April 22, 2014

I go well with everything...

Photo by @femmeradicale
I have just brainstormed a brand-new feature. It's called Eat Me. (I'm so pleased with myself, you have no idea.) How do you participate? Send me a snaptshot, a Polaroid, a tintype, a Kodachrome—or, you know, a .jpeg—of any of my titles with a meal you're about to enjoy. See, I think my books go well with food—and I know my titles are exhibitionists. They love to get in the picture!

What will I do for you? I will post your picture here. I will send you one of my books (yes, a book book, from my porn closet). And I will just generally be so grateful you'll feel warm all over.

Where do you send the pictures? To msalisontyler at yahoo dot com. Can the photos be of any of my titles? Even old ones? Even bent ones? Even ones you've dropped into the bathtub? Yes. Have I forgotten something? Probably. Let me know!


P.S. The above photo was taken by @femmeradicale of The Delicious Torment, which recently received another 5-star review!

April 21, 2014

Trollop with a Question #1

I'm in a trenchcoat, I have a retro microphone, and I'm ready to record your answer to the first ever Trollop with a Question.

Now, here's happened. I was talking to a friend and we started discussing the perfect number for a gang bang. She was undecided. I said five. I don't know why. Five seemed, well, do-able. (You can read a gang bang freebie of mine right here.)

But then I started thinking—why do the "Man on the Street" columns always ask such dull questions? I've read countless columns over the years in assorted newspapers, magazines, and forums. "Do you think we should raise the price for parking meters?" "Paper or plastic?" "Are you in favor of air?" (No matter what the question, there will always be someone to rant against it.)

So here I am. There's a new man on the street... and she's a trollop. And she's me—just to clear that up. From time to time, I'll be asking you questions. If you want, you can answer. I'll toss you links to your Twitter or website or wherever you'd like. And I'll send out prizes (because I like to—it's  a fetish—I can't help it).

I went around and around with the title for this feature. Trollop on the Street. Man on the Trollop (heh). And I landed on Trollop with a Question — because that's what this is. I'm a trollop. I have a question.

Question #1: What's the Perfect Number for a Gang Bang? (Please post your answer in the comments, and please, explain your reason.) Remember — I have standard rules for the blog — if you're curious ask me (msalisontyler at yahoo dot com). But basically, you must be 18 or over, and you need to be kind, considerate, and other, um, curious. (It started with a hard c-sound.)

Oh, and answers on Twitter are fine, too. I'll see them!


P.S. I will give away a hard copy of Morning, Noon, and Night to one commenter. Or maybe more!
P.P.S. This post links to all of the authors in the book. Because I am "linktastic."

April 20, 2014

Choose Your Weapon

Oh, I love this. I am a t-shirt addict, but this one may have made my top 10. That said, I don't have a favorite pen or type of pad I prefer. On my desk right now (just wrote "write now") is a pink BiC Cristal that I like. But I'm equally as happy with the ancient pencil from the Paramount Hotel to my left. I write on everything. My hand. Receipts. Junk mail. I buy notebooks that get no use. I tend to flail at traffic lights in order to find some scrap of anything so that I can jot a note to myself. I often walk around with words on my skin.

And then my notes end up looking like messages in foreign tongue. I need Babblefish to translate my own writing!

But I have decided to do something off-the-wall in honor of Never Say Never. If you review the book (on Amazon or on your blog or on *my* blog) I am going to write you a note. In my special, secret handwriting. (Kidding! I'll make it legible. I promise.) I'll send you a tip that we couldn't fit into the book. And I'll send it through the actual mail. Yes. Not email. Not g-mail. But snail mail. Knowing me, there will probably also be a fortune fish in the envelope. (Because I adore them so.)

How do you get a note from me? Let me know when your review is live. (Or send me the review to post here.) And hit me with your mailing address. I'm at msalisontyler at yahoo dot com. I've got pretty stationery standing by and ready. My hands are all limber. My fingers are tapping. Give me a reason to write to you!


April 19, 2014

Were You Waiting for Me?

I am (mildly) obsessed with old-time radio plays, like The Shadow. And I can't hear the words "Were you waiting for me..." without hearing that voice. The Shadow's voice.

