Today I’m pleased to welcome my friend Tara Lain to the blog. Tara was just honored as “Best Author 2011″ from
LoveRomancesCafe. Great job, Tara, and well-deserved! Tara’s here today to talk about promo. Love it, hate it, or leave it, every author needs to deal with it somehow! Take it away, Tara…
Hate Promo? Get Over IT!
Thank you so much Cassandra, for inviting me here today. I’m Tara Lain and I’m celebrating the release of my new book, Fire Balls. I’ve posted an excerpt from the book and you’re invited to participate in my Fire Balls Blog Tour Contest by leaving a comment and your email here. See at the bottom of the post for more.
Cassandra and I not only share a passion for erotic romance, we are also both cracked on the subject of book promotion. And since 
it’s very much on my mind, I want to say a few words on the subject (No, don’t run and hide!) Cassandra and I are relatively new authors. I published my first book in January of 2011. Two weeks ago, Cassandra and I both learned that we had been voted winners in the LRC Best of 2011 Awards. Cassandra won for Best BDSM romance against tough competition. I won for Best Author of 2011 and runner-up for Best Series of 2011. Needless to say, we are both ecstatic and more than a little amazed. Yes, it’s true that we are good writers who wrote a bunch of good books in 2011, BUT no one would have known that if we hadn’t given them a chance to find out. We had to promote ourselves as an integral part of our “profession” as an author.
Some really good authors will tell you that the best way to gain an audience is to write great books. That is true. But there are lots of great authors out there today. There are so many publishers it’s impossible for one reader to track down all the good new books. You need to help them by pointing them to your books. Writers, especially new authors, need to accept the responsibility of self-promotion because otherwise you are depriving readers of the chance to discover your talent and read your books. And that is all I’m going to say about that. LOL.
Fire Balls — A poetry-reading firefighter and a black-belt painter. Work of art or up in flames?
Would you like to win a copy of Fire Balls? Enter my contest. I’m having a drawing this coming Friday (2/10). Leave a comment here with your email and you’ll be entered in that drawing. Go over to my Contest Blog http://beautifulboysbooks.blogspot.com and leave another comment with your email and you will be entered again. And there are more chances to win. Go to my website http://www.taralain.com and look under events. It’s all there. First leave your comment here. And don’t forget your email. And thank you to Cassandra for hosting me and to you for coming to say hi. : )
BIO:
Tara Lain never met a beautiful boy she didn’t love – at least on paper. A writer of erotic romance, mostly ménage and male/male, Tara loves all her characters, but especially her handsome heroes. A lifelong writer of serious non-fiction, Tara only fell in love with
EROM in 2009 and, through perseverance and lots of workshops, had the first novel she ever wrote published in January of 2011. Then she capped off the year by being voted Best Author of 2011 in the LRC Awards and had her Genetic Attraction Series named runner-up for Best Series of 2011! A very good year.
After an exotic life of travel all over the world and work in television, education and advertising, Tara settled in Southern California with her soul-mate husband and opened her own small marketing business. She paints, collages, and started practicing yoga “way before it was fashionable”. Passionate about diversity, justice, inclusion and new ideas, she says on her tombstone it will read, “Yes”.
EXCERPT FROM FIRE BALLS:
Available at Amazon B&N ARe
Rodney Mansfield is tiny, flamboyant and, oh yeah, a black belt in karate. He is also one of southern California’s greatest artists. Too bad the work of art he really wants is firefighter, Hunter Fallon. But the gorgeous “straight gay” guy could never want the Runtback of Notre Dame, so when Rodney’s handsome, surfer friend, Jerry, develops an unexpected passion for the beautiful firefighter, Rodney breaks his own heart by helping Jerry land his man. And then Rod makes it worse by embarrassing Hunter when he protects him from a firehouse bully. Hunter hates gay guys like Rodney – doesn’t he? Then why can’t he get the powerful pipsqueak’s face out of his mind… and cock out of his ass? And why does he risk his job and his life to rescue Rod from a burning building? Isn’t it time for him to admit he’s not an alpha male after all and that he is the property of the artist?
Nothing had been the same since he’d met Rodney Mansfield. Hunter stared at the statues of strange round people on the fountain outside the stationhouse. He didn’t quite understand this artwork. But he did get Rodney’s. Rod was a genius. His art was masterful.
Hunter set his book on the side of the fountain. No use pretending he was reading. He’d just stare at the weird sculpture. Funny. Weird is the way Rod described himself. Homo fag. Both were actually true. With his purple-tipped hair. Or blue. Or pink. The multiple earrings. His tiny-sized, bright clothes, and flamboyant manner. They all added up to the kind of gay guy Hunter ran from. But Rod wasn’t a “kind” of anything. He was himself—authentic, special.
