So, I…haven’t published in quite a while, huh?

Yeah. Sorry about that.

You know how it is. Work grabs you by the happy bits, you get caught up in a new story (which is AWESOME, BTW), the holidays come, you get a case of Killer Martian Death Flu, and before you know it, it’s nearly Goddamn 2017 and you haven’t updated your blog in nearly a month.

So, the news.

I am working on a new story, tentatively titled “Island of Desire.” The story was originally conceived of as a downed WWII fighter pilot finding and (ahem) befriending a castaway woman.

Plots change.

Right now the story takes place in the present day,  with a brother-sister team moving to the tropics for reasons too complicated to explain, and falling in love with the islands, their hosts, and, eventually, each other.

But I only told you that story so I could tell you about this one.

Snow Maid.jpg

Recently, one of the free erotica sites held a winter holidays contest. I submitted “The Snow Maid,” one of my first published stories.


In keeping with my pledge to tell you about my stories, let me tell you about the kernel for this one. It was originally inspired by a truly awful bit of Antarctic exploration. The Scott expedition of 1912 resulted in the deaths of the entire polar party, because Robert Falcon Scott stupidly decided to add, at the last minute, Captain Warren Oates, as a member of the team. Which meant that the five (rather than four) members of the team were trying to survive, in the worst climate on the planet, on only eighty percent of the calories as originally planned.

On their way back from the South Pole (having been beaten by Roald Amundsen, who was vastly better prepared), Captain Oates developed severe frostbite in his feet and legs. Starving and diseased, he walked out of the tent one morning, into a howling blizzard. He was never seen again. His last words were “I am just going outside for a time, and I might be some time.”

I read that story, and thought, “What if?”

What if we transferred the setting to somewhere more accessible (in this case, Russia)? And made the protagonist an American?

What if we brought in an immortal nature spirit named Polina, also known as the Snow Maid. Or Mother Snegurochka?

What if they fell in love?

I love this story, and I hope you do, too.


About Me


Not Me

So, it has come to my attention that I have posted multiple times on this humble little blog and actually not told you jack-squat about myself, except for my debilitating hatred of monkeys and my belief that I think I write pretty good erotica.

Where to begin?

Well, I was born and raised in Downstate Illinois. For those of you not familiar with Illinois, Downstate means anywhere which is not Chicago or its suburbs. This includes everything from fairly large towns like Springfield, Rockford, and Decatur to little piss-ant burgs like Dupo, Batchtown, and Paxton. (Seriously. FUCK Paxton. Also Buckley and Loda) My family was and is working class. My father is an independent electrician, my mother a housewife.

I’m not going to give a lot of details about my childhood. It wasn’t much different than millions of other working-class kids growing up in Middle America in the 1980s. We all watched MTV, wanted to be able to afford fashions we now laugh at hysterically, worked crappy, dead-end jobs to be able to afford gas for our crappy, rusty cars, and dreamed of getting the hell out of wherever it was we were. I was a nerdy kid. I discovered Tolkien when I was nine, Douglas Adams and Mercedes Lackey when I was thirteen, and lived for the St Louis Cardinals and the University of Illinois athletics teams.

(And if you think a girl can’t be a sports nut, well, fuck you, too. We can and are.)

I graduated from high school in 1990 and attended the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign. My degree was in Secondary Education, simply because it meant I got to read a lot rather than actually study, and I didn’t have to take any higher math courses, which are the devil.

After graduation, I looked around and asked, “Where’s my job?” Sadly, school districts weren’t just handing out teaching positions in 1994. After a summer back home, I moved back to Champaign and began the worst four years of my life.

Substitute teaching.

For those of you who have forgotten how you treated your substitute teachers when you were in school, let me say: I hate you. Subbing has the same high pay as a fry cook, but none of the dignity. By the end of that time, I was thisclose to committing homicide against some smart-ass seventh grader.

Luckily, a friend of mine from college saved me from a prison sentence by offering me an interview at a new start-up telecom company near Chicago. The company was growing, she said. It had vacation time and bonuses and a health plan. Come on up and move in with me!

So I burned the last of my savings and moved into an apartment reeking of Indian take-out in lovely unincorporated Hinsdale, Illinois in the summer of 1998.

