Saturday, December 5, 2015

If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say it at all

This week I have unfriended and unfollowed two people because of their response to the San Bernadino shootings. Two weeks ago it was two people for their thoughts on the Planned Parenthood shooting. I also unfollowed someone due to their response on the Paris terrorist attacks.  The people on the Planned Parenthood were beyond obnoxious in their posting and it quite frankly made me sick. The person on the terrorist attacks was so callous I was shocked. I have seen postings I don't agree with before and even though I didn't agree with them I shrugged and moved on, not feeling the need unfollow or unfriend but this time postings went clear out of bounds and I don't want to be associated with people who think or post things like that.

I get it something violent and scary happens or someone says something that just makes you want to jump up and down and shout your views and feelings from a mountaintop but before you do stop and think. Are your feelings so strong they are worth losing potential followers, readers, and maybe even people you viewed as a friend? While normally I would encourage people to attempt to open a dialogue in the times of today that just doesn't seem possible anymore, it winds up becoming a screamfest and your stupid because you don't believe what I believe and there is no discussion. You are trying to sell something, you and if people don't like what you are selling they won't buy. Some of you may go 'Good I believe what I believe and I don't care if someone doesn't like it. If they don't like me then I don't want them following me or buying my books.' Really? Don't be stupid. It's hard enough to find readers and people willing to hit follow or like that you would truly be cutting off your nose to spite your face.

I'm not saying you should attempt to be something you're not but it's plain and simple if you can't say anything nice then don't say it at all. Think about the things you are liking and sharing the people I unfriended seemed to want to say something cruel by sharing their post and cruel doesn't work for me. If it's a statement of fact that you don't care about your sales and you want to be outspoken and stand so far behind your beliefs that you are willing to forgo followers who believe differently than you then go for it. However, don't be surprised or whine later about lost followers or sales.

Monday, October 26, 2015

Don't just read, reread

It's a common question, do you ever reread books? Most people who say no do so with the excuse there's too many books out there to read the same books over again. However, if you're a writer you're reading not just to enjoy the story along the way in the back of your mind you're probably noting things that annoy you maybe ways the story could be better. If it's really good though all you're doing is reading, so caught up in the story you couldn't careless about sentence structure or how the dialogue is smooth and real. It's those stories that you should be rereading. Those stories will allow you to see where you could be doing better, maybe even show you your own strengths and assuring yourself so you can focus on the other areas where you need work. Just like an athlete will watch game tapes to see an alternate view of their performance once you know how the story ends you'll be able to see all the things you didn't before. 

I've been rereading since I started reading, mainly because I didn't understand everything as I was too young to understand. Then I started reading Shakespeare and I had to read again and again and again to first understand then to enjoy. Even now there are books I go back to for sheer pleasure and others to learn from, moving them from state to state not even considering leaving them behind. Those books, they aren't the classics either, they are the everyday mystery, thriller, and romances I read for pure pleasure and want to write. I have read the classics some I enjoyed others felt like pure torture I honestly can't say I'm a better writer for having read them and I really don't care if it would make me a better writer, they aren't what I want to read or write so I'm not going to reread them. I'll stick to what I want to write. 

I'm not about to suggest rereading is the only way to be a better writer but really what better way to pass the day? Are there really no books out there that were so good you wouldn't enjoy one more time?

Saturday, October 3, 2015

What's in a name?

Flint, Beacon, Sterling, Ace, Dragon then there are the women Buttercup, Reese (for a girl?) Floraleaf, Ever ughh for reals? Okay, I get it Robert is not all that romantic, Beverly ehh not so much. I also understand that you want your characters to be memorable your hero strong and these days Alpha to the teeth the women soft and sweet and still somehow independent and brave enough to take on the hero. Even I can be accused of using not common names-one of my character's her name was Avery BUT I have heard it used before and I liked it and it sounded pretty. Ria, also a name I've heard and actually knew someone with the name. I've even taken my guys into other cultures so I could use not common names, Rafael, Dmitri but at least they were common names in those cultures. It worked well but it also helped in that it added an extra dimension to not just the characters but the stories themselves. 

Feel free to steal that idea, make one of your characters Asian, Hispanic, Filipino, or any of the myriad wonderful cultures that make us such a unique great country or take your character out of the States to somewhere interesting. Anything other than naming your character Blade.

Because I look at the descriptions with those crazy ass names and I just can't take them seriously. I'm pretty sure I'm not the only one. Sure there's a concern that if writers use oh I don't ordinary regular names that the heroes could, in the reader's mind become a mish mash and hard to decipher one hero from another. However that's where you the writer come in. You make the story more memorable, you make your characters one of a kind so it doesn't matter if your character's name is one of a thousand John's from other books the reader remembers yours over another. Giving the characters some strange, one-of-a-weird name isn't going to make your character better, it isn't going to make your story better-only you can do that.   

So how about getting out that big book of baby names, I know every writer has-or you should have and give it a whirl but without going so outlandish it just becomes weird. How about leaving the names of colors to just the description of objects instead of naming your guy Blue, or Gray and your girl Lavender or Velvet you pick a name people have heard before that doesn't sound like a stripper name. 

Just a thought. 


Monday, September 21, 2015

Why I write

Why must you write?
The voices, Ann
The voices I cannot stop them
they come to me when I sleep
when I wake
when I sup
when I walk down the hall
The sweet longings of a maiden
the surging ambitions of a courtier
the foul designs of a murderer
the wretched pleas of his victims
Only when I put their words their voices to parchment
are they cast loose
freed
Only then is my mind quieted
at peace
I would go mad if I could not write down the voices
Are you possessed?
Maybe I am

That came from the movie Anonymous and although it isn't quite that bad for me the voices are there, the scenes playing out behind my closed eyelids as I try to sleep. So I tell their stories and for a while there is peace. Until the new ones want their turn. 
Yet, I also write for the same reason I read-to offer the escape of another world, of other possibilities, of dreams I didn't know existed. 

