Hey everyone! Zillah Anderson here. I’m new to the romance scene, though I’ve been reading and writing in the genre for a long time. On my own blog I tend to walk around like I’m Miss Snark, but in truth I’m a softy. The differences between men and women intrigue me and I love to toy with all the complications, fascinations, and relations that happen between them.
But for the moment, I’d like you to do me a favor (It won’t take long, I promise.) Think back to that celebrity crush that really made you start to become aware of that whirlwind of emotion that resides in every woman. It can be from when you were younger or ten minutes ago, but we all have at least one. Remember how he made you feel? It was like a gate unlocked and you were suddenly aware of emotions and sensual tendencies you didn’t even know you possessed! Fangirl crushes come and go, but there’s always one that makes your eyes widen, your feet stop dead in their tracks, and your cheeks blush because suddenly you’ve got all sorts of thoughts going on that you wouldn’t have dreamed of thinking days before! Sure, it’s a crush and very unlikely that anything will come of it, but that’s okay. That dreaming and longing that makes you aware of yourself is a huge step.
Though this sort of thing has always made me wonder about who those men in question would ponder about. Who would make them start to wonder about their carnal capabilities? Who makes them stop dead in their tracks? Do they even notice the kind of girl that stares at their posters and dreams while watching their movies? That’s something that I’m playing with in my upcoming release, Power Chord (due this spring). My characters Drake and Becca lead very different lives and have very different standards, yet their interests and turn-ons are remarkably similar. It’s a short story, but sometimes the right moment is all it takes.
The unedited blurb:
Drake has gotten used to having things his way – he makes the decisions whether it be recording his music, on the road while touring, or in bed. He may be somewhat older than when he first started, but he can still pack venues and still has fans at his mercy. But while professional success brings about one type of satisfaction, there’s a certain type that he just can’t seem to reach one dull night after a show. He doesn’t party hard anymore – he knows better – but that doesn’t mean he can’t indulge in a dirty fantasy all his own. What would it be like to have ultimate power, to be able to shed the confines of his body and sneak up on the unsuspecting by way of astral travel? What would it be like to seduce a woman when she can’t see him, can only feel him when he wants her to? And what happens when he’s not the only one who appreciates good music and is turned on by the power of control?
The unedited excerpt:
What’s so wrong with thinking highly of myself, anyway? Why the hell is that arrogant? Why shouldn't I want the best? Drake had been the best once and wasn’t that why he was back out on tour, to prove that he could be again? Hell, he was the best, and being the best demanded power, a power that he wouldn't admit to not feeling most days.
Even as a geeky fifteen-year-old he’d been intent on obtaining power; wasn’t that and getting tail why most guys picked up a guitar in the first place? But even before that he’d been fascinated with the dynamics in those old-school comics he relentlessly blew his allowance on. X-Ray vision, super strength, mind control…while the first two were kinky the latter option sparked his interest. Mind control, astral travel, well why not? If Drake really had that ability it would give him back some options.
If that was the case, if he could choose at will to leave his body and play the badass voyeur then he'd send himself out, searching for a suitable victim. It would have to be someone unsuspecting, but who knew who he was, knew his music. He wasn't stupid; a little vanity made for a better result. Even half-hearted fans would do a hell of a lot when confronted with the interest of a celebrity.
He’d look for someone different, someone not his usual type. She would be...not an idiot, but not some lab-coat genius. Living with...no, living alone. Alone and lonely. He allowed himself his trademark smirk as the face of a woman in the crowd waiting outside the stage door popped into his head. Poor thing, she was obviously shy and trying hard, but on a regular night she would’ve been passed by in favor of those who had a little more rack and a little more of a carnal education. But tonight wasn’t a regular night
If you’d like to catch up with me and my motley crew of alter egos, you can find me here:
Thanks for reading and thanks to Wendy for having me!