But if you enjoyed Dark Secret Love and The Delicious Torment, and if you were waiting for Wrapped Around Your Finger... well, I have news.

In my in box right this second is the copyedited manuscript! I'm not sure when the novel will be available, but we are that much closer. I'm deliriously excited. These are the books I've been working on since 2006. This is how I've wanted to write my entire adult life—the style that teachers chide you for. I based a character on me. I break the 4th wall. I flirt, tease, bat my long dark lashes. I do everything you're not allowed to do if you're a writer, and I do it while (mostly) wearing my uniform of message t-shirts and Levis. (Kind of how I'm dressed right now.)

Now I'll ask for a favor. If you did read the books, and if you did like them, please consider kissing me with a review on Amazon. I am dying to be allowed to publish books four, five, and six. They are written. They are waiting. But I need the momentum to seal the deal.

Help a girl out?

I'll be putting up some snippets from book three shortly. This one is different from the first two. It's a close-up, under the microscope look at about a week (if memory serves) in the life of a committed, hard-core 24/7 relationship. Book 4 takes us to Paris....

Also, if you'd like to participate in my Never Say Never tour—drop me a note at msalisontyler dot com with a date in May (or June) that works for you. If you'd like a print copy of the book to review, let me know your snail mail address.

Now back to more coffee—already in progress.


April 18, 2014

Never Say Never... The Tour...

Do you hear the movie music in your mind, too? That deep-voiced announcer with the baritone rumble: "Never Say Never... The Tour... coming soon to a blog near you." (You can take the girl out from behind the popcorn counter, I suppose, but you can't take the movie slut out of the girl.)

So what I thought I'd do is toss out a few dates, and if you want to play along with a review or a personal experience, or a photo of the book in some unusual location (let your mind wander—I'm thinking in front of the Pyramids, or in your panties), then please drop me a note and snag a date.

We'll start with May 1 (I can't believe we're almost to May!) and see what happens. (I'll be writing to those of you who already contacted me and asking which date you prefer.)

May 1: Alison Tyler (hey, that's me!)
May 2: Tamsin Flowers
May 6th: Sommer Marsden
May 9th: Peep Scoop
May 14th: Jade. A. Waters
May 16th: Malin James
May 18th: Xan West
May 19th: Cora Zane
May 21st: Nicole Gestalt
May 28th: CJ Lemire
May 30th: Geeky Nymph
May 31st: Helena Black

Contact me at msalisontyler at yahoo dot com if you're interested. Cheers and thank you so much for helping me spread the word about this sexy guide!


P.S. I can host you here, or I can link to you Chez You!

April 17, 2014

A Bouquet of Reviews...

In the midst of a whirlwind week, I'm pausing to smell the reviews... This one is from City Book Review's Axie Barclay for The Delicious Torment. I wish I had the words (come on, you writer) to say what this review meant to me. But I'm just without speech. Barclay says:

"The goal of fiction isn't to make us feel comfortable. It's to challenge us. If you don't want to be challenged, read something else. If you want to be stretched, pushed, slapped, humiliated, and ultimately, built back up, try being tormented by Alison Tyler."

The entire view is here.


Sommer Marsden's Lost In You continues to gather glorious reviews, like this one:

"Sometimes the right book comes along right when you need it. I had just finished reading something dark and desperately needed something light. Most of the time light means fluffy, frilly, and a bunch of other f-words. But this one was different."

And this one:

"This was a very good, very hot read. The chemistry between Clover and Dorian is electric and jumps off the page. The sex scenes are hot and very well written (as I expect in one of Sommer Marsden's books).

And this one:

"Another great romance by this author. This book gets you hooked from the beginning."


Finally, in our review round-up, we have Violet Blue's new Smart Girl's Guide to Privacy. The reviews  include:

"This book is clear and correct. It doesn't do the obvious (but naive) thing and just say "don't use a computer at all!" — realistically, there's a lot of benefit to having an online social life, and the book lays out the risks and precautions you can use to make your own decisions."


More reviews, and um, you snooze you lose news, soon!


April 16, 2014

How to Ask for What you Want in Bed...