Monday, September 14, 2015

Best laid plans

There was a plan, really there was. First there was the plan of ones dreams then I remembered how bad I am with deadlines and schedules and then there was a revised plan that was more fitting and I was sure it would go smoothly as planned. I want to laugh but it would come out as bitter and make me cough so I can only shrug. By this time of the year from December of last year I was supposed to have finished six, at the very least four stories for sale. One peoples, one whopping finished story. There are four other half finished stories, one going I don't even know where, one I'm looking at with faint distrust and wonder at how I started writing it and one which might, just might not be complete and utter shit. 

Don't think I shrug off the lack of being on schedule, I'm a writer that's not what we do. I have castigated myself on an almost daily basis until my confidence has me starting and stopping like a car with two hundred thousand miles and running on empty. It hasn't been pretty. 

Then it happened. As I mentioned I started a craptastic job to pay for the stupid asthma medicine and pain med for my arthritis and a doctor to prescribe those meds. We had to list one unique thing about us and so I went for and said I had self-published a novel-referring to my fantasy one, not the erotic romances. From almost every person there was a little bit of shock and awe and while I squirmed under their seeing me with new eyes I shrugged and mumbled the title and pen name and moved on. More than ready to change the subject but several didn't want to. Yes, I admitted it wasn't easy, it was the hardest thing I had ever done. A year to write (not mentioning that two months of that was me stopping swearing I couldn't do it.) then another six months of editing. Huh, okay I guess it is something to be proud of. 

Still the new stories won't come or I falter after a few lines. Until the other day it happened again, a guy told me that I had done the thing he most wanted to do. Finish a story and publish it, what was that like? The hardest thing I've ever done but the crazy thing is once you've finished the first one the next ones come easier. Hell I've done twice that word count in the same time frame. 

Finally the switch flipped. Just like I told him. The hardest part is also the most simple just sit down and write and keep doing it and don't stop until the story feels like it's out and then you can fix it when you're done. With my plans falling so far behind the doubts build until they become overwhelming but I need to remember, I've done it before and I can and will and need to do it again and I can do it. I just need to sit down and start. 

Huh, maybe it's time to sit my ass down and follow my own advice. Maybe.

Saturday, September 5, 2015

Justified, I still miss you

'If you run into an asshole in the morning then you ran into an asshole. 
If you run into assholes all day long, you're the asshole.'




God, I love that line. I've used it often and it's cut short many an argument some idiot was trying to make. Timothy Olyphant is a sexy beast, and maybe, just maybe a muse to a certain free story-maybe. Long lean, muscles that flexed impressively when they had to, I loved that the most while yes there could be considered a fair amount of violence within the the show it was never blindly, used to cover a hole the writers couldn't dig themselves out of. In fact this was one of the best written shows I've ever come across-in like ever. (as a reformed couch potato I think it counts for something). Then there were the moments when there was no dialogue and it was just a stare off that spilled blood. 




These days it feels like there are no surprises and watching Justified I was often surprised and extremely entertained. It was clear, often at least to Raylan that he and the antagonist were two sides of the same coin and how he dealt with that especially when Raylan chose to step out of the clear lines of the law, especially as he had badge on his hip. Then there was Boyd who was just bad to the bone and embraced it without remorse towards the end. Boyd had some damn great lines himself. 




Sadly it is not yet on Netflix it's on Amazon prime and if you have it I highly recommend it. I have to admit I leaned on it often to catch the nuances of dialogue-the back and forth that moved the story forward. It was a huge help and there were entire seasons saved on my DVR box, truth.



The show was based on a short story called Fire in the Hole by James Ellroy and the first episode stuck closely to the book. I loved it from the first scene to midway through, and when it was over I knew I wanted more of this show. At the time I was toying with writing professionally, watching Justified it was a great prod to the ass, to want to be that good, to create a world that was totally living breathing and engrossing. 

A great entertaining show just to watch and an even better for a writer to watch and learn from. 

