Jan 29, 2015
E.V. Greig rated it 4 of 5 stars on Goodreads
"The Seduction of Lucy is a gutsy erotic thriller, and pulls few punches. Author Kris Rafferty demonstrates a strong grasp of her chosen genre. The story opens with the gory aftermath of a mission gone badly wrong. It progresses along a convoluted path of betrayal, double bluff, gender politics, and interdepartmental paranoia.
The relationship dynamic between the two central characters is questionable at best. The rules of their world are far from normal, but even so it remains difficult to find a standard type of romance here. There is sex and a lot of anger, but for the most part this is a story of duty. Perhaps the hardest question that it poses is who that duty ought to be towards.
Although the plot of the novel resolves itself tidily, there were several supporting characters that deserved more attention. It would be interesting to see their stories developed further; and to have more of the mysterious Agency unveiled."
Here's the link: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/23864896-the-seduction-of-lucy
I hope to make this book one of a series of four, entitled "The Agency". As written, it's a stand alone book, however. *sighs* There's so much more I want to do with the story, but we'll see. :)
"The Seduction of Lucy" is coming out Feb 3, so it's on my mind. When a commercial for "Lucy" by #LucBesson, the #ScarlettJohansson movie flashed on the TV, I said to my husband, "I told you I'd write my version of that movie."
That's where the idea for "The Seduction of Lucy" came about.
I'm a huge fan of both Besson and Johansson, so when "Lucy" ads hit the airways, I was psyched. I've seen "La Femme Nikita" a million times, in all three of its incarnations, and I'm sure I'm not alone in saying, it's not difficult to watch Johansson for an hour and a half. But after the first twenty minutes of "Lucy", the movie turned into some weird art house film, and though I'm sure there was layered symbolism and erudite life lessons being doled out, (as well as CGI that had geeks everywhere raving about its scope,) I was left feeling cheated. (I was going to say disappointed, but that doesn't even begin to touch how I felt. Cheated is the correct word.)
If I was the type to swear in public, expletives would have tripped off my tongue as I screamed them at the rolling credits. Instead, I lumbered out of the theater with the other semi-comatose, sulking viewers, and turned to my daughter, saying, "That's not what they sold me." I'd waited so long for a promised experience that wasn't delivered, and couldn't let go of that version of the movie in my head, the version, apparently, that existed only in my head. So I put on my coat, nudged my daughter and said, "I'm going to write what it should have been." She was kind enough to nod, and though she didn't try to hide her condescension (she's sixteen,) I took that as a "You go girl!"
I wanted to write a Lucy that was bad ass, that came into her own, that stood up for herself, and was the one that saved the day (without needing her to be whatever Besson turned Lucy into in that movie. I still don't get it.) The audience deserved my version of this trope. Women deserved my version. Totally mad I didn't get my trope!
So I wrote it. "The Seduction of Lucy". Scarlett Johansson would be great in it, but I visualized #Haywire #GinaCarano. I can't wait to see what you think.
I've had an epiphany. *drums roll, horns toot, banners wave* Social media is the steam valve on society's pressure cooker. And here I was thinking it was a place to exchange pictures of kittens in teacups. I'm not talking about #gamergate types, pubescent-minded hatemongers spewing their venom. I'm talking about the rest of us. People with opinions.
I went to Book club last night, and when I voiced an unpopular view, shouting erupted. The noise startled me. When I cause trouble on Twitter or Facebook, the knives thrown my way are sharpened nouns and verbs, their volume is in numbers, not decibels, and the vivisection is done within an allotted 140 characters. The intensity of my Book club buddies's response to my unpopular view was like Phil Spector's "Wall of Sound". No word broke through to distinguish itself. Communication came via tone and facial cues. I sat there, waiting for someone to notice the entirety of the Book club was shouting at me at the same time, but no one did. The shouting seemed to go on forever, but I'm sure it was no more than a full minute. I had to intervene when no one else seemed up for the task, by saying, "the horse is dead. Stop beating it." Communally, everyone agreed. Their point was made. I was wrong.
I didn't know what to think, until much later.
I'm a writer. Every thought, mood, idea or whim I want to express, gets expressed how I want to express it. It's how I make a living. Social media is my playground where fellow writers, complete strangers, people who are as different from me as night is to day, challenge my thoughts, ideas and whims as quickly as I have them.
Most people don't have that, so when an opportunity arises, such as a Book club, to air an opinion, it becomes the most important opinion in the world, at that moment, and the prize is being right, because we all know "right" is a static state with no shades of gray. String enough of these moments together and you get my Book club last night.
I prescribe more social media for one and all. Blogs should be viewed as medicinal. The steam value needs to be thrown wide, everyone needs to have their opinions aired or we run the risk of rot.
There's nothing like 15k comments telling you you're wrong to put things in perspective.
Artwork by A. Rafferty, Copyright 2015
It's releasing in 4 weeks exactly. I've got the sophomore book blues, and am beginning to understand why writers go into hiding. After you bleed on the page, achieve the contract you want, people read your work and the curtains protecting your psyche are nudged ever apart, book by book.
Until the release date gets closer, I've decided to live in denial, taking Scarlett's advice. "I'll think of it tomorrow..."
I've been writing almost non-stop for the last year. I've taken breaks for family, cooking dinner, karate, walking, running, illness, holiday and sleep, but mostly I've been writing. I just finished my last WIP, edits mostly done, a few I's to dot, T's to cross, but mostly done. I'm exhausted.
I've had a growth spurt of sorts with my craft, and I need to process, recharge. The most surprising aspect to this experience is the lack of driving need to empty my mind onto the page. My relentless pursuit of the written word has defined me for so long, I'm a bit bereft that it's gone into hiding for the nonce, though I don't miss that uncomfortable between books feeling.
Does writing a book proposal count as writing?
Repped by Louise Fury at The Bent Agency.