This week (so far) I've written three articles on spec. I adore writing articles. I got my start in newspapers. In college, I was beat up in Comp 101 for penning leads rather than thesis sentences—while I was simultaneously being published in two different newspapers. (And seriously, who the fuck wants to read a thesis sentence?) Over the years, I've worked for several papers, websites, a handful of magazines, and a 'zine or two. (Yeah, I'm that old.)

Readers tend to like the fact that I break the writing rules. I have a chatty, conspiratorial way of writing that professors frown on. And I fucking love writing like this. (See, I just broke some rules. I started with an And. I used fuck. I wrote in first person. Ta da!)

Luckily, I have landed at several locations that appreciate my tongue-in-cheek style. Most recently, I had a piece accepted for Slutty Girl.

I read the guidelines carefully (like you do). The editors did not want pornography or erotica. I wasn't exactly sure what that meant for me (bad girl that I am), so I used no dirty words and put on my white cotton panties. But I did write a whole piece about how to ask for what you want in bed.

Check it out and let me know what you think!


April 15, 2014

Free Smut Tuesday!

Yes, yes, yes! I'm still paying authors and sending back contracts and organizing a Never Say Never tour... and in the midst of all of this, I'm trying to promote Twisted—which is a seriously sexy collection of BDSM erotica published by Cleis Press.

Krissy Novacaine plucked this story from the line-up, saying: "...this piece was really sexy for me. I think it was because it was more about the power dynamic than the fact that they were men that made it work so well for me."

The story is called Any Lightness Between Black and White and it's by Dante Davidson:

