Archive for the ‘Blog Features’ Category

Between the Covers – Talios

Thursday, October 1st, 2015

Today’s Between the Covers is a few lines from my book.

Here is a few lines from Talios (Kemet Uncovered, Book # 1). Enjoy.

talios_800_smallThe man rose from the lake like some mythical god. Water cascaded from his naked, sculptured body. He raised a strong-looking hand and ran blunt fingers through his shoulder-length, black hair. With confidence, he came out of the water. When he reached the shore, he didn’t break stride coming to her. A sudden feeling of being hunted came over her and she backed up, hitting a tree.

He stopped a little distance away from her. At five foot eleven, she didn’t usually feel short, but next to him she did. He was very tall—he had at least eight inches over her.

She studied him. His curly black hair framed an onyx-coloured face that was all planes and angles—broad forehead, high cheeks, full nose, firm chin and full lips. He was extremely handsome…but it was his presence that captivated her. There was a sense of strength yet gentleness about him.

She lowered her gaze. A golden chain hung at his neck, with an oblong pendant covered in symbols. Candace licked her lips at the sight of his broad chest and shoulders. The man made a slight rumbling sound. It snapped her out of her daze.

Copyright © Taige Crenshaw and Aliyah Burke, 2011.
All Rights Reserved.

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Teasers – Everything has a Purpose

Tuesday, September 29th, 2015

I truly believe that everything that we do and everyone that we meet is put in our path for a purpose. There are no accidents; we’re all teachers – if we’re willing to pay attention to the lessons we learn, trust our positive instincts and not be afraid to take risks or wait for some miracle to come knocking at our door. ~ Marla Gibbs

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Between the Covers – Power of Attraction

Thursday, September 24th, 2015

Today’s Between the Covers is an excerpt from my book.

Here is a excerpt from Power of Attraction (Blackstone Haven, Book # 1). Enjoy.

Wesley was amused by the look of fury mixed with distress on Ian’s normally affable face. He turned, interested in seeing the person who caused such a reaction. Shocked emerald green eyes stared at him. His heart skipped a beat.

Wesley hungrily took in the woman from the forest. She was real. He wasn’t losing his mind. Unconsciously, he took a step towards her. She backed up a step.

Fury filled him. She had run from him once, and she wasn’t doing it again. With a determined stride, he closed the space between them and grabbed her arm. She tried to shrug him off. He changed his grip and yanked her against his body. A shudder racked him as their bodies touched. The scent of cinnamon and vanilla he had thought he imagined cloyed around them. He felt her shiver in reaction. Her eyes heated then went cool.

A click sounded behind him. Absently, he looked away from her compelling gaze. He stilled at the sight of the gun trained on him. The wrath in the other woman’s amber gaze let him know she was waiting for an excuse to blow him away. Her features, so much like those of the woman he held, told him they were somehow related.

The woman in his arms moved against him. The feel of her soft breasts against his chest drove all sane thought from his mind. He turned and jerked her up into his arms.

“Wrap your legs around me,” Wesley growled.

The woman’s eyes narrowed, but she clamped her legs around his waist.

“Don’t order me around.” Her husky voice stroked along his senses.

He put his face close to hers. “Don’t give me reason to.”

She jerked back. He clamped his hands on her ass to hold her against him. She stilled. Wesley gritted his teeth at the feel of her jean-clad mound against him. His mind flashed to the forest and their kiss. He saw the answering flare in her green gaze.

Copyright © Taige Crenshaw, 2011.
All Rights Reserved.

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Blog Feature: Uncovered

Wednesday, September 23rd, 2015

Starting next month I’m restarting a feature I used to do here on the blog. I’m usually asked many questions about my novels and from these questions I have decided to create a feature called:


This is an under the covers look inside my novels. You’ll go behind the scenes, inside the mind of the characters, places and so on. So each week – on Wednesday’s (at least for now) I’ll feature one of my books or my WIP {work in progress}. Soon you can check each week for your uncovered look.

Come and join me as we get uncovered….

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Teasers – Finding Joy

Tuesday, September 22nd, 2015

Find a place inside where there’s joy, and the joy will burn out the pain. ~ Joseph Campbell

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Between the Covers – Hurricane

Thursday, September 17th, 2015

Today’s Between the Covers is a few lines from my book.

Here is a few lines from Hurricane (Singleton, Book # 1). Enjoy.

