time.

So, when people say they’d love to write a book, but they’re too busy, I totally get it. If you don’t make time for it, and make time for it consistently, it will never get done. Here are a few ways I’ve found to do it.

1) Put it on your to-do list (mental or otherwise)

I have a real to-do list. On it I place sixteen things I’d like to do each day. It’s a rolling list, so the things that don’t get done stay there until they are done. If “write chapter six” has been on my to-do list for three days, I know it’s time to write that thing or I’ll lose interest in my own project.

One of the biggest problems with writing for the “working” person (or the SAHM, in my case) is that it sounds like fun. It’s a reward. A gift. I can write if I clean all my bathrooms. I can write when I finally finish all my caseloads at work. I can write if. I can write when.

Forget it.

Write now. Make it part of your work, part of your day. You’re not goofing off, you’re working hard on something that will reward you.

2) Get used to interruptions.

I write in six-word intervals. With three-year-old twins, not a sentence goes by before I’m being begged for a snack, or a tissue, or to play a game.

When you write sentence by sentence, with minutes or hours in between, it’s not going to be your best stuff. You’ll have to go back and edit. You’ll find words that don’t belong and thoughts that are jumbled. But if you don’t plod on anyway, if you wait for the perfect six-hour window to write, you never will. Those six hours will never come. You’ve got to seize the moment. Every moment.

3) Forsake immediate goals for overall achievements

So many writers I know set word goals for themselves. I need to write 1,000 words this hour. I need to write 15,000 this week. But they’re only setting themselves up for disappointment. Remember, quality over quantity. If you don’t bust out a 1,500-word scene in the two-hour nap period (or your one-hour lunch break) don’t sweat it. The page will be there waiting for you. It’s more important to get down what you can when you can. And come back to it. You must always come back to it. If you consistently let yourself down by writing slower than you think you should, you’ll be discouraged and lose faith in the work.

Research is important. Tone is important. Sentences and word choice are important. These things take time. If you write 200 words one day, that’s great. That’s what you should be looking at. Those paragraphs get you closer to your overall goal, which is writing a completed work. Don’t lose the forest for the trees.

4) Get up in the morning.

You’ll write better if you do.  I always tell myself, I’ll write a chapter during nap, or I’ll write that scene after the girls are in bed for the night, but the truth is, by nap and bed time, I’m burned out. I’m spent. I can sometimes force myself to write, sure. But it’s not fun. And it’s not as good as it would be were I fresh.
You don’t have to write in the morning. If you’re not a morning person and you actually do better at night, use the extra time to get other stuff done so that it’s not over your head when you finally sit down at the computer. Take a shower, do the dishes, go for a walk, whatever.

Just get up early enough to start your day with some you time. It will center and ground you.

5) Leave your house.

For the particular among us, sometimes there are just too many things to be done around the home to allow for proper concentration. You can’t write because you are too busy tidying or cleaning, or Teen Mom is on your television set. Wouldn’t your time be better spent if you called your mom real quick?

That’s when it’s time to pack up and go out. Go to a coffee shop where you don’t know anyone. Go to a friend’s house who is also writing. You can feed off each other.

The important thing is to get yourself alone with your computer so that you can’t write for a few moments and then check your email, write for a few moments and then IM your sister. You can’t get up to dust that ceiling fan that you always forget about. You have nothing to do but write. There is nothing but you, the coffee and the blank page.

Long story short, nobody is too busy to write. If you want to write, you can find a way. So stop making excuses and get started. You’ll find the words flowing more quickly than you would have imagined possible.

**Ninette Swann is a romantic suspense writer whose debut novel, Hit and Stay, is out now by Resplendence Publishing. She writes in between her gigs as a freelance journalist, editor and mommy blogger—and while wrangling her two adorably sweet angels…or insufferable hellions, depending on the day. You can visit her at

Thanks for joining me today, Ninette!

