DA Kentner: The Readers' Writers: Dear K Is Out!

Wednesday, August 28, 2013

Dear K Is Out!

DEAR K is a fictional website devoted to making fantasies reality.
This initial offering by HC Brown and myself is a trilogy of erotic short stories.

Lynda wants to learn to submit.
Danielle wonders what an unrequited high school crush is doing now.
Brianne needs revenge on the man who hurt her.

What they don't know is that the brooding, coffee addicted K is about to make their deepest, and even darkest, desires come true.

http://steamereads.com.au/product/dear-k/

http://www.amazon.com/Dear-K-ebook/dp/B00EJRTPAG/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1376523301&sr=1-1&keywords=dear+k

https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-deark-1268478-147.html

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My Favorite Quotes

"Ignorance has never been the best guarantor of freedom and democracy" - Dr. Kieran Egan

"Readers invite the author to a private moment. They clear the calendar, find the corner, flip on the lamp, turn off the television, pour the tea, pull on the wrap, silence the dog, shoo the kids. They set the table, pull out the chair and invite you, “Come, talk to me for a moment.” The invitation of a lifetime.
Accept it. We need your writing. This generation needs the best books you can write and the clearest thinking you can render. Pick up the pens..." - Max Lucado

"Publication ought to be a reward, not a lure." - Rosellen Brown

"The reader is the final arbiter." - Sam Reaves mystery author

"I made a mistake once, but found out later I was wrong." - anonymous

"If you aren't excited by your writing, how do you expect me to be?" - my high school creative writing teacher

"Your manuscript? You were serious about that?" - numerous agents

To Stevie

Had I more time… more life… I should have pursued you. Pursued you like smoke to the sky – like a whisper to the ocean. But time… life… was never mine to possess. It was never mine to deploy. And now it is too late. Hearken then - is it never too late? ask the poets – say the oracles and the prophets – say the ministers and the anointed. Alas, I am not one such as they and thus my time… my life… is at its end… its final ebb. Still, in this hollowness of the depleted time of my time, while the players take the stage for the reprise – or is it the finale’s finale? – the finis before the act begins anew on tomorrow’s eve insulting this night’s ovation – I stand here before you in the mist of a shadow betraying my heart as I always have when you couldn’t see. I was never in your eye nor shall I ever be - though in that flitter of a lash the instant before it loosed and fell, I was there. It was in your heart I dwelled. When you took comfort in the night – in the silence of the room you lay in beneath the down quilts – when the chemicals failed you and something you couldn’t define enveloped you in warmth and security as if once again within the womb – it was my heart having found its respite until the cursed dawn once more shone through the tapestries and you set it aside, no longer in need of it. When you cried to the putrid darkness and tears stained your cheek and inhaled gasping, pleading for release… and then smiled – it was my thumb swiping away the sorrow and melancholy. We have not shared. We have not loved as lovers love - in passion and flesh – in the moist, dank odor of orgasm. We have never met… and never will. And here then must this spinner of lies – this purveyor of misfortune - tell you that in my death – in my absence from this world – we will ultimately share. For it is the loneliness that is our decisive gift to each other. For in the void I momentarily filled as water in a straw shall remain that which you have given me – emptiness. And for that I hate you – I loath you – I love you. Shall you remember me? It is certain – though not by name or recognition or the feel of me between your thighs. In my egress I breathe your voice – your words – your song. I caress the memory of that which never existed. And I weep for you. I weep for the night you turn your cheek to me and my hand is not there – the night you tremble and my heart can no longer search you out – the moment you comprehend… the disparaging enlightenment… that until I was gone… you were not alone.

DA Kentner: The Readers' Writers

Wednesday, August 28, 2013

Dear K Is Out!

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