Julianne wrenched open the door, gesturing for him to leave. Keenan took her silent urging and passed her. Julianne followed. He turned suddenly, crowding her. Gasping, she stepped back instinctively before she caught herself and stood her ground. Scowling, Julianne glared at him.

“I unsettle you.” His grin was smug.

“You startled me,” she retorted.

“Deny it all you want, but you’re intrigued by what there might be between us. I’m a patient man. I can wait until you come around. You have my number. Call me when you change your mind.” Keenan shrugged, turning, then strode away.

Copyright © Taige Crenshaw, 2012.
All Rights Reserved.

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Teasers – Positive

Tuesday, September 15th, 2015

Keep your face to the sunshine and you cannot see a shadow. ~ Helen Keller

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Between the Covers – Power of Instinct

Thursday, September 10th, 2015

Today’s Between the Covers is an excerpt from my book.

Here is a excerpt from Power of Instinct (Blackstone Haven, Book # 2). Enjoy.

“Ian!” she screamed.

“No need to shout. I’m in here.” Ian’s voice came from her living room.

“What is Einstein doing with McGee and Reid? Heck, what is your whole animal farm doing with them? You—” Sinai stepped into the living room, then stopped.

She walked over and examined the big screen TV that took up the whole wall between her two bay windows. There was a lot of space between them, meaning that was a whole lot of TV. She had heard tales of Ian’s TV from her various family members and friends who went to his house to watch games or a movie. Sinai took a breath, trying to be calm.

“What’s going on?” she asked slowly as she turned to Ian.

He was leaning back on her couch, his arms behind his head and his crossed legs extended before him. Her gaze dropped, taking in how his jeans cupped his cock and encased his legs. Heat flooded her. She shifted.

“Since I’m moving in until after your birthday, I’ll need my things.”

Sinai blinked, sure she had heard him wrong. She shook her head. Ian nodded, a smug smile on his face.

“Hell, no!” Sinai roared.

She smacked away the soap. Ian’s hand flashed up, and he caught it. He stood in a lazy motion then walked in a loose-legged gait. Sinai’s heart started to race. She felt as if she was being stalked. She stood her ground as Ian walked right up to her.

He leant down and said softly, “Don’t test me, Nai.”

“You’re not moving in here. It’s not necessary,” she insisted.

Ian’s eyes dilated, then he said in a low tone, “Are you challenging me?”

Sinai raised her head. “On this I am.”

Copyright © Taige Crenshaw, 2011.
All Rights Reserved.

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Teasers – Life

Tuesday, September 8th, 2015

Life is not a problem to be solved, but a reality to be experienced. ~ Soren Kierkegaard

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Ink Motions with Kayleigh Sky

Monday, September 7th, 2015


Interview with Kayleigh Sky

How do you get an idea for your novel?
Good question! It’s a somewhat mysterious process for me. I don’t generally start out to tell a particular story though I might want to pursue a specific sub-genre or approach once I have the glimmer of an idea. Glimmer. I like that word—a faint or unsteady light. I rely on visions, or I guess you could call them flash images. They come very quickly. For Backbone, I saw my protagonist, Brey, naked and chained to a floor. Zoom! There and gone. Just a quick picture. For a book I recently placed with Pride Publishing, which will be released early next year, I saw a man being formally presented, almost like an offering, to another man. And for my WIP I saw a face in shadow. These images have to be compelling, have to make me want to grab on, and then I start to ask questions. For Brey, I wondered how he came to be chained. I asked him. “How did this happen?” “What were you doing before this?” “Where were you going?” “What do you want?” “What are you being kept from?” And a question important for the other hero of the book—“Who is going to save you?” With that latter question I was able to start to build out my other protagonist. Asking these questions sets my imagination free, and the story begins to grow.

What is your writing style? Do you just sit down and write or do you create?
It depends. I wrote a lit fic work under a different name that was completely seat of the pants. It also took me about ten years. Who has that kind of time?!! LOL. I plot now, but this is after I brainstorm and work out various scenarios. I might also have a particular sub-genre I might want to try out. Usually the vision dictates the sub-genre but not always. So I brainstorm, free associate, go crazy, and as I do this, I will start to see patterns. This will be the big picture. I like to have my beginning, a couple of scenes, and then a rough idea of my ending. From there I’ll either begin writing, or I will plot the story out scene by scene as I did for my WIP. With this approach, I end up with a tagline, short synopsis, long synopsis, character sheets (of about 10-15 pages for each character), a detailed outline, and short descriptions of each scene. I use Scrivener to keep everything together. Love Scrivener!