Saturday, August 15, 2015

Second Excerpt for His Healing Touch






How was it possible to get to twenty-nine years old and never feel longing and desire so intense I ache with it, or even just the feeling of contentment to have him close? It’s not like I’m a virgin, there had been an asshole in the first year of college who was more interested in my knowledge of economics than me outside of bed. In my last year I met a sweet, kind, and secretly gay guy who was hoping I was okay with that. Which I would have been, as a friend, if he hadn’t already been having sex with me for the previous six months.
When I moved back to my grandmother’s house after finishing school I felt lost. The house had been given to me with the stipulation I couldn’t sell it until I was thirty and came into the remainder of my inheritance. I was lonely, the house was too big, except, just the thought of leaving it made me cry. With my parents actually reaching out to me, I was loathe to leave, fearful physical distance would lead back to our previous distance. My parents introduced me to one of my father’s colleagues from work at a dinner party they had, their matchmaking obvious.
Colin was much older, yet still handsome. He also enjoyed many of the same things I did—like art, museums, opera, and traveling. For a few months I believed things were going well. On our first trip together visiting Moscow I came back from shopping to find his computer open and unlocked by the bed. Curiosity had filled me, he’d been almost ridiculously obsessive about me not touching it.
A few clicks told me why, it was filled with the most vile and illegal porn I’d ever seen. By the time he came out of the bathroom, I was already packed and walking out the door. When I got back to Dallas I reported him to the police. Weeks later, my father called and raged at me for getting Colin arrested, causing him to lose his job, and ruining his life. All I cared about was finding out he’d been sentenced to three years in prison and would be on the sex offender list.
Considering my last relationship had started for all the wrong reasons, it was hardly surprising when it crashed and burned. I was bored and he was there, only two apartments away from mine. Almost six months in I still hadn’t met any of his friends or family and the whole thing felt off. Then he lost his phone and asked me to call it. I found it in the bed ringing, with my contact name showing as fatty. The word felt like a punch to the chest. Instead of being sorry, he was rude, he’d only started sleeping with me because of my tits and he heard fat chicks were willing to do anything in bed. Which apparently was an urban myth because sex with me was so boring he didn’t know how he managed not to fall asleep before he was done. He walked out, and thankfully moved out of the complex only a month later.
At the remembered pain, I rub my eyes, pissed at the tears that fall. Would this time be any different than the others? Closing my eyes, I remember the way Nick smiled when he called me adorably fuckable, the desire and longing in his eyes as he touched my lips. No man had ever looked at me as if I was a tempting treat he couldn’t have. No man had ever taken care of me as if I mattered to him; no man had ever taken care of me, period. My phone’s ring startles me, I don’t have to think, I know it’s Nick.
“Hello?” Fuck, do I sound breathless?
“Can’t sleep?”
“No, I think the nap was too long. Are you busy tonight?” The real reason why is swallowed without a thought.
“A little, Mom said you were busy. Did you catch up on work?”
“Hmm, is your mom spying and relaying everything back?” I’m thrilled to know he was busy, yet still taking the time to call me. Then I wonder just how much will she tell him about me.
“Fuck yes, I need all the help I can get to make sure you aren’t doing anything you shouldn’t, and to take care of you when I can’t be there. How is your knee feeling?”
“Not bad, it’s actually my ankle hurting. The ice didn’t feel great, but after it was off I missed it. You know I can take care of myself, I’ve been doing pretty well for a long time. This is kind of an unusual circumstance.”
Nick’s laughter in my ear makes me shiver. “There’s how you take care of yourself and there’s how I want to take care of you.” The way he says it makes my panties wet and my mouth dry. “If you knew all the ways I want to take care of you, the things I thought of in bed, with you down the hall, close yet untouchable, it’s a good thing you aren’t mobile or you’d run as fast and far as you could get.”
Longing is clear and coats his every word, leaving no room for doubt; Nick wants me. Remembering the way he told me I make his cock hard thrills me. “And if I don’t want to run?”
The intake of air in my ear makes me smile, no he wasn’t as cool as he seemed. “Maggie,” it’s a whisper, “I will hold you to that, under me and against me until I’ve made us both so weak you couldn’t walk if you wanted to. You’re killing me and I love it. Three long weeks since I first saw you and I walked into a damned car because I couldn’t stop staring at your gorgeous ass.”
“What?” No fucking way.
“I was finishing my run, going back through the parking lot when I saw you bent at the fucking waist, tying your shoe. My cock has never gotten that hard that fast in my entire life. I couldn’t take my eyes off you and walked straight into a parked car. I didn’t want to let you get away, except my cock wouldn’t cooperate. Like a fucking kid, I hid behind a car and watched you until you disappeared. You were cracking me up the way you were talking to Pickles, like you expected her to talk back. You just rambled on and on complaining about the humidity and early mornings and all the tall, skinny bitches. I wanted to follow you to hear what else you had to say and to watch your ass in your tight jeans.”
“Oh, my god,” I groan at the idea of him hearing me talk to Pickles. “I can’t believe it. That is so embarrassing. Wait, when was that?”
“March sixteenth, I remember it vividly because I was supposed to have a date that night, but I called and cancelled. Right then and there I didn’t want anyone but you. As you walked away, I consoled myself with the knowledge I’d be back at my new time for a better chance of seeing you again.”
“Wow.” His honesty is clear, he really has wanted me since the moment he saw me. Me, Margaret Jane Pruitt, wow.
“My thought exactly, when I saw your ass. I never understood the whole fascination with any one facet of a woman until, with one look, I wanted to be behind you with your hips in my hands watching your body move with my every stroke. Then you took my perfect view away and I saw those bright blue eyes and your wide luscious mouth. I thought, no I want to watch her face. I want to see your eyes dark with passion, your face flushed in excitement, your mouth wide as you beg for more.”
Oh. My. God. “Nick?” It’s an exhale of breath, I’m too stunned to speak.
“I knew it, you’ve had sex but never fucked. A man has been inside you but never made you scream his name. Did they even get you wet, baby? Hmm…did your pussy flood with need to have their cock inside you?”
Wrong, dirty, so fucking hot. How could he know? “No.”
“It wasn’t your fault, it was theirs. So sweet, knowledgeable, yet innocent. Tell me, baby, is your pussy wet for me right now?” I can’t answer that, does he really want me to say it out loud? “Maggie, is your pussy wet for me?”
“Yes.” I choke out the word.
“Yes, what?”
Biting my tongue until I’m afraid it will bleed, I don’t even consider not answering him even though I’ve never used the word in my life. “My pussy is wet for you.”
“I know. I just wanted to hear you say it. I like knowing I’m not the only one leaking with desire.” I hear a door open and a male voice talking to him. I deflate a little, I don’t want this to be over, not yet. His voice full of regret. “I have to go, baby.”
I don’t say any of those things, I’m pretty sure he already knows. “I know, goodnight.”
He ends the call. I push my face into my pillow and scream. Nick hadn’t been able to take his eyes off me. Hearing him talk about the moment he saw me, his wonder came through clearly enough I almost felt it myself. How could he do that? Tear me up and put me back together saying the sweetest things, fill me full of desire using the naughtiest, dirtiest words I have ever heard as easily as if he were talking about the weather. The doubts swirling before his call disappears, and in their place are things I haven’t felt, ever, when it came to a man: desire, excitement, and hope.

Saturday, August 8, 2015

Back to the grind

Grrr.....I'm going back to work full time and I am so not happy about it.  But there are these things like groceries, and toothpaste and toilet paper that people expect you to hand paper money over in order to give you. Soooo it's back to the salt mines. On one hand I want to cry because I can't let the voices out whenever they want and focus on the story but on the other, my output was oddly not what I thought it would be and I can't help but wonder if it was because for the first time in a very long time I was happy and not writing to escape the misery of my everyday work week bullshit. No, I'm not a masochist. There was actually a Big Bang Theory episode about it-I've watched twice-about Sheldon trying to increase his output by making himself uncomfortable. 

