Wednesday, June 30, 2010


By Maria Ferrer

In honor of the movie release of “Eclipse,” the latest installment of the TWILIGHT series, I am releasing a list of my favorite Hollywood vampyres, including those that frighten me and those that I’d gladly stick my neck out for – pun intended.

We’ll start with Mr. Evil Incarnate – Nosferatu. That is a face no one could love and makes one run, not walk, to the nearest church.

Bela Lugosi gave vampyres class and sophistication, and the man could certainly work a cape.

But the man who can suck my blood ANYtime, ANYwhere, is none other than Dracula, aka Frank Langella. He made vampyres sexy.

It’s the eyes. The eyes – the windows to the soul – and this Dracula’s eyes say, “Come here. Don’t be afraid. I want to share love’s last kiss with you.” And because of those eyes, not only did Lucy and Mina succumb, but so did I and millions of women around the world.

In case you didn’t know, Frank Langella played Dracula on Broadway and on the big screen. To this day, his is “the” reigning vampyre on Broadway. And, not even Phantom’s award-winning Michael Crawford could knock him off his throne. Crawford’s “Dracula: The Musical” closed weeks after its debut.

Back to my list of sexy vampyres.

Jason Patric and Keifer Sutherland were two “Lost Boys” who definitely found trouble in sunny California.

Wesley Snipes brought color and martial arts to the world of vampyres. The fight between good and evil vampyres is on, and Wesley cuts right through to the heart of the matter.

The triple threat of Tom Cruise, Brad Pitt and Antonio Banderas in Anne Rice’s “An Interview with a Vampire” rocked the vampyre community. These vamps don’t hide. Hell, they have a stage show and flaunt their vampirism for all and sundry.

David Boreanaz as Angel in the TV series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer is another hottie. Unfortunately, he turns good and there went the sex-appeal. I make no excuses. I like my vampyres hot, sexy and dangerous. The new-and-improved Angel drops from the list.

Kate Beckinsale's Selene makes the list. I’m not into women; I just wish I looked that good in leather. She is not the first female vampyre but she certainly can claim the title of Warrior Queen Vamp.

Hugh Jackman makes my sexy vampyre list. No, he’s not a Vampyre, but he is a Vampyre slayer. He’s just too sexy to leave off.

Now there is a new Prince of Darkness--Edward Cullen.

And though Bella and I are not getting any younger, Edward remains young and vibrant. I get a little frustrated with his “woe is me” spiel, but let’s face it, he’s a teenager. He will always be a teenager. Bella better be converted ASAP before she matures any further and outgrows him.

As for me, I’m waiting for Frank Langella’s Dracula resurrection. It’s the eyes, the window to his soul (Note to Edward: Yes, vampyres have souls; being damned is something else all together.)

Back to Frank’s – to Dracula’s – eyes. It’s the eyes that seduce you, that tell you that you are the one, that only your blood will give him life. Only you. He will starve without you.

And so I give in. I am his slave, his lover. His fangs are sharp against my lips, my neck. I can feel my blood rush towards his kiss. I can feel his arms getting stronger as he tightens his embrace, and all I can think to say is, Bite me, baby, one more time!

Who is your favorite vampyre? Which one would you gladly succumb to? Do tell.♥

Maria Ferrer loves watching vampyre movies.  She likes her vampyres mature, sexy and a lot dangerous. Forget the bad boys; give her a dangerous man any day or night.   Maria also loves to read vampyre books. Some of her favorite vampyre authors are Caridad Pineiro, J.R. Ward, Maggie Shayne and Lara Adair.

Tuesday, June 22, 2010

Au Courant

I guess I am the one that Lise was referring to when she spoke about the fourth horsewomen who goes for the "au courant erotic literary experience."
I am a romantic; a violent one at that. I see romance everywhere. Every part of my day is a romance in the way I see things. I remember reading a scathing comment about Anais Nin in a review of her biography saying that she was writing the things that she was writing (about her erotic life and erotica) while there was a war going on and I thought to myself who were they to criticize?
There are politicians who leave their office because they want to be with a woman that they love in another country, or who get caught with their pants down, literally, and surely these are not exemplary behaviors, but it goes to show you that love and sex, at the end of the day, are the things that drive us more than anything else, no matter who we are. They are basic, human and it is the truth. I am watching Remember Me, My Love, and what I am viewing is underscoring this point. Earlier this evening I was watching The Apartment while I was moonblogging h
ere, and it as well was even more demonstrative of this point. I love it.
I see love and romance everywhere I am. I was at Nocello drinking Nocello with the other three horsewomen and there was this photograph (all the images here are Horst P.Horst). A bunch of Horst P. Horst photographs and this one (right) struck me. It is a costume from Salvador Dali's Dream of Venus, 1939. Surreal and erotic to me at the same time, apropos of Dali and the Surrealists. This restaurant had the best bread and the scent of Nocello liqueur alone is an experience--walnut and hazelnut combined! But it was the abundance of photographs that remained with me. I like erotic images as well as erotic literature. I resent that men are considered to be the visual ones because I always judge a book by its cover!
The world that we live in is designed by love and sex. It is an inevitable truth; we would not be here without one, the other or both. Women read romances on my train, to and from work every morning, from all walks of life. Erotica-- is what usually can be found in my hands. Friends tease me that I could find the erotic books in a pile--not so much on my train, but it is on the rise and people are taking it more seriously. Still not the most easily accessible genre by any means. It is kind of hard to define. I guess it is clear that I like romantic erotica for the most part, but not all of it is romantic. I like variations--I am constantly intrigued by plots that I have not seen before. I love innovation within the erotica. Right now there is a bloom for innovation with erotica, The Erotic Readers and Writers Association always inspires me because I am always learning something new from their site--there is always some twist and turn on the genre which I love.
Not sure if I am au courant as Lise gave me credit for since my archetype for erotica is Anais Nin--I read from her Little Birds at my RWA-NYC Chapter sister Rachel Kramer Bussel's In The Flesh Reading Series last year. I am as yet unpublished as an erotic writer and in a lot of ways am still honing my craft. Sometimes I write pieces that are erotic, but there is not a bit of sex. Is that possible? I think that half of what makes something erotic is the power that another person has over another person, the surrender. I think that we surrender as a part of every day life and that is why it makes such compelling fiction. The things we do for love and sex...