Thursday, March 15, 2012

I have Brass Balls

I do! For realz. My book Brass Balls released yesterday at I loved this book above all other Balls. I think the view is popular considering that it went up on All Romance eBooks yesterday, and I already have a silver best selling star! I'm number two in the category of Gay Romance, number two in the category of Contemporary Romance, and number one in Erotic Romance.

I guess you could say I'm floating. :) So here's my bid for promotion.

BRASS BALLS, by @MiaWatts

PRICE: $3.99
ISBN: 978-1-60735-480-2
CATEGORY: Contemporary Erotic Romance, Male/Male, Handcuffs and Lace.
LENGTH: Novella


Handcuffs and Lace Series

Kissing a fellow police officer might not have been the smartest drunken move Oak Takala has made in recent years. Okay, and it might have complicated the issue that the officer in question is his father’s former partner, Wyatt Peterman. Aaaaaand there’s the fact that Peterman is the newly appointed precinct captain.

So what the fuck? Why not go balls to the wall and make a play no one will forget?


“Fuck, the new captain is here,” Detective Sommerset declared, choking on his beer. It sloshed as he whipped it away from his mouth and slammed it on the table a little too hard.

Oak Takala snorted. He mentally struck the verbal comma and “is here”. His body was already on board with the idea of fucking the new captain. He glanced over his shoulder as the bar erupted with cheers.

“And the old one,” a familiar voice said near Oak.

A heavy hand fell on Oak’s shoulder. He turned around and grabbed his old man in a half hug. They pounded each other’s backs in the time old tradition of rough men showing rough affection in public.

“Hey, dad. Thought you’d ring in the new regime with the guys?” Oak asked.

Former Captain of Police, now voice of the local tribe, John Takala grinned broadly. “You know it. I’m just glad the powers-that-be took my recommendation seriously. Wyatt Peterman’s been an asset to the department since he partnered with me as a detective.”

“I’m just glad they chose another guy from our precinct instead of bringing in new blood who doesn’t know us. Means we’re doing something right,” Oak added.

His father squeezed his shoulder. “Means I’m doing something right that they took my recommendation.”

“So what’s your new position like, Cap—Geez, what the hell do I call you now? Mister Takala?” Sommerset wondered.

“Yep, that’s all I am now. A civie. The only captain Takala will be my son when Peterman resigns.”

“No pressure,” Oak noted.

“He’s gotta be as good as his old man, first.” The new voice sent a hot crawl down Oak’s spine.

“Captain Peterman, speak of the devil,” Oak’s dad did the back-clapping thing with his former partner.

They laughed. John lifted Oak’s beer as though it was his own and shouted a toast to the bar filled with off-duty cops. They hoisted their mugs and guzzled amber fluid in deep draining pulls amidst joyful shouts.

Oak tried not to look at the captain out of the corner of his eye, but the man had so much charisma that it grabbed hold of Oak’s attention with invisible fists. Determined not to notice, Oak rescued his beer and drained the contents.

“Whoa! Slow down there, partner. You’re supposed to be my designated driver,” Sommerset complained. “I’ve had way too many to take the wheel, and you just downed a second pint.”

Oak stared into the thread foam at the base of his mug. “I think it’s my first.”

“No way. Chuckie bought you a second round just before Peterman got here.”

“Captain Peterman,” both John and Wyatt said at the same time.

“Aw, c’mon, we’re off the clock,” Sommerset teased.

“Not when it comes to seniority,” John corrected.

“Fine, fine, but he’s had two beers.” Sommerset faced Oak. “You weren’t gonna drink Chuckie’s.”

“I forgot.” He had forgotten. Wyatt Peterman, Captain Wyatt Peterman, could make him forget his fucking name if he wanted to. It took a look, a smile, a hit to the chest of the man’s deep laugh and deeper dimples, to make Oak go completely tongue-tied.

Another beer appeared in front of him. He stared at it.

“Don’t even think about it, man.” Sommerset was already claiming the frothy mug.

Oak wrapped his hand around it to stop him. Sommerset’s smile disappeared. “Seriously. You can’t drive as it is. Neither can I.”