So probably very soon I'll be pumping out the hot, dirty, good stuff faster than a teenage boy who found his dad's Playboy because the only thing worse than working is getting up early to do it and very soon my work week will start at SIX THIRTY in the morning. Which means I have to be awake and functioning at FIVE AM IN THE MORNING. I haven't had to be up so early since I was in high school. The very thought of it makes me want to cry and last night I opened up the laptop and jotted down three story ideas. Yeah, it's like that. The only good thing about that is it is only during training for about a month.

I will also take this moment to beg for reviews so other readers know it's worth their time and money-if you think it is. 

Saturday, July 25, 2015

Why I am not following or retweeting you back on Twitter

Interesting how I went batshit crazy while writing and editing for a week and barely opened Twitter only to find I'd gained several new followers. Because I know how important Twitter is and an important tool I did still do my best to retweet people who were kind of enough to retweet me because that's what I do. If a fellow writer retweets me I will retweet them (BTW pinned posts are great if you want people to retweet you easily) any way I do this because it's the right thing to do HOWEVER if I don't here's why. 

Yes I tag my stuff EARTG for erotica which yes basically porn for most people, lots of shorts and reading one handed. Yet for me my writing is erotic romance, for me I have to be able to take away all the sex scenes and there still has to be a solid, heartfelt story or I don't write. That's the difference that I seem to be having a problem with on some people who follow or retweet me. I get it, it's hard and you want to do something to set yourself apart from others and do what you can to catch people's attention. But if you are tweeting pictures where tits and underbits are hanging out then no, I will not retweet you. If you are tweeting your cover or pictures with writing that talk about a pussy or cock or fucking then no I will not retweet you. There's a difference between sex and sexy and that line isn't the same for everyone, for me I don't think it's that hard to tell. But hey that's just me. 

I've included this in another post but maybe you haven't read it, fine. If you only tweet about yourself or your books or quotes then NO I will not follow you back because all you want is for me to retweet your stuff without you returning the favor. This isn't rocket science, it's pretty basic if you want followers and you want people to tweet you then tweet them back and if someone has been kind enough to tweet you and follow you then return the favor. 

Monday, July 13, 2015

Still think Kindle Unlimited is the answer to your prayers?

Everyone is freaking out over the changes to KU in payment, with good reason. Being paid less than a penny for a page of writing is going to be painful for a huge chunk of those currently in KU. The erotic short authors especially. Many authors throwing in their two cents point out the erotic shorts were already getting more than their 'fair' share because they were getting about 1.30 per read whereas people writing non-erotica were writing longer 'better' stories and still only getting 1.30 per read so the payout is just being evened out. Hmm...erotica let's be honest porn has always cost more-from magazines where Playboy costs $6.99 and People magazine costs $4.99 from DVDs $24.99-29.99 hardcore porn to latest Hollywood blockbuster $14.99 to $19.99 so what erotica writers were doing wasn't anything different than what every other form of media was doing.

While this is good to clear out those trying to game the system by being jerks putting out 'books' that were only a few pages of nonsense to get KU buyers to download open and get a dollar a pop for doing nothing. I also think it's good for those authors who cling to Amazon as if there was no other port in a storm to wake up and walk out into the fucking sun to see outside the walls of Amazon. People are whining 'KU is the only way I make money' I just don't believe that because I am not on KU and more than half of what I make comes from Nook and a quarter from Draft2Digital a distribution chain that pushes my books out to Apple, Scribd, Kobo, and Nook if I wanted. There's also All Romance-I have tried multiple times to put my books on it but I haven't been able to. So I'm saying if KU is the only place your books are selling it's because it's the only place you've tried-like anything it will take time to gain traction for sales and three months off KU isn't enough to get it. Don't go exclusive and if you're good and you remember this is no sprint, run the long race you'll find your buyers. Here's the thing to be be aware of for all erotic shorts writers, Smashwords-another distribution chain- (harder for me to work) and Nook let it all hang out. I knew that about Smashwords but in researching if you go onto Nook and want to post all the dungeon stuff Amazon won't let you, you can actually put it in the title of your books on Nook, daddy stuff (ick-no judgement) pseudo incest, lactation and all kinds of stuff Amazon presses the no button on. So to all those who say I can't make money writing hard core taboo erotica on other venues-that's a load of crap. Sure it isn't 70% but it's more than 1.30 the buyers will pay for the 2.99 some even have their's priced at 4.99 and while their sales are huge they look good. Amazon isn't the be all and end all. Blah, blah, blah Amazon is a company and a company is here to make money. So here it is you are self-publishing to make money so do it in all the ways you can. Does Doritos only sell only at Walmart because they are the largest grocery store? No, they sell at other grocery stores and they sell at the convenience store and Walgreens and even though they're chunk from Walmart might be fifty percent they're still getting checks from all the other places and in this business, right now literally every freaking penny counts. 

School yourself, peoples, no one is going to care about your success than you so act like it. If you are writing to make a quick buck in your spare time and are crying into your emptying penny bank Amazon used to fill then please move to the side so the people who do want and need to write can actually do their job. For years I wrote without actually believing it would be published because from the way most writers talked getting published, staying that way and making any money from it was as hard as finding an oasis in the desert. The way writers spoke in interviews they made it seem like try to do anything but become a writer and I get it. To write alone is painfully hard, to find the right words, to edit, to enjoy the flow when it's happening and to get it going when the flow stops. Writing is fucking hard, it is not a get rich quick scheme. Seriously, if you are happy as an accountant, a teacher or whatever 'real' job you have where you earn enough money to pay your bills and have good benefits then enjoy and don't feel like you have to write then for the love of your sanity-don't just don't do it. I'm not whining, I'm not exaggerating, I'm not complaining. This isn't easy and if you think it is then you don't care enough about what you're doing to put out the absolute best product you can. 


