Editing an anthology is one of those things that takes much more work than you’d think if you haven’t tried it.  I’ve done a few anthologies with Circlet.  I thought I had the hang of editing such a beast.  When I started working on Up for Grabs 2, however, I realized how many places I did a weak job on past anthologies and tried to improve.  Of course, I’m pretty sure I did a few things worse, but Circlet has done such a good job putting the book together that you probably won’t notice.

The more submissions you have, the better the book.  This doesn’t mean it’s obvious how to get more submissions.  To start with, I found a lot more places to post the call for submissions.  I put some work into soliciting stories from people who didn’t respond to the call for submissions.  At the final count I had thirty-nine submissions.  This is not a huge number, but it’s easier to make a good book from thirty-nine submissions than from twelve.

The next round of cool stuff came from my contributors.  They gave me some fantastic stories, which I hope you will read.  Several contributors allowed me to use my editor super-powers to make their good stories even better.  While I can take credit for many of the edits, please don’t overlook my contributors’ willingness to be edited.  It’s hard to let someone take a scalpel to a story that you thought was perfect.  I’ve had some bad experiences lately with authors who would not accept any editing, so I am grateful to these writers’ willingness to work with me and humbled by the amount of trust they gave me. I hope that I have repaid this trust adequately.

As many writers know, proofreading is an endless task.  There are always more typos.  However, a few writers too extra time to proofread not only their own stories, but other stories and the introduction.  You folks were awesome!

Up for Grabs 2 is a worthy successor to the first Up for Grabs, and a fine anthology in its own right.

New book for fans of BDSM, paranormal romance, immersive fantasy worlds and of course two gorgeous men in a torrid relationship.

This book appeals both to kinky readers and romance readers.  Kannang Feng’s ability to combine the two genre has created something well-written and steamy.  Click the pic for an excerpt and more information.

Reader review!

A long-time Circlet reader has blessed us with an unsolicited review of the book.  Read the review here!

I didn’t want any this time.  This was a tough decision to make.  If it’s been printed before, it’s frequently a really good story and might add something really nice to my anthology.  However, I’ve found it a little uncomfortable to read reviews where the reviewer points out that they’ve read the stories before.

Guilty secret:  I solicited a reprint from a writer.

But, you know, one reprint is like one scoop of icecream.  It can’t hurt anyone, can it?  Besides, it’s been out of print so long that anyone who recognizes it might be glad to see it again.

The real reason, though, was this:  when I haven’t read this story for a while, I forget why I wanted it so much.  Every time I read this story, I remember.  Then I need to get a dry pair of panties.

Do you think that’s a good reason?  I figure it makes all the pre-processing work much more fun.

Real plots have two things that the example doesn’t have: complications and a resolution.

Without a plot (excepting the plot that is not), the submission is not a story.

I’m not trying to tell anyone that there’s anything wrong with a narrative piece . Write all you want. However, if you submit a non-story narrative to paying markets that don’t specifically say they pay for non-story scene report, you may expect a rejection.

I received some excellent work that I could not accept for “UfG2″ because there was no plot.  There may be a third-gender character, but if you can replace that character with a vampire, a werewolf, or an elf, then the writer has not submitted a third-gender story.

It’s kind of like putting sugar in teriyaki sauce and calling it coffee.  I’m sorry, but I won’t swallow it.

I see calls for submissions that include absurdly precise guidelines for formatting manuscripts, with details about margins and spacing, which font to use, with a firm reminder that manuscripts will be rejected for not following the rules.  If you follow an editor over time, sometimes you see the guidelines get tighter and tighter (I hear this happened to the editor who had charge of Marion Zimmer Bradley’s fan anthologies). They do this because their brains have been eaten by the horror of more and more manuscripts that don’t follow the most basic instructions, so they can have a reason for tossing manuscripts unread.  It’s hard not to take it personally after the 300th manuscript written in crayon.  These editors have had their brains eaten by the horror of slush.

I get the impression that once editors have a sufficient Rolodex (in the virtual sense these days), some of them stops putting out slush calls entirely and only publishes solicited manuscripts.  They are cowards.

The wonder of the slush pile is finding someone or something completely new.

I hope my brain never gets eaten, because the slush pile has given me new authors, plots I’ve never seen before, and stories that soak my undies starting at the first paragraph.

There were a total of 28 submissions for 114,000 words.  There were surprisingly few submissions that made my head hurt in small ways (didn’t send in manuscript format, didn’t tell me the word count).  Only egregiously unreadable formatting is an automatic rejection, but making my head hurt doesn’t usually help a submission’s chances.

I’m looking forward to having the time to read.  Soon!  I promise!

You appear to have sent me this story by mistake. I am only reading for one anthology right now, and your story does not resemble the call for submissions in any way.