Hunter knew if he could paint, he’d want to paint Rodney. That great face. Jerry called him adorable. The guy’s face was almost pretty. Big eyes and soft, girlish lips. That shock of bleached hair falling in front of those brown eyes, a great contrast to the slim, hard body and big cock. Yeah, Hunter knew up close and personal just how big that cock was.
He ran a hand through his hair. Couldn’t get the guy out of his mind. The idea of never seeing him again. Never having that cock in his ass. Shit, it made him crazy. He should be glad to be rid of him, but he wasn’t. And he’d screwed any chance of even having Rodney as a friend.
Deep breath. Hunter had to get his head on straight. Tomorrow was a big day. The call to Bill had been magic. The guy really wanted to help. If the meeting he set up panned out at all, maybe Hunter could grab the brass ring and become a teacher. God, the idea gave him goose bumps. He loved firefighting. But teaching? Wow. Teaching felt real to him.
Wonder what Rodney would say about him switching jobs?
Hunter shook his head. Get over it.
The alarm bell shocked him out of his stupor. His body jerked. No thinking, just response. He leaped up and cleared the few yards into the station in seconds, grabbed his gear, and had it on before the rest of the guys made it out of the ready room. “What is it?”
Cam was also dressed. “Building fire on Laguna Canyon Road. One of the art studios, they said. Tough one. Paint is really flammable.”
His mind locked on a picture of an old, struggling space heater on an ancient cord. Shit! Rod. But no, he’d be at the Festival manning his stand. Safe. Oh God, please. He hoped. Strictly against protocol, but he fished his cell out of his pants and dialed.
The voice on the other end sounded worried. “Hunter?”
“Quick, Jerry. Do you know where Rodney is?”
“At the Festival. I just heard about the fire. Shit. Is it his studio?”
“Don’t know yet. All those beautiful paintings. I hope not.”
“No man, all the paintings are at the Festival. He said he cleaned out most all of his inventory because of the fight. People are crazy for his stuff.”
“Good. Gotta go.” He clicked off and jumped into the truck, taking his seat beside Cam. The engine raced down the Laguna Canyon Road.
Straight toward Rodney’s studio.
They turned into the drive, lookie loos scattering. Flames leaped out of the roof of the low structure where he had first learned what real orgasm meant. The sight hurt Hunter’s heart. If Jerry was right, maybe the real loss—the priceless art—would be avoided, thanks to the fight. Yeah, the fight he ought to feel grateful for instead of pissed off about.
The firefighters piled out onto the hard-packed dirt drive and hauled the hose toward the hydrant out by the highway. Shit, they were just going to make it…if they were lucky.
“Save him. Help, please, help,” one woman screamed, pointing toward the building.
Not a good thing. He gave his spot on the hose to another man and ran to the woman’s side. “Ma’am. What do you mean?”
The woman on the driveway was white as a cloud and pointing, her mouth working. “Rod. Rodney. He ran in. Do something.”
He gripped her arm. “Ran in? Rodney ran in there?” Ice froze his heart.
“Yes, yes. I came over to see, and suddenly he just ran past me and straight in the door. I don’t know where his car is…”
Hell no! He pulled on his respirator and ran toward the door of the studio. His heart beat way too fast. Had to get control. Why, why would Rod do it? What was worth his life? His life. He couldn’t die. Hell, no.
“Fallon, wait. Don’t go in alone.” Cam screamed behind him.
Hell, no. No time to wait. Rod was in there.
The screen door, the damned squeaky screen door, hung half off its hinges. He tore it away and, hunched against the heat, moved into the studio. Smoke. Embers raining down. The heat pushed like a wall through his gear. The flames crawled along the half-missing roof like a snake slinking along a branch, hissing.
Stop. Think. The part of the structure closest to the door remained most intact. He dropped to the floor and scooted along a few feet. Not much in here. Beside him, the old desk had burned nearly to ash. His heart hammered. Breathe slowly. Don’t panic.
Where is he? Can’t be too late. No, hell, no. Never too late. He crawled another couple feet and pressed his head down by the floor, squinting through the smoke…
E-mail: tara@taralain.com
Website: http://www.taralain.com
Author blog: http://taralain.blogspot.com
Book blog: http://beautifulboysbooks.blogspot.com
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unbuckling his belt and pushing down his pants so he could slip that magnificent cock of his in her pussy—he lifted her down from the car’s hood and spun her around.