Thursday, July 2, 2015

His Healing Touch-Cover, blurb, and excerpt

His Healing Touch






Maggie Pruitt can take care of herself, thank you very much. She doesn’t need the drool-worthy ER doctor carrying her away from her problems. Although, she is pretty impressed that he’s strong enough to carry her size fourteen muffin-topped butt away if he wanted to.
Only Maggie doesn’t want him to. She’s worked hard to make her life her own. She’s a web designer who makes her own hours, which might be twenty four hours or until she drops, whichever comes first. She has her own apartment that might feel and be empty even after living there for four years, so what. She makes enough to indulge her passion for traveling and she prefers going alone because then there’s no one to tell her they don’t want to spend hours in a museum. She has a best friend who keeps her connected to real life and can pull her away from her laptop, even if it’s just one friend it’s still a friend. She has a good life, and most days she’s fine with it.  She’s been taking care of herself for years and she doesn’t need anyone’s help.

Okay, maybe just this once, and just until she can walk without crying. Besides, this is a one-time kind of thing. It’s not every day a nearly one hundred pound Rottweiler takes off on her without warning. As soon as her right ankle stops exploding in pain when she steps on it, and her left knee stops feeling like it’s being poked with a sharp object, she’s out the door.

She’s gone this long by herself, and really, she’s happier that way... really. Now, if it’s sex he’s after that’s something she’s very willing to have the doctor’s healing touch for. Besides, it won’t last long, it never does. So she’ll enjoy it until he comes to his senses and realizes he could do better.

Because, as far as everything else in her life is concerned, she’s fine. Really.


Excerpt:


I swallow the last of my orange juice with a sigh of contentment. His mother is an amazing cook. Eyeing the unopened bottle of water, I give in. I’m opening it when Nick appears in the doorway. He’s changed into a simple white dress shirt, open at the neck, that makes his skin glow, damn, he’s beautiful. A goofy grin comes over me I can’t stop. “Hi.”
He smiles widely. “Hi, I was going to ask how you’re feeling but something tells me the painkillers have kicked in. Let me take a look at your ankle.”
“I like the painkillers.” I nod as I shake the bottle gleefully.
His laughter fills the room. Prying the bottle slowly from my hand he sets them back on the table. “I can tell. It’s okay to like them because you need them, for now. In a few days you won’t need as many. Soon you won’t be taking any painkillers.
Mournfully, I look toward the painkillers. “You’re right. Taking painkillers when you don’t need them is naughty. I’m already being naughty.”
“And how are you being naughty?”       
My eyes go wide, duh, “Um hello, I’m at a hunky guy’s house I don’t know which is bad enough. Then I can’t stop staring at your dimples. I really, really like your dimples.”
He smiles widely, ah those dimples. “Amada, I think I’m going to be as sad as you will be when you stop taking your painkillers if they’ll always make you this honest and happy.”
“Hmm…they make me honest but it’s you that makes me happy.”
Eyes dark he takes a step toward me with a very intent look. Uh oh. I shift, sending the tray almost to the floor. Lightning fast reflexes keep the plate and tray from hitting the floor. He sets them on a long low dresser. Shaking he head he turns to me, “Mi amada, you could tempt a saint and I am no saint. Let me wrap your ankle back up.” 

Monday, June 29, 2015

Therapy and what the fuck is the big deal

Whether you need to see a therapist a psychologist or psychoanalyst and no I have no idea the difference between all of them except the psychologist gives the good drugs. 

So I'm back 'home' where I grew up, for the most part-I lived in three different states by the time I was thirteen and that was states not cities-it's where most of my aunts, uncles, and cousins still live. Growing up we were all very close there was trade offs often of one person's kids for the other person so all the children could survive into adulthood and the parents stayed out of jail. 

My aunts and uncles grew up with parents who had more kids than money and time in the day to take care of everyone. I have spoken freely of the childhood I had, my mother had never heard of time out, her time out was to explode in anger beat the shit out of the closest kid, sometimes with a hair brush, a shoe, or if worse came to worst her hands. This was not a secret among the aunts and uncles which was why it was rare their kids got left with my mom, although some aunts had hair triggers and smacked their kids around none went as far as my mom. My mother had no filter, no shame, no guilt over the things she did to us, often bragging about how bad it was a few times and other times how quickly she jumped my ass before I knew what was coming. There were even two aunts who invited me to come live with them and although I wanted to say yes so badly I couldn't leave my brothers behind. My mom wasn't just an abusive mother she was extremely neglectful-I was cooking dinner by the time I was seven, with a chair pushed up to the stove. 

For my father, he knew but felt there was little he could really do, this was the mid-eighties, aside from paying child support dads were lucky to get weekends with their kids. He also believed my mom was worse with me than my older brother (jealousy-he wondered but wasn't sure) my two young brothers got the least of it because one had asthma and could be sent into an asthma attack from fear alone-she learned a few times emergency rooms asked a lot of questions. The other was the baby and escaped on that alone. So my dad did his best to stay away from my mom and not show me much affection when she was around and no my father was not some pedo or anything like that I think it was just maybe jealousy that my father showed affection for anyone else period. 

Anyway childhood until preteens was the kind of hell you hear about but don't actually believe exists The later years were just mindfucking and manipulations that were only half as bad as the beatings. I knew, simply knew that I was going to need help to work through it all and not- you know become a serial killer. From a young age I never questioned I wouldn't make it far in life without help working through all that pain and rage I kept bottled up just to get through every day. I tried a few therapists without much help until I found the guy who saved my life and damn I miss him. 