“I know. We’ll walk,” Oak decided.

“I’ll drive you,” Captain Peterman said.

“He’s my kid. I’ll take them both home,” John protested.

Peterman shouldered in to the bar table they stood around. “You and I both know that even off the clock, I can’t throw back beers with the guys. I can’t be one of them anymore.”

Oak could hear the smile in Peterman’s voice, and he resisted the urge to look, choosing to take a long drink of his draft.

“The three of you will have to drink my beers for me, and I’ll drive you all home,” the captain finished.

Four fresh mugs appeared on the table. Oak was shocked to see the beer he’d been holding was now empty. He reached for his fourth mug. There were perks to being the former captain’s kid and the new captain’s friend.


There was also a shit-ton of disadvantages. Especially when you lusted after your dad’s former partner. It had been bad enough wanting Peterman when he came over to the house for dinner, during Oak’s teen years and not being able to do anything about it.

Then there was growing up and joining the force. More than just his dad’s partner, he became inter-office taboo. But no, why stop there? Why not promote the object of his desires right into the most unobtainable position on the planet—oh, say, captain—and put him in the same office day in and day out where Oak couldn’t help but see him. And it wasn’t as if a captain ever left the office. No, he was there overseeing. It fucking increased the hours in a day Oak had to pretend the man didn’t turn every one of his hormones into raging drones drawn to the cliff of self-destruction.

Kill him now. Just kill him now. God, his life sucked. Maybe he should put in for a transfer.

“Take it easy, kid. I think you’ve already reached your limit,” Peterman told Oak.

Peterman’s upper arm brushed Oak’s shoulder. Oak bit back a groan behind the rim of his mug. A warm hand closed over his and pushed the mug to the tabletop. He made the mistake of looking up into Wyatt’s dark blue eyes. Since when had the captain grown fuzzy eyes and a halo around his head? He reached a hand up to touch the halo and patted Peterman’s head instead.

“Slow down. There isn’t a race to drain the tap,” Peterman murmured only loud enough for him.

Ah, but Peterman didn’t realize that there was a race for drowning his libido before it took a turn he couldn’t come back from. “I know what I’m doing,” Oak slurred.

“Sure, ya do.”

He swung his head around. The room took a minute to settle. “Hey. Where’d dad go?”

“He’s in the john,” Sommerset told him. He giggled madly. “John’s in the john. God, that’s funny shit right there.” He laughed harder. “Shit! Ha! Funny shit in the john where John is. I’m a fucking comedian.”

“Right, it’s time to go, boys.”

“Not done, boss,” Oak argued.

“You’re not only done, you’re roasted and served up in beer sauce.”

Oak smirked. “Maybe you’ve had too much to drink too.”

“Not a sip.” Peterman grabbed the upper arms of both men. “Let’s go before you find a way to call in sick tomorrow.”

“I have days saved up,” Oak told him.

“So you’re going to call in and leave your partner without a wingman because you drank like a fish one night? You aren’t who I thought you were,” Peterman countered.

“Yeah.” Bright words of wisdom from Sommerset.

“What—I mean, who—did you think I was?”

Peterman spared him a look as he manhandled them through the crowd and into the cooler night air of the parking lot. “An officer.”

“Pfft. That’s a given captain. I have a badge and everything. It’s super shiny.”

“Mine is too,” Sommerset chimed in.

“Fantastic. Neither of you can hold your liquor, and now I’m going to have two of the three stooges in my backseat.”

“How ’bout you join me in the back seat, hm?” Oak wasn’t positive, but he had the sinking suspicion that he’d regret that offer tomorrow. He ran the words over in his inebriated mind. Nope, they sounded good. Really, really good. Think of all the things they could do in the backseat of Peterman’s car.

“Who’d drive you home if we were all in the backseat?”

“You missed the point completely,” Oak complained.

“No, I don’t think I did.”

He shoved Sommerset into the backseat, policeman style with his hand on his head to keep Sommerset from bumping it on the way in. Sommerset sprawled, laughing as the door closed behind him. He maneuvered Oak to the other side.