            “You seem confused.”
            I was standing in front of the wall of hankies, thinking, Damn, there are a lot of screwy people out there. When I say wall, I mean I was facing a fucking floor-to- ceiling wall of different-colored bandanas. Each bin was labeled with the code. Some of the labels made me hard—I’ll say that right away. But others made me shake my head in wonder. Blue/teal = cock & ball torture (when worn on the left) or cock & ball torturee when worn on the right. I actually mouthed the word “toturee” as I’d never seen it written before. Mauve = “into navel worshippers” if worn on the left, or “has a navel fetish” if worn on the right.
            Lavender meant “likes drag queens” on the left or “drag queen” if worn on the right. Would you really need a hanky for that? I wondered. Would a drag queen, all dolled up in finery, deign to wear a hanky?
            I must have been standing by the wall for a while, because suddenly I felt a presence behind me.
            “Need any assistance?” a man asked me, his voice an undeniably sexy rumble.
            I turned my head, startled from my reverie. The stranger was tall and lean, dressed in dark jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt. I wondered if there was a color for what he was offering—and if that imaginary hanky were worn on the left would it mean “provides assistance” and if worn on the right mean “needs assistance”? Clearly, I was out of my league.
            The man smiled at me. He had a nice smile, dark curly hair, the type of gray eyes that have always made me think of the stained glass—as if an inner light is shining through.
            “Are you looking for something special?” he asked, and his voice caressed me once more. His fingers strolled through the different bins, lingering on the various wants head/cocksucker (light blue), wears boxer shorts/likes boxer shorts (paisley).
            “How do people keep these things straight?” I asked.
            “We don’t get a lot of straight here,” he said, grinning.
            “No, really.”
            “There are a few main popular ones,” he said, shrugging, “the rest are more for show.”
            “And the popular ones are…”
            He faced me again, and he said once more but in a more suggestive voice, “Are you looking for something special?”
            When I first considered cruising the gay scene, I knew I would be at a deficit. Not only am I shy—ungodly shy—but I’m also colorblind. I don’t mean that in the “we are the world” way—although I honestly don’t care about a lover’s nationality as long as there’s chemistry. No, I mean, there are colors I can’t see. Or colors I see wrong. So that if I were to walk into a bar and note a pale blue hanky in a guy’s back pocket, and think—oh, cocksucker—I could be way off base. The blue might be pink, and I might accidentally pick up an “armpit freak,” or a “cowboy’s horse.” Not that there’s anything wrong with those desires—they just don’t happen to be mine.
            The hanky code—which could have helped me get around what my shyness prevented me from discovering—was truly the bane of my existence.
            I lamented my problem to the stranger at the sex toy store on the Castro, and he asked matter-of-factly, “Why don’t you simply buy a hanky, slip it into your back pocket, and wait for the right man to find you?”
            “I can’t wait,” I said, and I knew I sounded breathless. Then, worried, I asked, “Does that sound stupid?”
            “No,” he said, “it sounds honest. How long have you been in town?”
            Was it that obvious? “Two days.“
            “What’s your name?”
            “Daniel, I’m Lem.” He took a step closer to me, and I could feel the heat coming off him. I was almost dizzy from our connection. Screw the colors, I wanted him to take me right there, kiss me, press me up against the wall of hankies and…
            “What fetish were you looking for?” he asked.
            I swallowed hard. I’m shy, like I said. And I have such a difficult time—have always had a difficult time—asking for what I want. But here it was, my chance. I wasn’t going to let this go. “Bondage,” I whispered.
            He smiled and looked at me. “Gray.” He didn’t ask if I were bottom. He didn’t have to. He took me from the wall of hankies and into the toys, grabbed up a few different devices, and then led me out the back door to his pick-up truck.
            “Don’t you have to pay for those?”
            “Not when you own the store,” he said. We drove to his house in the Marina, and when we got to the spot, he said, “You have a safeword?”
            I shook my head.
            “Let’s go with hanky,” he said, and he winked at me. He was obviously enjoying himself. I will admit that I was, too. My dick was rock hard in my 501s. But I was also nervous. I’d been craving this forever, and I didn’t know what to do, how to move forward, what to say. My fantasies rarely featured much dialogue. I guess my fear was evident, because Lem put his hand on my back.
            “Don’t worry so much,” he said, and he led me into his house, to his bedroom and stripped me of my boots, jeans, and shirt. He had me cuffed to his bed in a matter of minutes, my wrists anchored above me, my legs apart. My cock stood at attention, begging for release, but he ignored my erection.           
            “So you were looking for a hanky,” he said.
            “Because you wanted someone to give you what you wanted.”
            I nodded.
            “So what do you want?”
            I rattled the chains. “This.”
            “What else?”
            I’d rarely gotten past this image. My fantasies had almost always ended here, with me tied to a bed. The tying had been what was important. The being unable to go. Except I’d had to go far in order to get to this place. I’d had to leave my small, dull hometown in the Midwest, ride a bus for a miserable amount of hours, hole up in the cheapest hotel I could find, and then walk into a sex toy store in order to make my dreams come true.
            Sure, there had been a few stolen kisses in my past. A drunken night behind a bar when a man I’d known forever made a move and I let him touch me. But I hadn’t ever told anyone what I truly desired. I hadn’t figured out how.
            Lem said, “Use your imagination, boy. What next?”
            I sighed and said, “Let me come.”
            “That’s it? Bind you down and make you come? I don’t think so…”
            I closed my eyes. I tried to figure out what he’d want me to say. I saw the images in the magazines I’d been jerking off to for years. Lem came close to me. He kissed me and then bit my bottom lip hard, startling me with the pain. I opened my eyes and stared into his. “Daniel. What do you want me to do?”
            I said, “Hurt me,” and I felt my dick leak a little pre-come.
            “Yes,” he said, nodding. “That’s what comes next.”
            He undid my ankles and easily flipped me on the mattress, my wrists still bound over my head. Then he retied my legs, and he stood at the side of the bed.
            “We’ll start with a paddle,” he said. “Don’t come on my sheets. I won’t like that.”
            I sucked in my breath and waited. He started to spank me. As he did, he said, “Fuchsia’s the hanky for those who like to be spanked. What color is fuchsia for you?”
            “Gray,” I murmured.
            He spanked me harder and I worked to not buck my hips against the mattress. The friction of the position made me feel as if I might climax at any minute.
            “Yellow is for people who like golden showers. What color is yellow for you?”
            “Gray,” I told him. I was having a harder time speaking now, and my cock was a living, beating muscle of desire. What would he say if I told him I couldn’t hold back?
            “Blue is oral sex,” he said. “What’s blue to you?”
            I sighed, “Gray… I’m going to come.”
            “Not yet!” He dropped the paddle and climbed onto the mattress behind me. He undid my ankle restraints and pulled me up on my knees. I felt lube between my asscheeks, and I groaned as he slid one finger into my hole. “I’m going to fuck you,” he said, adding another finger, stretching me open. “And then you can come.”
            I nodded at his words, thinking, You’d better fuck me quick, then, because this is all too much for me. He finger-fucked me a few more seconds, and the he was in motion, pressing the big head of his fat cock to my backdoor, giving me a second to grow accustomed to the sensation before slamming all the way home. I was crying at the way that he filled me up, the way he made me his. His cock rode me hard and fast. There wasn’t a hanky color for what I was feeling—taken and used and fulfilled and needed. Or if there were, it would have been a rainbow.
            “What color are your eyes?” I asked, suddenly needing to know. “Are they green or blue?”
            “Gray,” he said, and he reached his hand under my body and milked my dick for me until I was shooting, coming all over his fist and my belly and his blankets. I worried for a second, since he’d told me he wouldn’t like that, but then I let the worry go. He was making me come after all. He shot his load a second later, filling me up with his spend, then pulling out and staring down at me. I didn’t think he was going to let me go for a minute, but he did, undoing the cuffs and taking me with him into the shower.
            “You wanted bondage,” he said. “You came to a big city, looking for bondage, and you were lost, weren’t you?”
            I nodded. He was working the soap over me in the shower—his beautiful eyes smiling at me, his big hands roaming over my body.
            “Poor baby,” he said, kissing me under the spray, fisting my dick once more as the water rained down on us. “The hanky for bondage is gray,” he said, and he started to laugh. “And when you looked at that wall, all you saw were fifty shades of…”
            “Don’t say it,” I begged him, and I silenced his mouth with my own.