So I'm at a family get together and I'm talking to a cousin and I pop off with some remark about missing my therapist or therapist period and she seems shocked. "You've seen a therapist?" 
So, I'm not a quiet person by any stretch of the word, I'm loud and proud or I don't talk at all. She had whispered the question, I responded loud enough I could be heard by anyone within a fifty foot radius without an ounce of shame. 
"Uh yeah!" I want to ask how she hasn't because her mom was one of those too, not bad bad, but bad. She shrugs and goes "Huh, I'm just surprised." 
"Really? After what I went through? If I had broken my leg I wouldn't have gone to Uncle so and so to get it fixed, I wouldn't have tried to go to a cheap mechanic. Or just shrug it off and say it will heal on its own. I would have gone to a doctor and had it reset or walked with a limp for the rest of my life. My therapist reset my broken mind and my only regret is it took so long to see him. I'm not ashamed of seeing a therapist and maybe if more people did there'd be a little less crazy suppressed by weed, liquor, and people shooting other people in this country, but hey maybe I have no idea what I'm talking about.
So is your son still playing football?"

My sister-in-law balks at the idea of talking to a therapist about getting over my nephew's death (he was only 10 months old). She feels it's just a way for people to go whine about their problems and she feels like she's stronger than that. "But didn't you just say you thought if you and my brother had seen a counselor after the baby's death it would have helped you both?" No response for a very long time-until this-"I don't need to pay some person to talk to about my life I have my mom and my best friends and if I'm having problems at work then I have a boss I can talk to." Okay, only her mother hasn't lost a child and neither have her friends and what happens when the problem at work is her boss? 

It isn't fair to put your problems on people who aren't equipped to deal with them and you can't always save yourself. Walk with a limp that no one can see or walk tall without hiding from yourself. It's your choice. 

Saturday, June 27, 2015

Excerpt for soon to be released-His Healing Touch

With Editor now-Release date first week of July

Blurb soon to be released- His Healing Touch

The curtain goes back and Kayla re-enters. She’s hands him a folder with a smile, ignoring me completely. “Thanks. Let’s take a look.” With a last squeeze of my arm he gets off the bed. Going to the wall he pins up the film to a light box then turns on the light. He studies it intently for what feels like forever. “Hmm…there’s no break. The only problem is it still looks really bad. I’m going to recommend you see Dr. Richardson, he’s one of the best orthopedic surgeons in the city. I’ll give him a call to see when he can get you in.”
“Don’t you think I can just wait to see how it feels and if it doesn’t feel better then go see him?” I hate making a fuss, what if the doctor thought I was being a baby and told me I’d be fine if I lost fifty pounds?
He studies me like he did the x-ray, intently with eyes determined to see everything. His words are soft, his tone curious. “You think it’s a good idea to endure pain for what, a few days, a week before resolving an issue? Instead of being seen and identifying the problem immediately? How is that a good thing?”
Can I please just crawl away to cry in peace? From long years of dealing with my parents I give in, he won’t know if I never go. “You’re right, thank you. I appreciate you referring me to him.”
“Maggie, I haven’t known you very long however I do know when I’m being lied to.” The words are clipped, they feel like a rap on my knuckles.
Hanging my head, I shrug. “I’m sorry. I just don’t get what the fuss is about. Yes it hurts really bad but it just happened. I’m sure in a few days it will go away. I’ll keep icing it and the pain will go away.”
Sighing, he shakes his head. “The best thing for it and your ankle is heat not cold. You said you can take of yourself only it doesn’t sound like you really can. You’re going to Dr. Richardson if I have to take you myself.”
Resentment at his interference bubbles up. God, how embarrassing will it be for him to sit there and listen to the doctor just say I’m fat? It’s not as though he doesn’t know that, obviously he knows that. I flop back onto the gurney tunring my back on him. This day is shit, I just want it to be over now. Fuck, I am not crying. I am because his fingers are wiping away the tears.
“Maggie, why are you crying?” His breath is close enough I can feel it over my cheek, he smells of mint and coffee and dark chocolate.
Go away, just go away I want to yell. I try to roll away from his touch but he won’t allow it. A hand goes to my chin holding me toward him. I want to scream. This isn’t fair what he’s doing to me when I barely know him. Desperate for it to stop the words explode from me. “He’ll just tell me I’m fat and to lose some weight if I want the pain to go away!”
I can hear his harsh intake of breath. His grip tightens on my chin. “Look at me damn it. Open your eyes and look at me.” The words are grated out. His voice has gone down to almost guttural. “Stop it, right now. Stop thinking of yourself as fat because you aren’t. You are a beautiful woman who has curves in all the right places. From a medical standpoint your body is not unhealthy. From the standpoint of a man, you are sexy as fuck.”
My eyes fly open, no fucking way. I have no idea I said the words aloud until he says them back to me.
“Yes, fucking way. I was attracted to you the first time I saw you. Pickles is getting an extremely large bone and you a thousand apologies because I can’t say I’m sorry for what Pickles did, even seeing you in pain can’t make me sorry. It’s taken three weeks to get up the nerve to approach you. Then you looked so bored I was losing the confidence to ask you out.”
The pain has receded completely in my shock. “You work up the nerve ask me me out? Are you fucking with me right now?” 

Tuesday, June 23, 2015

Why I'm grateful for 50 Shades of Grey and you should be too

Whether you are a romance/erotica/erotic romance or even doing the chick lit route author, traditionally or self-published, a stay at home mom, working mom, single or in a committed relationship pretty much all women who are having sex or want to have sex on a regular basis-this goes for men too. You really should be writing a  thank you note to E.L. James. Say what you will about the quality of writing or lack there of, when I finally read it I will say (this coming from a person quite willing to be a bitch) it wasn't as bad as people made it out to be. It also wasn't nearly as salacious as it was made out to be either. 



What can I say I like it dirty. 


