It's time. I'm looking for a beta for a few chapters of my 85K word erotic/paranormal/thriller/ horror WIP (anything else? I don't think so.) I've tweaked and polished until I can't see past the words on the page, and I sorely need a fresh pair of eyes (or two or three) to tell me where I've run off the rails.
NB: The first 100 pages are as vanilla as they come but I'd rather someone beta it who has no problem with erotica since once past those 100 pages it gets sticky and stays that way.
NB2: Here are a few excerpts to whet your appetite (or make you go 'eeeuuwwwwkkk!):
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“Come on, Fraser. Don’t tell me you don’t know how my daughter died. I can put two and two together and get six just like the rest of you.”
Fraser gave me his blank look. I walked over to the window and looked out at the falling snow. I fogged the glass with my breath then leaned my forehead against it. “Did the killer stab Syd through the eyes?”
Fraser didn’t say anything for a long time. He prowled around the room, clicking his pen in and out. Click-click. He stopped at the window next to me and stared down at the street. Click-click. Click-click.
“It doesn’t mean it’s the same killer,” he said finally.
“It means I didn’t do it.”
He looked over at me.
“I was eating nachos" I continued. "With Philippe.”
“What it means is your friend Syd saw something and the killer didn’t want her to tell.”
I looked at him. He now had his forehead pressed to the glass and his eyes were closed. “Everything in me says she was a mistake…” he said.
“Which means I was the target.”
He didn’t say anything.
“Either I’m the target or I’m the killer. I can’t be both.”
“Really?” He moved over to my window, still watching the street. “You could have MPD. Be psychotic. Sociopathic.”
“Or brain dead, like you.”
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Philippe grabbed my hand and pulled me next to him. “Certainly but first …” He turned to me. “Are you
“I’m always all right.”
“Ma pouvre petite soeur,” he whispered into my hair.
“Je ne suis pas votre soeur,” I whispered back.
Philippe cupped my chin in his hand and turned my face up to his. “Mais vous etes.”
Fraser cocked his head to one side and smiled. “Such a lovely scene. Are you sure you’re siblings and not lovers?”
Philippe slowly stroked my hair and I shivered. “We are what we are, Detective, but the blood that runs through us is stronger than any ephemeris of love.”
Blood stronger than love? As far as my life was concerned, everything was stronger than love, including water, chocolate and nine- day deodorant pads. Still his answer was worthy of a Frenchman and if it got Fraser out of our personal lives, so much the better.
--------------------------------
Thanks y'all.
NB: The first 100 pages are as vanilla as they come but I'd rather someone beta it who has no problem with erotica since once past those 100 pages it gets sticky and stays that way.
NB2: Here are a few excerpts to whet your appetite (or make you go 'eeeuuwwwwkkk!):
-------------------
“Come on, Fraser. Don’t tell me you don’t know how my daughter died. I can put two and two together and get six just like the rest of you.”
Fraser gave me his blank look. I walked over to the window and looked out at the falling snow. I fogged the glass with my breath then leaned my forehead against it. “Did the killer stab Syd through the eyes?”
Fraser didn’t say anything for a long time. He prowled around the room, clicking his pen in and out. Click-click. He stopped at the window next to me and stared down at the street. Click-click. Click-click.
“It doesn’t mean it’s the same killer,” he said finally.
“It means I didn’t do it.”
He looked over at me.
“I was eating nachos" I continued. "With Philippe.”
“What it means is your friend Syd saw something and the killer didn’t want her to tell.”
I looked at him. He now had his forehead pressed to the glass and his eyes were closed. “Everything in me says she was a mistake…” he said.
“Which means I was the target.”
He didn’t say anything.
“Either I’m the target or I’m the killer. I can’t be both.”
“Really?” He moved over to my window, still watching the street. “You could have MPD. Be psychotic. Sociopathic.”
“Or brain dead, like you.”
---------------
--------------
Philippe grabbed my hand and pulled me next to him. “Certainly but first …” He turned to me. “Are you
“I’m always all right.”
“Ma pouvre petite soeur,” he whispered into my hair.
“Je ne suis pas votre soeur,” I whispered back.
Philippe cupped my chin in his hand and turned my face up to his. “Mais vous etes.”
Fraser cocked his head to one side and smiled. “Such a lovely scene. Are you sure you’re siblings and not lovers?”
Philippe slowly stroked my hair and I shivered. “We are what we are, Detective, but the blood that runs through us is stronger than any ephemeris of love.”
Blood stronger than love? As far as my life was concerned, everything was stronger than love, including water, chocolate and nine- day deodorant pads. Still his answer was worthy of a Frenchman and if it got Fraser out of our personal lives, so much the better.
--------------------------------
Thanks y'all.
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