I don’t actually care much what length people send me, so I put in a standard length range and tell people to query me for longer or shorter.  Mostly, I want to avoid reading 10,000 word submissions with not enough sex in them.

An aspiring writer send me a query about the length. Her story was long at 9,000, but she was worried that there wasn’t enough sex in it.  I told her the length was ok, but that the number one reason why stories get rejected from Circlet is that they don’t have enough sex in it.

She replied, sending her 9,000 word submission without enough sex in it .  If you are alert, you’ll notice that it’s still March.

I sent her back a message suggesting that since the reading period wasn’t open, she might take the time to revise the story or write a new one.

I have a question for my readership.  Should I read this story, or reject it on the grounds that it’s before the reading period?  When should I reject it, now or when I send the rest of the rejections?

ISBN: 978-1-885865-54-0
Word Count: 44,770
List Price: $6.99

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Available from:

• Circlet.com (PDF)
• Amazon Kindle Store
• Fictionwise (all formats)
• All Romance eBooks (epub, prc, pdf, HTML)
• Smashwords (mobi, LRF, epub, pdf, HTML)
• Scribd (PDF, epaper, read online)

For the next two weeks the title is on sale at up to 20% off from most partner sites, and right here at Circlet.com, so don’t dawdle, download a copy today.

Circlet Press brings you seven erotic stories of dominance and submission that will return you to the moment when a master, mistress, or slave first stepped out of a story and made you theirs.

The submissives, slaves, and bottoms you will meet here are tough and competent. No passive orifices, they are beautifully-realized individuals with the spark that makes them recognizably human. In “KATT,” the slave is a beautiful android who fights to hold on to the precious scrap of her life after a disaster. The servant in “Lord of Misrule” knows that his relationship with his master requires something other than obedience. The slave in “Raiders from the Stars” learns that much more is at stake than his personal gratification. In “Personal Benefits,” the highly-trained contract slave offers the pleasure of perfect obedience to the powerful woman who owns her.

Nor are their tops the well-endowed ciphers who “train” Cindi. They have needs and aspirations. Pleasure may be an important part of their lives, even the most important part of their lives, but they are also seeking love, acceptance and a future for themselves and their slaves in a hard world. The master in “Raiders from the Stars” knows that the safety that humanity takes for granted is rooted in obedience. In “Romans,” the master forges a new sort of domestic tranquility for his new slaves. The bureaucrat of a repressive government in “Exceptional Acts” discovers that pleasure is the most powerful form of rebellion.

Table of Contents:

• The Lord of Misrule byKannan Feng
• KATT by Smotp
• Romans by Joe Nobel
• Raiders from the Stars by Jay Starre
• Exceptional Acts by Argus Marks
• Personal Benefits by Elizabeth Thorne
• Scenes in a Beijing Hotel by Jason Rubis

Excerpt:

From the Introduction

Let's call her Cindi.

She is a habitué of the slush pile, arriving in a story titled "Cindi's Journey" or similar. She has a body with unlikely measurements, no history worth mentioning, and no special talents except the ability to walk in 5 inch heels while burdened by disproportionately large breasts. She lives in a future society indistinguishable from ours except that it supports some form of contract slavery that exists without political or economic rationale. For no particular reason she signs up for slavery and undergoes a lengthy period of what is called 'training' even though she doesn't learn anything. Indeed, her trainers show no interest in developing her abilities beyond stretching her orifices. She has nothing to say beyond crying out prettily in response to the endless beatings or perhaps exclaiming over the size of her trainers' penises (indeed, how would we know that their penises were fearsomely large if she didn't dread accommodating them?) She may struggle in her restraints, but never in her soul. There is no twist to Cindi's fate; at the end of the story she will be sold to one of her faceless masters.

You won't find Cindi or her masters in this book.

The submissives, slaves, and bottoms you meet here are tough and competent. No passive orifices, they are beautifully-realized individuals with the spark that makes them recognizably human. In "KATT," the slave is a beautiful android who fights to hold on to the precious scrap of her life after a disaster. The servant in "Lord of Misrule" knows that his relationship with his master requires something other than obedience. The slave in "Raiders from the Stars" learns that much more is at stake than his personal gratification. In "Personal Benefits," the highly-trained contract slave offers the pleasure of perfect obedience to the powerful woman who owns her.

Nor are their tops the well-endowed ciphers who "train" Cindi. They have needs and aspirations. Pleasure may be an important part of their lives, even the most important part of their lives, but they are also seeking love, acceptance and a future for themselves and their slaves in a hard world. The master in "Raiders from the Stars" knows that the safety that humanity takes for granted is rooted in obedience. In "Romans," the master forges a new sort of domestic tranquility for his new slaves. The bureaucrat of a repressive government in "Exceptional Acts" discovers that pleasure is the most powerful form of rebellion.