I'm trying to generate a little buzz for the book, so if you like the story, please consider buying the whole collection (and leaving a review—nudge, nudge, wink, wink). There are more than 20 stories total to tie you up in cuffed kinkiness.


April 14, 2014

"...nobody does it with as much style and skill..."

Yes, I'm still working through my papers. You should see my desk.  (No, wait. Maybe you shouldn't.) There are brightly colored envelopes, contracts, Johnny Cash stamps, and glossy little red fortune fish swimming all over the surface. But I'm getting there... 

While you're waiting for Monday to take effect, please check out this unbelievably awesome new review by Saachi for The Delicious Torment:

Let Me Not to the Marriage of True Minds Admit Impediment

You’ve seen the line above in Shakespeare’s sonnet number 116. You’ve probably heard it read. But (it) isn’t about weddings, as such, but about two people who match each other’s needs so perfectly that nothing can destroy their love.

Alison Tyler’s The Delicious Torment, the sequel to her Dark, Secret Love, is about two people with such intense, specific, on-the-edge needs that it seems like a miracle that they found each other.

Samantha, the heroine based on Alison Tyler herself, is “ensconced in an S/M relationship that makes everything I’ve done before turn a whiter shade of pale.” Jack is older, a high-powered lawyer, whose need to dominate through “pain and shame and utter humiliation” could only be satisfied by a woman like Samantha, as strong in her way as she is submissive. Pain and humiliation are pleasure to her, even when she dreads them, and they bring her to orgasm even when they bring her to tears. Jack gives her what she needs, and she loves him without reserve, while he needs her love as much as her submission, even though he needs her to prove that love over and over.

There are plenty of S/M books out there now, but nobody does it with as much style and skill as Alison Tyler. Nobody makes it as real, as convincing, as appealing even to people whose tastes have never run that way. And the story here is more than a series of “scenes,” even though the traditional canes and belts and crops and chains play their part. The relationship has its twists and turns and unexpected deviations, especially when it comes to involve a third person. There are adjustments and alterations that might strain a love less strong. Jack’s difficulty in trusting Samantha’s love and the lengths he goes to in testing her could have destroyed the very thing he craved. But no impediment is great enough to tear these true minds (and bodies) apart.