I didn't read it until last year but I've been saying it for the last few years, the story/writing itself didn't matter so much as the fact that the book opened up the conversation about women and their needs and desires when it comes to sex. In the past women were told they were to submit to their husbands/significant others and hope they didn't take long. While Sex and the City made it okay to not only like sex but spelled out the sex is an integral part of a satisfying relationship. It didn't really go into the bedroom, except Samantha's and said she was a whore for liking and wanting sex on her terms-not really a step in the right direction for women. 




Several times I've seen people post stuff and call themselves crazy or weird and I shrug and think, yeah not so much. The 'norm' is a very flexible description for anything in life. Shades took sexual acts, things not considered 'normal' and pulled it out of the dungeon into the daylight. Wait, it's okay to like to be spanked? I can like my sex rough and dirty? I'm not a freak for liking to be tied up? I can actually talk to my partner and tell them what I like and don't like? Not gonna lie the last thing ticks me off the most. If a woman doesn't feel comfortable enough to sit down-outside of the bedroom- and talk not just about birth control but things they do and don't like, favorite sex positions, yes please/no please to nipple play, I like to be tied up, a tap on the ass is fine but anything more and I'll break your hand. Without the comfort level that is there to have that conversation then how can the woman truly be comfortable enough to not just get off but really, really enjoy it? So many women live in their heads-me included-how can they disconnect enough to not worry if they are doing it right or look good (which really men could cared less about BTW) while having sex or worry their man will do something they don't want to just let go and be in the moment and enjoy what's happening?



Ok, maybe the conversations was actually happening but usually with the best friend, sister, or god forbid mother and not the actual sex partner. So Shades opened the door, not just to a lifestyle but for women to see really see sex as an enjoyable, healthy need that they had a real say in. I also liked that it made the guy's needs 'unhealthy' or not important or hey maybe we can split the difference here and it not be a flat no. There can be varying degrees of what a partner wants and needs. With that came the realization it doesn't just end there, and hey I don't actually like someone flogging my ass but there are all these other books out there and I like what's going on in this book, ooh and this book and no fucking way on this book. 

Say what you will about E.L James and yeah yeah yeah all you erotica writers were here before her and are better writers and she's a one hit wonder-oh no wait three time and now four time. Were the readers looking for you like they are now? Were any erotica writers featured in a newspaper or morning news show before Fifty Shades? The answer is no. Just like there was Sookie Stack House before Twilight and Mercy Thompson before Twilight the attention blew up after a book everyone wants to diss rolled out-no I haven't read it and life is too short to waste that kind of time. (If I wrote vampires and wolf stuff I probably would just to see what the competition looks like. But I don't.)

For the writers out there shaking their head and refusing to give James any credit other than getting BDSM all kinds of wrong and I'm an idiot, really? Does your unicorn roam free in your backyard or do you keep him in a stable because you are the delusional one. You don't have to like the bank in order to cash your check there. You do and should give props for it being open and willing to cash your check and those readers who probably hadn't read a book in a year or two took the 50 Shades to number one and were hungry for other books just as salacious just as naughty, dirty, and good. You are cashing their checks. 





I wouldn't say I'm an E.L. James fan, I stopped at book two and have no desire to read the recycled Grey out from Chrisitian's POV. This isn't a bet I lost but I do owe her a word of thanks for putting it out there, all out there because without it I wouldn't have put mine out there as erotic romance. They would all have been fade to black Harlequin Presents knockoffs and I love what I'm doing, the stories that I'm sharing and for that, I'm saying thank you. 

Friday, June 5, 2015

Facebook Party, Sale, and Rafflecopter!

I'm running a sale on my entire catalog, all titles are only .99 cents from June 5th until June 14th. This is the first time some of the titles have been on sale and I hate to use the word never but several will probably never be on sale again.

There will also be a Facebook party June 13th and 14th books will be given away as well as Amazon gift cards. Come by and see what you can win: Facebook Party


The winners of the Rafflecopter will be announced on Sunday, enter now it runs until June 13. 
Enter to win a $25.00 Amazon gift card and titles from C.E. Black, Christa Tomlinson, Lynn Cooper, Jacintha Topaz, and Angela Snyder. 

***It really sucks that THREE people had to be disqualified because they didn't even try entering just entered nonsense onto the verification. Like it was really that hard. Really, really disappointed right now.***


a Rafflecopter giveaway

Saturday, May 30, 2015

Keeping the stories new and different, is it what the readers want?

An ad pops up on my Facebook feed for an author with four books out and I looked at it and rolled my eyes. The second book was a continuation and another book had pretty much the same title. My tiny mind dismissively thought, 'Can't come up with something original, too bad.' Thinks the dumbass who reads an author who writes basically the same three stories over and over and I've read pretty much every single one. The same alpha with the pudgy blonde hiding her smarts and is a total knock-over for the guy until an over the top dick move gives her a backbone and then the trouble starts. Huh. So why the hell am I rolling my eyes when I not  only read the same author over and over I regularly re-read the books to the point that one of them is falling apart. 

Then I thought about why I read them and it's mostly the reason I give and that's because there is so much crap out there-yes I said it and no I won't name names lest someone gives mine-that when I find a writer I like I stick to them like glue. If I find a writer I like then I love being able to trust they are going to give me the same great writing when I'm in the mood for that genre then there's the real honest reason-I want a new take on the story I've loved over and over again. How can I roll my eyes when I'm the kind of reader who would like what the writer is doing the most?

This was actually one of the things I thought of and considered when I started writing. There wasn't a huge plan, I had several story ideas and it was just to write what I had. Then when the stories came they were different because it isn't just the billionaire alpha male that a woman wants and thinks of as sexy and appealing. My women aren't all super skinny blonde, although a few of them are, then there are the curvy size tens up to the plus sizes although they all have a backbone and can stand up for themselves. 

So after an hour of over-thinking maybe I should be doing the same story with a slight twist, is mixing it up hurting me, am I really giving the reader what they want?