Dominance and submission and the passions inspired by the roles define the human soul. The discomfort we feel in admitting the sexual feelings inspired by authority in real life only adds to the power of these fantasies. Let them seduce you.

Lauren P. Burka, Editor

Excerpt from The Lord of Misrule

by Kannan Feng

I earned the right to walk the halls of Atia Selene when I was sixteen, and even at that age, the masters of the Veiled University knew that I would one day join their ranks. I was a prodigy, I was brilliant, and unfortunately for the younger students and the servants around me, I was a holy terror.

After all, before I set my mind to the aetheric arts, I was the youngest son of the House of Fen, a prince by birth and gifted in every way that a man could be. I knew it, and I made sure that everyone around me knew it as well.

In the seventh year of study at Atia Selene, the students who remain are provided with an assistant, but the word fails to do the position justice. I've heard the older students refer to their assistant as miracle workers or genii who manage their affairs, search the libraries for the elusive tome that they need, and organize their writings, all while being perfectly even-tempered with the famously eccentric ways of the Veiled University.

It is an extremely demanding job, and when Iskander was presented to me, I was far from confident with his ability to handle it. He was tall, with blue-black hair and the warm, dusky skin that marked him as Liuban-born. There was a spray of dark freckles across his nose that made him look even younger than he was, and I guessed that was actually a few years younger than I was myself.

"You don't look like all that much," I said candidly.

He only tilted his head at me, unsmiling, waiting for my command, and impulsively, I reached out to palm his cheek. For a moment, I considered seeing if he would tumble into the bed at my command and if I could convince him to put that soft mouth to a use that was certainly not outlined in the university charter. Then I remembered myself and stepped back, already embarrassed by my lapse.

No matter what I might have feared, Iskander performed admirably. He returned my books to the library before the librarians came after me with sword and fire, he double-checked my papers' citations into the wee hours of the morning, he made sure that my desk was kept well-stocked with ink and paper, and he did it all with unfailing grace.

After a while, Iskander become invisible, or at least he mostly did, and with more pretty things hopping in and out of my bed than I knew what to do with, I was happy enough to let him take care of the day-to-day trivia of my life.

Why should I bother about small things like, that after all, when I was in love? The thing about being twenty four is that you can have a new love of your life every few weeks or so.

Unfortunately, on a cold night near to Christmas, my most recent paramour had decided to let me know that he was getting married. He was just two years older than me, and he was getting married. It was crushing, and I spent the next six hours drinking and ranting about the perfidy of men to anyone who would listen to me. I was more than a little annoyed that no one had chosen to accompany me home, and with my apartments filled with cold air and work that I didn't want to do, I couldn't see my mood improving at all.

All that said, when Iskander opened the door to my bedchamber to deliver the books that I needed for my next paper, I wasn't happy with anything.

"Wait, don't go," I said, and from the wary look on his face, I could tell that he wasn't sure of my mood. Well, that made two of us, and I rolled over in the bed, propping myself up on one bare elbow.

"Yes, Verity?"

"Have you ever kissed a man before, Iskander?"

A lovely blush that colored his face and I grinned inwardly, think about how much I love straight boys. I was startled when he nodded, just once.

"How very lucky," I said sweetly. "I won't have to teach you a thing."

When I beckoned he came to my bedside and dropped to his knees. To my surprise though, he took my chin between two fingers and tilted my head up before dropping his mouth to mine. My shock quickly turned to something else, though, as he demonstrated clearly and beyond the shadow of a doubt that he knew how to kiss. His soft tongue explored my mouth leisurely and with every semblance of enjoying it, and it made me melt and want more. I had anticipated a kiss that was meek and hesitant, but what I got was a feeling of being overwhelmed and completely at Iskander's mercy. Distantly, I thought that if Iskander had been putting up with me for so long, he would have little mercy to spare.

Iskander brought his hand up to gently touch my face and that was what made me bolt. The kiss wanted to turn into something more, and I knew that I couldn't let it, not if I wanted things to stay as they were.

I sat up and pulled back from him, wiping my mouth hard, and staring at him with what I hoped was haughty disdain. It was one thing to bait a servant, and quite another to turn into my servant's willing plaything, and I was furious with myself.

"You can go now, Iskander. Make sure that you confirm my appointment with the discourse counselor this evening."

He nodded and took his leave, and if my strange and completely inappropriate gesture made him uncomfortable, I couldn't tell in the way that he took care of his work.

Christmas came in with drifting piles of snow and a howling wind, and by the eighth day of partying, I was in a black mood. If one more person came up to me talking of good tidings and good will, I was well prepared to club him over the head with a Yule log. Under the best of times, I'm not fond of the holiday, and this year I was facing it alone without someone to drag into the corner and kiss until I was drunk with it.