What's funny is that I know the poem by heart. It's one of those treasured snippets I carry around with me in the back pocket of my mind. This weekend, I had a different poem echoing and reverberating. Do you know Jenny Kissed Me? For some reason, I rolled those words around all weekend long.

But back to work. I'll be in touch shortly with those of you who want to be part of a Never Say Never tour. And I'll do whatever else it is I'm supposed to do as soon as I figure out which way is up.


April 13, 2014

Come out to the coast...

I love Die Hard. I can hear Bruce Willis say this line in my head. Why? Because I know the movie by heart. So when I interviewed Sommer Marsden yesterday, and I mentioned a "fill-in-the-blanks question"—I heard Alan Rickman's voice. And then I asked you all to guess the movie. And hell, you did! A message-in-a-bottle moment to see so many other Die Harders out there! (Die Hardians? Die Hardites?)

I now want/need a whole slew of shirts from Red Bubble. Because damn.

So for all of you who commented, I have one of these pencils. (If you ever buy from The Carbon Crusader, tell her where you saw her work. I am in love with her wit, her charm, and her pencils. And when I recently placed an order, the pencils shipped on the same day and arrived two days later.) Just drop me a note with your snail mail address, and I'll hook you up. (I'm at msalisontyler at yahoo dot com.)

For the rest of the day, I'm going to be sending out payment for Never Say Never and compiling contributor copy information for Cleis Press. And then I'm going to be attempting to put together a blog tour for the book. If you'd like to be part of the tour—as a writer in the book or as a reviewer or reader—please drop a note to msalisontyler at yahoo dot com!

When I've finished all that, I've got a reward planned... Yeah. Die Hard and I, we have a date on the sofa. There will be licorice. And champagne. And possible nudity.


April 12, 2014

Lost in Sommer

Sommer Marsden is my best friend I've never met. In honor of her new novel, Lost In You, I decided to create questions for each letter in the title. (Like you do.) Some of the queries deal specifically with the novel and some focus more on Sommer, herself—because hey, I'm nosy!

Lost In You opens to page 72. What does the reader see?

‘See, I told you. Actual, real bed.’ Dorian pulled back the duvet and the lovely white high-thread-count sheets. He pressed the mattress with his hand, grinning. ‘And it’s a virgin bed.’
I snorted before quickly covering my face. 

‘Then I certainly can’t sleep in it.’

‘If that’s what I meant, Clover, the act of me climbing into it would cause it to burst into flames.’ He winked at me and again I had that feeling as if we shared some secret joke.

‘TouchĂ©.’ I sighed. I knew he heard the frustration in that small sound by the way he looked up.

‘You still upset because you can’t get through?’

We’d gone back to the main entrance courtesy desk and tried my grandmother again. No answer. Just the monotonous, nerve-wracking sound of overloaded phone lines. A lot of cells were down, most likely due to the storm, and people were falling back on landlines.
‘Yes. And standing there in the entrance watching what seems like the world blow by didn’t help my nerves.’ The deluge had been phenomenal. Rain so dense it just looked like a solid sheet of gunmetal grey perpetually falling from the sky. My chest had gone tight with worry as I watched. And then a wrought-iron bench from around the outdoor fountain had scooted by, drifting across the pavement as if it weighed no more than a paper bag.

‘I know. But I assure you, your grandmother is fine.’ He held a hand out to me and I took it. We stood there like that, clasping clasping hands across the big, beautiful empty bed for a moment. Then I blushed and dropped his hand to step back.

Only 6 of your CDs survive to the desert island with you. What are they?

U2 Joshua Tree, INXS Kick, The Lost Boys Sound Track, The Best of Cat Stevens, The Best of Otis Redding, Beethoven: Piano Concerto No. 5, 'Emperor'.

Someone has offered to cook your favorite meal. (Not me, obviously, since I can't cook.) But say a real life chef has offered you a dream-come-true meal. What is on your plate?)

I’ll pretend I’m not gluten free for this meal. It would be really good country fried chicken, buttery mashed potatoes, succotash, sweet cornbread, biscuits (yes, both, I am also not doing Shaun T’s T25 for this imaginary, magical meal), my mother’s iced tea, my grandmother’s homemade root beer and her frozen sweetened peaches. Oh, and then monkeyball cake for dessert. This was my birthday meal for many, many, many moons. (Though I added to it a bit). Now…someone roll me to the sofa.