“What? You get me drunk, and I don’t even get a goodnight kiss?” Oak asked feeling a little sloppy. The captain wasn’t standing still, was he? It was hard to tell. He glared at Oak for several seconds, letting Oak’s request sink into his own head. Oak slapped a hand over his mouth. Oh shit, he knew that one would haunt him later. That’s why he started laughing. Of course, that was why he was laughing and not because he’d just come out of the closet to his captain in a big way.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Get in.”

Wednesday, January 11, 2012

Book Wenches

Hey y'all,

I'm being featured over at BookWenches blog today. Come check it out, and get an idea of upcoming projects and cover art. So pretty!

Today is also a release day for me. I released a book in the EC for Men category, as Katie Blu, over at Ellora's Cave. Here're my deets.



Billy Galan thinks his boss Tanya Orly is smoking hot. She’s got legs that go on forever, breasts begging to be touched and crimson-red lips that can make any man her slave. So when Tanya crooks her finger in his direction one day, he’s not about to turn her down for what becomes her last hurrah before her wedding to another man.

It’s all sex, all day, and there isn’t anything Tanya won’t do.


Billy Galan collected the papers and clips his assistant had just dropped all over the floor. Again. Poor kid was something of a mess. He shook his head while she continued to babble apologies. Thinly carpeted concrete bit into his kneecap through tailored slacks.
He reached for a paper that had fallen toward the aisle when his gaze snagged on an approaching pair of legs. Long, slim and toned, he could tell they were smooth and silky by the muted gleam of polished skin. She probably took long moisturizing baths with gentle cream rubdowns. Dear God, it made his cock twitch.
Billy’s gaze traveled down, not missing an inch of high-arched, delicate foot wrapped in candy-apple-red leather. A thin strap across her instep served no other purpose than to tease the flesh as it skimmed across, kissing her translucent skin and mocking him by doing so. Three inches lifted her heel, forcing her ankle to flex and delineating every rise and dip of the small bones and pushing her lean calf into a tight swell.
He’d know those long legs anywhere. He grinned as he sat back on his heels and blindly handed the wayward paper to his waiting assistant.
The red shoes pivoted and long fluid strides brought the sensual stems to Billy. He barely kept from cupping one slim ankle and dragging his palm up her calf.
“Morning, boss,” Billy drawled.
His gaze rose slowly, taking in the full effect of short, straight skirt at mid-thigh. She stood with her legs slightly parted, drawing the black fabric tightly against her firm, round thighs and making him think about the folds hidden in the shadow between them, just out of sight.
Would it be too much to hope for commando? Maybe a lacy thong he could hook his finger on, and draw aside for a leisurely lick. He nearly groaned.
Tanya squatted expertly, keeping her lovely knees together and letting her tight black skirt define the sweet curve of her ass. “Enjoying the view from down here?”
It was difficult, but he managed to drag his eyes away from her open neckline and exposed cleavage to ruby-colored lips and sexy bedroom eyes of soft green. She lifted one artful arch.

Friday, January 6, 2012

Bacon Porn

I was on the phone yesterday with Bronwyn Green (a common denominator in many blogs across the internet lately. This woman starts stuff, I'm telling you.). I was making lunch and chatting. Hey, I can multitask with the best of them, damnit.

Anyway, if you'll remember from several days ago, I'm doing my darnedest to cut carbs from my diet. My doctor gives me the green light on all fats (particularly non-animal, but animal is okay too) and proteins. Well, I love bacon. I love onions and I love portobellos. What could be better than combining them for one fab lunch?

I had Bron drooling on the other end of the phone. It was a thing of beauty. The power, not the drooling. Still, she asked me to post pics today. I did, but the lighting is wonky and some of the shots aren't crisp... LIKE MY BACON WAS. It's worth putting up though.

Here's the thing, I rarely repeat recipes without altering stuff. So while this was the second time I've made this, I added new flavors to it based on my mood. I'll put a list of yummy ones at the bottom and you can choose your own gastronomical adventure.