All in all, it was shaping up to be a rotten winter when the Feast of Fools rolled around. The Feast of Fools is the world turned upside down, the one night of the year where servants become kings and princes become chambermaids to be fucked and horses to be ridden.

When you put stodgy academics in with people who are meant to serve them loyally and without a peep of dismay, you'd think that something like the Feast of Fools would be banned at the gates and the night spent in prayer and guilt. That's what you might think, but you'd be wrong because the Feast of Fools is one of the biggest saturnalias that Atia Selene enjoys all year. If I never saw the Chancellor dressed up as the Milkmaid Queen again, it would be too soon.

I had told Iskander to lay out some clothes for me, but I was unprepared for the flat black coat and trousers that were waiting for me on my bed. On one hand, it was nice to have a servant who is so devoted that he can read my moods. On the other hand, I wasn't quite sure I wanted to dress in somber black for the brightest night in winter.

I glanced at my closet, where my significantly more colorful wardrobe spilled out in disarray, but I shrugged and put on the clothes that Iskander had chosen for me. They fit like a glove, and at least they were clean.

The Regina Ursae hall was full of people, and the party had started hours before I slouched in. In priest's black, I stood out like a sore thumb, but with the alcohol flowing free of charge from sundown until dawn, I couldn't imagine that anyone cared.

I was looking around to rather dismally to see if I could catch someone circulating with a glass of something stronger than the cider and my eyes were drawn to the seat on top of the central dais.

No one's quite sure who makes the choice, but at sunset every year on the Feast of Fools, a Lord of Misrule appears on the chair that is usually only occupied by the Chancellor. On this particular Feast, the Chancellor was got up in his best Ella Cinders costume and the seat was occupied by my Iskander, wearing nothing but a pair of gray trousers and a blindingly red military jacket trimmed in a general's gold braid.

Wearing pure black when everyone else was tricked out in eye searingly bright colors made me downright prim, and my first thought was shock at his bare chest and the winking red gem that pierced his navel. How had he served me for so long without my knowing of such a thing? I suddenly wanted to take it between my teeth, but such pleasant thoughts were blown out of my mind when a young man in a mask and very little else swung up to the dais for a kiss.

Nothing could have been more matter of fact than the way that Iskander pressed the man to his knees. With his hand wrapped firmly in the man's chestnut hair (who was it? I should have known), Iskander kissed him throughly as the crowd cheered. It was more blatantly sexual than the kiss that I had demanded that he give me, and as stupid as it was, I felt the first stirrings of jealousy strike me low in the gut.

I reached for a glass of that something stronger that I had been looking for, but just as I noticed that Iskander's intent black eyes were searching for the crowd, they locked on me. If I had had my wits around me, I would have ran or at least glared, but as it was, I could only stand there and think rather stupidly of how beautiful he was when smiled in that elegantly predatory fashion.

"Bring Verity here to heel," he called. "I should very much like to see the Veiled University's most promising scholar on his knees."

His voice cracked like a whip and it brought the entire hall surging towards me. A dozen hands pushed me forward, and if I fell, I knew they would carry me. Suddenly and with the force of lightning, I was terrified and when they threw me face first onto the dais in front of Iskander, I knew deep in my marrow that the world was upside down. Iskander was the Lord of Misrule and even if I had him tied up and beaten with a dog whip in the morning, nothing would change the fact that he was going to have his every single whim obeyed like it was the Lady's word tonight.

His eyes glittered when I was thrown so unceremoniously at his bare feet and slowly he knelt down. Iskander's hand in my hair was oddly tender, stroking twice before grabbing a great handful and dragging me to my feet.

"I am going to stretch this night forever, Verity," he whispered in my ear. "Go on and pretend that you don't like it, if that's what pleases you."

Unfortunately for me, I couldn't even pretend that I wasn't aroused by having him so close, by having all those people who usually had to bow and scrape before me tearing at me with their bright eyes.

With a showman's grace, he turned me towards the crowd, letting their jeers and catcalls swell before reaching for his next grand gesture. His hand still fisted in my hair and keeping me straight as an arrow in front of him, his other hand suddenly glittered in the edge of my vision.

A paring knife, I had time to think stupidly. He peels apples with that…

It came up sharp and fast, and for a moment, I thought that Iskander was going to kill me right there. Instead, he found the button underneath my throat and with a deft flick of his wrist sent it flying into the crowd.

To read the rest of the story, purchase your copy of the ebook KNEEL TO ME today!

The collection starts off with “When Angles Fall”, by Helen E. H. Madden, a sexy and endearing science fiction story about how one man’s upbringing in a religious “cult” effects how he deals with his dying mother and the future that she leaves him.

One of my favorite stories was Tom Cardamone’s, “Royal Catamite”. It is a wonderful erotic story that pushes the taboo buttons of underage sex and incest, in a way that only Tom can do.