There’s $19.72 in the pocket of your jacket. You put in your hand and discover free money! What do you spend it on?

Probably postage! I’m always mailing stuff out to people. That or to buy drinks for my minions at the Barnes&Noble cafĂ©. One XL Mountain Dew and a Grande Chocolate Frappucino, please. Then the rest would float around in my pocket until I saw little doodads to give to people, probably.

In ten words, describe Clover Brite, the heroine from Lost In You.

Dedicated, sincere, sexy but not quite sure she is, funny, earnest, flighty (but just a bit, anxious, genuine, smitten, happy.

Nearby you on your desk is… 

The edge of my desk! I’m working on my roll-around mobile laptop desk. There’s no room for knick-knacks. Although, I have this desk parked next to my dining room household secretary (no lie) and on that is an antique alarm clock my father bought in Gettysburg, PA when I was about four.

You can take Clover on a fantasy girls' escape vacation. Where do the two of you go?

I would hands down drag my lovely Clover to Key West. Sand, sun, booze, breezes. Because I’ve never been! Although, a character in an upcoming book got to go recently. She had a blast. I have friends who go there often and when they post their pics on FB I sit and sort of…sigh. Key West is on my bucket list, for sure.

Oh, drat! There’s one color left in the hardware store’s paint section. Thankfully, it’s the hue you wanted to use to paint the living room. What color did you luck out with?

Eep! You’re going to unfriend me, Ms. Tyler, but I have to say white. If you had said any room but living room it would have been another hue but my living room is half paneling circa 1970-something. And they painted it white. The white gives what could be a horrid situation a barn-like rustic feel that I love. So I’d have to just give her a new whitewash. Call me Tom Sawyer if you must. Oh, but that means I’d probably trick boy child into doing it for me…

Ultimately, you can only have one male character from True Blood as your screen saver. You do you bat your eyelashes at each time you long on?

Alcide! I know he ruffled my feathers last season and I had a moment or two of forsaking Alcide, but he pulled his head out of his ass and I now would gladly drape his manly form over my desktop. Or my actual desk. Wait, let me close the curtains.

* And now for the question of the day: which movie is this quote from?

“Mr. Takagi, I could talk about men's fashion and industrialization all day but I'm afraid work must intrude, and my associate Theo has some questions for you, sort of fill in the blanks questions...”

Do I have to tell them that I asked you? Yes, yes, I do. Okay, Alison…what movie IS IT???!!!

Sommer Marsden is a professional dirty word writer, gluten-free baker, sock addict, fat wiener dog walker, and expert procrastinator. She writes for HarperCollins Mischief, Ellora's Cave, and many other publishing companies.

Lost In You can be yours for $3.79. No joke. That is less than, well, almost anything. Less than a cup of gourmet coffee. Less than a pair of socks. Less than a Lost In Space Robot (though, he is pretty cool). 

The book is raking up sizzling reviews on Goodreads and Amazon already! Oh, and don't forget to answer my question of the day for a chance to win a surprise gift! (I couldn't write the query: 'fill in the blanks question" without hearing that quote in my head.)


P.S. I'll post the comments at the end of the day so everyone has a fair chance to guess.

April 11, 2014

"...vivid and authentic..."

In the midst of writing a series of utterly filthy stories, I got an idea for (wait for it) an utterly filthy story. To my supreme delight, the idea spread itself out into a novelette—the sequel to Those Girls. I've kind of been waiting for this one. I love my character, Sandy, in Those Girls. He's a dreamy bisexual dom who makes me sit up straighter as I write him.

Annabeth Leong said: "It was nice to be in the head of a dominant male who's a character not a caricature, catching glimpses of his vulnerabilities, assumptions, desires..."

Jade A. Waters said: "Those Girls is true Alison Tyler style: rich characters, wild sex scenes, and a great big dose of incredibly sexy BDSM flair.

Crystal said: As I told Alison on Twitter, I can't help but love a submissive whose safe word is misogynist."