You can double this recipe and keep the rest in your fridge for a quick lunch later in the week, or a FANTASTIC potato topper--if you're a carb kid (Ahem, Amber)


1/2 Large Sweet/Vidalia onion
1/2 pkg smoked bacon, (I prefer apple wood smoked)
2 Large portobellos
Shredded cheese, about 1/2 a cup
salt and pepper to taste.

Possible herb adds, individual or in any combination.
Cumin (used this in these pictures)
Add tomato dice for some zest
squeeze of lemon

Pardon the dark pan. It's very very old.
Preheat oven or toaster oven to 350
1. Chop bacon into cubes and throw in a medium high heat skillet.

2. Dice onion and throw into the pan with warmed bacon. If you're going to add an herb or other flavoring, do so now and mix well. Cook thoroughly until the bacon and onion has naturally caramelized. I prefer crunchy bacon and brown-tinged onions. Salt and pepper lightly (remember the bacon is salty and you may not want to add any salt at all.)
3. Prepare your portos. Clean them with a moist towel to get off the dirt, don't wash under water. If there are stems, take them off and chop them up. Add them to the mixture in the skillet for awesome flavor and texture.

4. Take the stuffing off the heat. Load the porto caps with your combination with a slotted spoon, or drain lightly on a towel to remove some but not all of the grease. As full or stingy as you prefer.

5. Divide the cheese and put evenly over both caps. You can press it down if it threatens to spill off.

6. Put in oven/toaster oven. If you like your cheese crispy like I do, it takes about 20-30 minutes. If you like the cheese less crispy and more bubbly, cook the porto caps without the cheese for about 20 min, pull them out and load the cheese. Pop them back in for another five minutes to melt the cheese adequately.

7. Eat. Yum.

Thursday, January 5, 2012


Blogging over at today. It's all about stuff. Real stuff, even. :) And this:

Tuesday, January 3, 2012

Being an Ass

I feel the need to poll the world.

I have had a few of my "harder" heroes get labeled as asses. Mostly because there was one scene or another where the hero is trying very hard to make sense of his emotions. He gets frustrated and lets his temper fly. Usually during sex.

Here's the why.

It's a moment of passion where you are completely vulnerable and your partner could devastate you. If you're in love with the person and afraid to admit it, you might employ the opposite emotion: anger. It's targeted at yourself (or the hero's self) and he needs reassurance even if it comes off as a gruff attack.

I pride myself on creating realistic characters. Each character has his or her own persona unique to their circumstances, and they respond to stimulus the way they uniquely would do that. They aren't perfect. They're human. They've had to make tough decisions, or they are a touch arrogant. These are traits that make them "real". And real is what the author strives for.

So when there's a hero in a story who is mostly heroic and ends the story heroically, is it so hard to believe that their humanity has slipped along the way at critical moments when their emotions or doubts get the best of them? Isn't it these traits which allow us to identify with them, get angry at them, and ultimately love them more for becoming a better person at the end?

I guess I don't get it. Do you (this is that polling part) want a perfect hero, or a flawed man who has an emotional journey just as relevant as the heroine's journey? Do you want a one-sided relationship test, always knowing that ONE of the two-some are completely well-adjusted, or do you want to show the reader that both parties struggle only to come together in the end?

I don't know if you know this, but I learned a long time ago, that no matter how perfect you are together, you have to work at it to make a relationship happen. Two people from two different backgrounds are going to approach the same question from a different perspective, even if they reach the same answer.

So why is it so hard for people to say, "Wow, this hero blames himself for so much that isn't really his fault. He's being a dick right now, but he'll pull through"? and then actively believe that the author will indeed make it all work out in the end?

I just don't get it. Good thing I don't really care if people think my hero is a dick as long as he proves himself by the Happily Ever After closing. I'd even go out on a limb to say that if your pair isn't having bitch/dick moments, they aren't being truthful to themselves or the readers. No one's perfect, folks. I refuse to whitewash a story to make them that way.

The end.