The company we worked for went bankrupt inside of 5 months.

After a week of soul-searching, which involved a LOT of alcohol, we both went after new jobs. I scored a temp job with IBM and soon after, an entry-level position with WorldCom. My friend glommed onto a tiny little start-up telecom company (sound familiar?) in downtown Chicago. Three years later I cast caution to the wind and accepted a position there as well.

The tiny little start-up? Now a company that bills out SIX MILLION dollars per year. My friend? The CEO. Me? Well, not the CEO, but I’m not doing too badly. I have a car and a house and a dim-witted turtle, and enough free time that I can write smut and publish it on the internet, and write about how much I hate monkeys on my blog.

Seriously. FUCK monkeys. Have you ever looked into their eyes? Do it, and see the face of evil looking back at you.

So, that’s my story. At least one of them. There are others. but if you want the bare bones, see below:

Sports: Baseball. College football. College basketball (St Louis Cardinals, University of Illinois)

Age: 44

Sex: Not often enough (rim shot)

Orientation: Straight

Marital Status: Single

Politics: Progressive

Race: Caucasian

Religion: Atheist

Home: Suburban Chicago

Monkeys: Fuck you

“The Guardians of Heklos”


Abiron sat on the floor. “You want me to sire a child on my mother.”
“No, you want to sire a child on your mother. Do not forget that I am the Deity, Abiron. I know what you are thinking. Since the moment I told you of your lineage you knew what you would be asked to do. Your mind is a turmoil of fear and desire. But desire is winning.” A look of pity crossed her face. “Oh, child, I know that it is not easy. Nothing worth anything in this world is. But you will be happy. Very happy, if I am any judge.”

Happy weekend!

Over the next several weeks, I am going to be going over some of my earlier works, explaining what they are about, and what they mean to me. I am going to start out with the first book I ever published, “The Guardians of Heklos.”

To give the plot in thumb-nail format, our heroes, Ariana and Abiron, are a mother-son pair of priests who are the last scions of a line that reaches back generations. Their god, (the Deity) has decreed that their line must interbreed with each other, so that their faith (which is as much of their genetic makeup as dark hair and large breasts) will not pass away. This gives us a lovely mother/son taboo relationship, in which Abiron is a not-quite-unwilling participant, and which Ariana openly revels in. As the story goes on, it opens up, until we see the duo (along with some friends met along the way) fighting for the very existence of their faith and their kingdom.

On rereading this book, the first thing that strikes me is its virulent antipathy towards Christianity. This is not an accident. I have no liking for most organized religion, but I despise the sect I was brought up in. In my portrayal of the Christian priests in this book, I gave them the worst traits of the church of my youth. The intolerance, the bigotry, and the casual sexism.

The other thing that strikes me is the world-building. What began early in the story as a simple data dump allowed me to open the story wide, and what began as a short taboo and coming-of-age tale grew into something which was almost epic by the standards of most erotica. I especially enjoy the character of the Deity, who actually appears in the lives of our heroes, usually treating them with the sort of exasperated fondness saved for a not-terribly-bright puppy. I also love the character of Angela, a Christian nun who is NOT HAPPY about her situation, and does not hesitate to let anyone know it. The way she grew as the story moved forward made me smile.

The story owes its origins to many inspirations. Perceptive readers will see hints of Jacqueline Carey and David Eddings in its pages. The important thing for me was to see if I could write. And not just a ten-page short story, but something big. A tale with plot, character development, twists, turns, and a happy ending.

I submitted the first several chapters to Literotica as a serial. When the response was not what I wished for, I reached out to Laura Lovecraft, who told me about the publisher she worked with. This caused me to make the acquaintance of Jo O’Brien, who runs With her encouragement and support, I finished the story and published it online, where it sold like week-old garbage. Personally, I blame the original cover, which was terrible. At that time, I had very strong ideas what I wanted the cover to look like, and did not take into account the fact that Jo and her designer, Moira Nelligar, had much more experience than I did. Recently, after being broken up into four individual sections, it has been re-issued as an anthology, where it is the second-highest selling book in my catalog.

If you are interested in purchasing a copy, a link to the book is below:

The Guardians of Heklos at