I have a little behind-the-scenes information about Those Girls here.

And I'm so grateful that Go Deeper let me write from the POV of a male dom. I can't tell you how liberating that is. Not to have to flip the story and write from the sub. Not to have to step back and write about the people in my head. Not to have to force him to be purely hetero. But to be one, to be him, to see what he sees. Years ago, I started a femme/domme novel. At the time, I was told there was no market for the book, that I couldn't put my "brand" on a novel with a sub male/Dominant heroine.

What a relief that times have changed!


April 10, 2014

"How does your husband feel about what you do?"

That was a question I was asked recently in an interview. My initial, smart-ass internal response was, "Oh, god! Please don't tell him! Shhhh. He thinks I work for Gourmet!"

But of course I said he's both supportive and inspiring. I wonder what the interviewer thought I would say. After having my soul shredded in an early demoralizing relationship, I decided never to do that again. I'd rather be alone than hook up with someone who didn't want to be with me. All of me. The me who gets up before dawn and writes dirty stories. The me who sees sex everywhere.

Speaking of never... (ha, five points for the fancy segue, yes?), Never Say Never is out early! I haven't seen the book yet, but it's already snagged a 5-star review:

"Alison Tyler is the go-to lady on sexual fantasies. If there's something you want to try, she will have written about it, read about it, or done it herself. I think it's this genuine fascination with sexual adventurousness that makes Never Say Never so fantastic. BRB - going to try some tips now!"

Authors, Cleis Press will have your copies soon, and I'll be in touch regarding payment. Readers, start your engines! I cannot wait to hear what you think of the new guide!


April 09, 2014

Smut on Sale

Every so often, Cleis Press offers Kindle books at a deep discount. And when I say "deep," I mean like Leviathan deep. (Oh, gosh. Has anyone done Leviathan sex? No, wait. Don't tell me.) Back to the smut on sale...

This month, you can buy any of the following for $1.99:

Love At First Sting
Heat Wave

That is 88% off the cover price. Now, I promise you, there are no strings attached to this deal. But if you liked any of the books, and if you were in a generous frame of mind, please consider leaving a review for me on Amazon. Every little bit helps!


April 08, 2014

"I came so hard..."

"You helped make me the porn writer I am today..."

This fell into my in box a little while back, and I kept the email as new because I was so moved. Xan West wrote an entire piece about writing erotica and working with me, and I am honestly speechless. Oh, wait. No. Here come some words...

As an editor, I do my best. That's really all I can say. I do my best to put together books of stories that are sexy, that are engaging, that hit the mark, paint the town red, stay up all night, drink too much scotch... oh, wait, I think I segued into a bio by accident. Or a description of my weekend.

But I do try. I try to work with new writers. I try to choose stories that push my own comfort zones. Xan West's writing stands out. The words are razor-sharp—all barbed wire and kerosine. The stories ring true. So thank you, Xan for the piece. It felt like a Valentine.

Speaking of ringing true (and of editing), I mentioned yesterday that I had tripped over one of my own worst sentences of all time. In case you missed that, here's a redux. The short set-up: I was writing a scene in which a woman was sucking one guy and fucking another. (Like you do.) I actually wrote the following:

I came so hard, I pulled off Raymond's dick.

Now, I edit a lot of smut. And things are always getting ripped off, detached, and torn away in the heat of the moment. But hell. I never want to pull anyone's dick off.

Care to share your own best of the worst?


P.S. If you want to read one of Xan's stories, check out "Nervous Boy" in Love at First Sting.

April 07, 2014

"Fast paced and intriguing..."

This book not only pulled me in but had me glued to my seat...

Oh, yes. This is the review I want to look at on Monday mornings. In fact, every Monday morning, I am going to read this review. Well, at least for the next few.

Samantha tells her story...taking me right along with her for the ride...and I do not want to get off just yet.

In preparation for the release of Wrapped Around Your Finger, I'm trying to drum up a few more reviews for the second novel. So if you read The Delicious Torment and liked it, please consider writing me a love note on Amazon.

For a Q&A about the book, please visit Geeky Nymph.

And hey—have a happy Monday!