Meet Arlen J. Stevenson, an author of three zombie novels. This good ol’ boy from Alabama spends much of his time chasing women. Whenever he meets a new conquest, he presents her with a gift bag filled with sexy black lingerie. Also pursuing women online, he’s led to correspond with a Los Angeles-based writer of term papers, Helena Hoffman. She isn’t aware of what Arlen is as she only sees his amusing and entertaining side in their daily email messages.
Told in alternating points of view, we see Arlen’s self-absorbed lifestyle as he endeavors to screw his numerous catches all over the South. Helena and Arlen get friendlier via their online communication, and he invites her to be his personal manager because of her communications skills, gullibility factor, and location. She launches a MySpace site for him. Soon he realizes there are thousands of available women in his region alone. Helena is aware of his perpetual cheating and decides to investigate it in person. What happens after that is alternately scary and darkly humorous. “Love Me, Need Me: A Narcissist’s Tale” contains graphic sexual content and language.
Targeted Age Group:: 18+
What Inspired You to Write Your Book?
Living and working in Hollywood I encountered many people with narcissistic tendencies. I’ve also discovered that they hide online and can come across as very helpful and pleasant…until things don’t go their way.
How Did You Come up With Your Characters?
My main character, Arlen J. Stevenson, is based on a few different men that I met both on and offline. I find that the narcissist makes a very lively leading man as he’s constantly looking for the next victim. He’s a very action-oriented and goal-oriented guy, so readers want to learn more about him. Helena Hoffman, his online correspondent, is the opposite of him, but she does want to get to know him a whole lot better.
Here’s an edited [from R-rated to PG-rated] excerpt from Chapter 5. Enter the mind of a narcissist, as seen from his point of view.
I was languishing in my popularity as the best author’s advocate on the entire Internet. I had to wade through a lot of email lately; many of it from horny ol’ gals way more outspoken than Helena. Some of them could string together their sentences while others were in the deluded state of thinking they were writers but hardly able to use words intelligently.
Up in North Carolina I had a minor author’s advocate just itching like a tick to see me real soon. She was north of fifty, but raring to go. She sweetly wrote to me, “Arlen I just have to have you now and if that’s too blunt for you…” No, Katelynn Brenner, that’s exactly my speed. Now. I want everything now, always have, always will. And if you’re horny and I’m horny, well hell, that’s just the best combination in the whole wide world and then some.
Katelynn knew I was married, but that wasn’t a problem. It’d be a done deal as soon as she scraped her pennies together from her cheating dog of a husband. Katelynn clearly wanted me so bad and be happy with just being my weekend buddy. Hell, name the time, date and place and we’d be ready for our Friday through Sunday buddy-fest.
Then there was the matter of Candice. She was a hack PP [Promises Publishers] writer who’d never amount to anything literarily, but she came from a decent family and had lots of money. Divorced, three teenagers, a chubby ol’ gal who lived in Georgia and was willing to meet with me any day or night of the week. I had to hint to a longterm relationship as she might’ve been horny but she was kinda on the needy side. Gals like that needed reassurance and that came in the form of the words: “longterm” “relationship” and the seal the deal phrase: “I can see us being together for a long, long time.” I also wasn’t above and beyond throwing in the word “love” here and there, but my strict rule was never before the fifth email exchange. I usually phrased it like this: “I am slowly but surely falling in love with you,” but that was reserved for the real hardcore “in need cases” as I referred to ‘em. So far there had only been a few, and I closely monitored them for a potentially sticky situation.
I knew when that verbiage landed in their inboxes I was almost assured of being in their personal inboxes for real. Being the online personage I was, I never knew for sure if some ol’ gal would post pictures of me and the happily “Arlenized” ol’ gal up all over her site and the Reality Writes forum, the “private party page” which was a pretty wild place of writers exchanging some juicy tales. Meeting the women had to be done judiciously. Locals and near-locals were the best because the cost factor didn’t really enter the equation, as no motel rooms were needed. ‘Course they could turn into stalkers and I was god damned lucky that I hadn’t had to deal with that recently.
About the Author:
Lisa Maliga has been writing ever since she learned how to put crayon to paper back in kindergarten. Since then, she has learned to type and uses a laptop, citing it as way more convenient. She still makes and uses her own soapy creations.
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