Who is the “Writing Muse” in your life? I.E. who gets your juices flowing?
Thankfully, I don’t have one. What would I do if my muse got hit by a bus?! Just joking. I fall totally in love with my bottom boys. My guys are never versatile (never say never, I guess, but… ). Always a top, always a bottom. I love my tops, but my bottoms are probably my “muses”. They tend to be the drivers of my stories. It’s their mysteries, their secrets and hopes and dreams, and especially their demons, that draw me in and keep me going until I can get them to their happy endings.

How many novels have you written including all works in progress?
Including works in progress, seven. I have the lit fic I mentioned earlier, and as Kayleigh, there’s Backbone, the book currently under contract with Pride Publishing, my actual WIP, and three others in various stages of “evolution”.

Who is your “writing idol”?
Wow. Tough question. In the genre, probably Josh Lanyon for simplicity of language and complexity of character. In my youth, I was greatly affected by Hermann Hesse. Partly for the homoerotic undertones, but also because I found the portrayals of personal and social alienation to mirror my own interior life at the time. I’m a huge Raymond Chandler fan. I can’t get enough of Marlowe’s dry, cynical humor. And for sheer, exquisite mastery of language—Hemingway.

What is your favorite plot line type?
My favorite plot line is the one I pretty much stick to in all my stories—something horrific happens or has happened to the hero. Brey was kidnapped, brutalized, and sold into slavery. His happiness and true love came after struggle and sacrifice. I love HEA endings, but they really don’t mean much to me unless they come after unhappiness. There has to be a struggle. The hero has to show that what he wants matters. That he’d do anything for it. And in the process of the struggle he needs to learn about himself, to grasp with conviction what is really important to him in life. He can’t be a passive player. He needs to choose and fight. So I like plot lines where the hero experiences some pretty terrible trials on his way to a HEA. And he must get the HEA!!

Is there any advice you can offer to anyone who would like to write?
Learn the craft. Buy all the books on craft. Read them, practice them, commit them to memory. Go to workshops. Take classes. Buy more books on craft. Never stop learning about story. Story is magic but a real and tangible thing too. You don’t pull it out of thin air. Ideas on the other hand—those you can pull out of thin air. Give your readers a magical but well-crafted story. And write. Write every day. You might not have time to write a lot but you can write 500 words every day. That’s about a half hour. Sit down. Write. Writing isn’t a job, it’s a vocation. It’s the air you breathe, the dreams you dream. Give it its due. Write. Every day.



A universal vaccine eradicates all known viruses from the human population, but in the wake of this miracle, a deadly new virus suddenly surfaces. As the death toll rises, people riot in panic and civilization collapses. Brey Jamieson, a convicted felon, is suddenly set loose in this violent new world. Desperate to reunite with his family, he sets out on a journey across the country but is captured by a brutal man who plans to sell him into slavery. Hank Kresnak is a cop in the new world. It is his job to preserve the law. But when he sees Brey, his belief in everything he has built his new life on begins to crumble. Memories of a dark and terrible time reawaken. He was the cop who arrested Brey, and with one look into Brey’s eyes, he knew his life would never be the same. He was a married man with two daughters, but he couldn’t forget a man he barely even knew. Now his wife and daughters are gone, and he must struggle to save the man of his dreams from a nightmare fate.