Wednesday, June 2, 2010

Sex and THIS City?

by Lisbeth Eng

When I first moved from the hinterlands of Staten Island to the chic isle of Manhattan four years ago, one of my co-workers excitedly remarked, “Lisbeth will be the new Terry Bradshaw!” “Huh? Terry Bradshaw?” I replied, bewildered. What did she possibly think I could have in common with the bald football announcer? “Carrie Bradshaw!” she corrected with a laugh, and went on to explain her prediction that my new life as a Manhattan single woman would be as exhilarating, fashion-forward and sexcapade-filled as that of the fictional heroine I had barely heard of. Yes, that’s right, I have never watched even one episode of Sex and the City, nor either of the two movie versions, nor read Candace Bushnell’s book upon which the TV series was based.

I, a forty-something-year-old widow, am probably as un-Carrie-Bradshaw-like as a native New Yorker can be. I have lived in four of the five boroughs (alas, the Bronx will probably never enjoy the privilege of my residency), having spent the longest period, thirty-five years, in Staten Island, which, in case you were unaware, is part of New York City. It’s amusing that transplanted mid-westerners (among others) seem to think of themselves as more “New York” than those of us born and bred in the outer boroughs, simply because they have lived in Manhattan a few years and know all the “in” places to eat, drink, shop and pick up men. But I digress.

First a disclaimer: since I have never watched the TV show (or seen the movies or read the book) I am in no position to judge the lives of women who seem more interested in their Manolo Blahniks and cosmopolitans than in global warming or human rights abuses in Darfur. But I’ve really no right to make such a self-righteous comment. For all I know, Carrie and her friends may spend their free time volunteering at a local soup kitchen, and I’ll bet they donate last season’s Jimmy Choos to the Salvation Army so that the disadvantaged can get “back on their feet”, properly shod.

All right, perhaps I’m just jealous. I am seldom fashionably attired (for me, comfortable shoes trump high heels and pointy toes every time), and engaging members of opposite sex has always been a challenge for me, especially after I became single again at the age of forty-four. I live in one of the most exciting cities in the world – “the city that never sleeps.” Well, I sleep. Even on weekends I’m usually in bed by midnight. Nightlife? Does watching the eleven o’clock news count?

So how can a single gal living in New York City lead such a boring life? I don’t. There is more to this city than a quest for sex and cocktails. Besides world-famous museums, opera companies, orchestras, Broadway theater (not to mention off- and off-off-Broadway theater), there is a soul to this city that may not be obvious to the casual observer. An army of volunteers delivers meals to the homebound elderly and AIDS patients. Community gardeners beautify hidden corners of this concrete jungle. The socially conscious meet to strategize against pollution, political oppression, poverty and hopelessness. As for me, I enjoy the above mentioned museums, opera and theater, study foreign languages “just for fun”, volunteer for Amnesty International on behalf of prisoners of conscience and write romance fiction for self-fulfillment and for the remote possibility of selling the movie rights to my soon-to-be-published debut novel for a seven-figure sum.

Which brings us back to sex. And self-promotion. For sex and another city, how about Verona, Italy circa 1944 where a woman torn between two lovers, one her compatriot and the other her enemy, battles the Nazis? You can read about her (and her lovers) when my World War II romance novel, In the Arms of the Enemy, is released by The Wild Rose Press on October 1, 2010. In the meantime, please visit my website at for a preview.

BIO: Lisbeth Eng is a romance author and financial services representative (that’s how the rent gets paid) who inhabits the lovely island of Manhattan where she continues her search for spiritual awakening, inspiration, the meaning of life and yes, well… ahem…sex. Visit her at