The man was bent over inside the gas station. Naked. Tied down.
Fuck. A slave.
Hank gave a tug on Trixie’s reins and pushed on through scrubby brown hills. The sky was a high, flat blue and a dry, astringent smell filled the air. Hank breathed deeply, inhaling a faint tickle of dust. Below was a spit of a town—just a gas station and an unused diner.
All familiar.
His life now. But, fuck, he didn’t want to see this. He was a cop, for godsakes. He was supposed to break up fights and put bad guys away. In his old life, he knew the homeless man who rummaged in the alleyway behind the Thai Palace by name. He guarded a social worker named Joy who came to take a five-year-old in pink barrettes out of a crack house where her daddy knifed her mommy to death for forgetting to put ice in his Pepsi. He dodged a TV somebody tried to drop on his head out of a fifth floor window. He took complaints and made reports. He hauled in pimps, drug dealers and drunk and disorderlies. He went after bad guys.
Guys like Thom—who bounced and wobbled in the too-hot sun. Animated. A friendly salesman.
Laughter floated in the air.
Christ, he wanted to go get that naked man. Wanted to grab him and run off with him.
Save him.
Like he couldn’t save anybody else.
He wanted his old life back. The life with the dance recitals, soccer, movies with Beth, game night with the girls, work, bills.
He liked that life. It was a good life.
Then a company called Bio-Gen Tech came out with a vaccine called Pox Vac and for only pennies a shot, almost all viruses—flu, colds, HIV—disappeared. Conspiracy theorists claimed that Pox Vac was really nanotechnology funded by corporations to control the purchasing habits of consumers. To them, that was the only way Pox Vac could make sense. Otherwise, it was un-American. There was no profit in cures. Hank scoffed at that. The girls got their shots. Beth too, but he didn’t. Lazy, he guessed.
It didn’t matter. Life went on—piano lessons, school plays, a trip to the Grand Canyon, work.
Then Beth’s affair.
He didn’t like to think about that, but it was a part of the end—like summer’s last barbecues and early twilights.
Then people began to die.
They called the new virus Eve. By spring, shell-shocked survivors scattered out of almost-empty cities. Now, three years later, he lived in a half-dead world with people like Thom Donnell, the bulbous, waddling former insurance salesman, because that’s what Thom was before—a salesman. Still a salesman. Gesticulating avidly to his customers between slaps to the naked man’s ass.
It made Hank’s blood boil.

Brey didn’t know where he was anymore. He thought he used to know. But now he wasn’t sure. His face scrunched up, but he didn’t feel it. All he felt was that bar under his belly, and he wanted to get away from it, but he couldn’t. His position confused him. He didn’t like it. He couldn’t get a good breath in, and his legs shook. He was hot, too.
Lemonade, he thought. That would be good. Under the veranda by the pool. A ball game on TV.
“Giants an’ Dodgers.”
“No Dodgers.”
He didn’t like that voice.
Metal clanked.
Fuck, that bar hurt.
Sweat stung his eyes, and he blinked grit away. There was concrete beneath him. A concrete floor. Oil stains. Oh yeah. A garage.
His legs shook again. Fuck. Fuck. “I have to go!”
Nobody looked at him, though. His voice wouldn’t come out. Only a raspy breath that he couldn’t quite catch. Noise rang in his ears—booming, raucous, shrill.
He struggled, metal bit into his wrists, and the pressure on his belly made his head swim. He was tired. Too tired for this. He didn’t want to do it anymore. Shame flooded him like hot water—itching, burning and stinging. Surreal. Out of nowhere. His memories of getting here swirled with images of swimming pools, orange and yellow leaves, a cell with bars, a blue strobe light, bare dry hills and a fat man smiling brightly.
He couldn’t remember coming here, undressing or bending over the bar. Panic fluttered inside him, and he began to pant again. Please God, please. I don’t want this. I don’t. But he wasn’t really sure of that anymore.
His breath rasped, and that laugh came again. High-pitched. Shrill. “Wakey-wakey.”
He thrashed. No!
One of the men grabbed onto him and slammed him against the bar. Pain burst inside, and his thoughts scattered again. He tried to grab on. Imagined a pool, lemonade, Goldy chasing tennis balls.
The drone of a TV.
Beautiful things like autumn leaves.
His breath exploded. Oh please, God. Please. I wanna go home! Please, please.
But all that came out was a rasp, a whisper—“Help me”—followed by a voice that grunted in his ear. “Who’s gonna help you, pretty boy?”
Him, he thought, painlessly now, floating away again. Him.


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Kayeigh Sky is a m/m erotic romance writer.

Kayleigh’s stories are tales of struggle and pain, loss and despair. Love is won in the battle to rise out of the depths of darkness. Victory is in the sweet bliss of happily ever after.

Once upon a time Kayleigh hid out in a cold dark garage reading a book her parents forbid her to read. She was nine years old. The book? Giovanni’s Room by James Baldwin, a story of love between two men–well, actually the story was a little more complicated than that, but hey, she was nine.

In the dark of the garage, a light, a passion, a sheer joy for love in all its manifestations awoke.
And love between two men–Hot!

Kayleigh’s men are often broken, always brave, and always memorable.

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