I finally stopped rocking back and forth and got off the floor and threw myself down on the bed in order to have my breakdown more comfortably. My knee nudges my laptop and the story I'm working on flashes and prods my ass to get back to work on it. It isn't a repeat of any I've done before and it's ready to come out and be told and there's my answer. I write the story waiting to come out and that should be my only consideration. 



Saturday, May 23, 2015

Throw out the rules when you're writing

This isn't exactly hard for me as I, in general, am not so great at following 'the rules' unless I want to. Who makes up these rules anyway? Who gives them the right to say, to do so? Do these people follow their own rules? For all those questions alone, I pretty much do what the fuck I want. I'm not a bitch-unless someone makes me-about it. I'm kind to small children, animals, and stupid people (but not ignorant). I don't attempt to be obnoxious but I also don't apologize for it either. 

Here's the problem with the rules when it comes to writing, writing is hard enough to do without adding all this bullshit of not writing a particular way-first, second, or third person or using particular words, no prologues and if you are dumb enough to do a prologue then you need an epilogue, no adverbs, don't open with weather, and a half ton of other bullshit. Yes, bullshit. All those rules-fuck'em. 

Write the damn story, don't stop to fix your switch from first to second or find another word to take the place of the fucking adverb. If your main characters meet cute in the down pour of a sudden spring deluge that has trapped them in a bus stop enclosure then fucking go with it. Get it out, all of it, the scenes that have been wandering around as you found the time before you could sit down, the snatch of dialogue that seemed so important it repeated as if on a reel and you just had to write it down. Ignore the rules, ignore the fact that the scene feels clunky even as you write it-write it anyway. 

My stories writes themselves and most stories do. While I often have a large part of the story in my mind before I sit down that just means I already know what I'm supposed to be typing when I get to that scene. Three times I've started in third person because I've been told over and over books are better in third person. My main character said- fuck that, this is my story and I've telling it my way. I do not argue with my characters because then they get bitchy and stop talking to me. Because I'm not completely in driver's seat for the most part the story, even if it has already run through my mind at least twice before I sit down to write because if I sit down too soon it just disappears like a mirage. I can kind of remember what it looked like but not always what it sounded like and duplicating, not gonna happen. 

I've heard other writers use the same expression, 'vomiting the first draft' and as gross as it sounds that's pretty much it. You have all this stuff you have to get out and it comes out this formless mass that you really just want to toss in the trash but you can't. There's this wonderful, horrifying, tear-inducing thing called revision. That's where you take that mass and try to make it into something solid. That's where you figure out that you might have wanted to be first person but all these other characters are talking so nope it's third, Well fuck, if you don't add a five page prologue you'll waste forty pages on backstory for all these characters and no you don't need an epilogue because everyone but the lone good guy came out alive. The adverb thing, don't even get me started on the adverb thing. Does it look and sound good? Do you have the abilities to write a better sentence without it? Okay fine do it but don't for a second think that the use of an adverb will have your reader tossing it and moving onto the next book because it just plain doesn't fucking make a difference. My one word of caution is, moderation. In a fifty thousand word story about a hundred or so adverbs won't make the slightest fucking difference. Ten adverbs for every one hundred words-pull out a thesaurus and look at the structure of your sentence. 

I rewrite at least three times. I vomit, throw myself onto my bed and weep from relief in a little ball. I try to let the story sit for a day or two, wait you forgot that scene, where did that scene come from and does it make sense that it's there? Then I go back and edit as I write, add the scene, cut a scene, add the multitude of dropped words and on and on. Then pretty quickly I print it out. Oh fucking shit, it's worse then I thought it was. My red pen bleeds then I go back to the computer and fix the stuff I found. Now it's more or less jello but still moving around too much. Then I print it out again and here's the part that can be most annoying. I use the find feature and type in- that, and, just, and but. Those words *sigh* I use them like I'm paying for words and they are only a penny. I do the find on the computer and write down the number at the top and then my goal is to cut that in half and the others by at least a hundred times. After that it's back to the computer. 

Writing is hard and there are no fucking short cuts to completing something that isn't shit. I have honestly thought in the past few months that I wish I could be happier doing something else that wasn't so hard. But there isn't, even if I didn't write the stories they would still come and make me crazy until I wrote them down. Yet, when I'm done, when I feel like I got it right all the tears, doubt, and frustration is completely worth it. 

In the past I've said rules are for people who need to be told what to do and how to do it. There's no paint by the numbers in writing. It's a blank page and you fill it with a story. 

Saturday, May 16, 2015

Editors, not just there to cut your words

While I did know an editor was important to clean up my dropped commas I was more afraid (yes, afraid) of my story getting cut to shreds. My only point of reference was the stories of Stephen King hating his editor and his stories being gutted-in his opinion. I already write lean, I didn't want anyone cutting my words. Still it was clear I needed someone to go in and fix-hopefully without cutting anything. So I bit the bullet and did it. 

Although it was a painful experience to see all the things I've done wrong. While one of them did the job it felt like he simply punched the clock on it and hey that's really fine and completely understandable. Although he said he was good with editing erotic romance the same way you don't want a beta reader who only reads romance to read your sci-fi novel I really don't think it was a positive experience for me because it wasn't really his genre and he could have quite frankly cared less. As a guy-I get it. However, there was also the problem that I felt like he didn't respect the story for what it was and that came across pretty clear-more than a few times. By the time it was done I was relieved, I felt as if I got kicked across the shins and I was ready for it to be over. 

And still I would use him again. Why? No I'm not secretly a masochist. Because despite the fact he didn't respect the story, and his writing style compared to mine wasn't even close (I swear to GOD he tagged my dialogue over and over with he said she said which was completely unfucking necessary and I wanted to scream-sorry). Yes he cut my words-descriptions of what my characters were wearing and I actually had to explain yes the reader wants to know what the characters are wearing. No I don't accept the changes. Yet even with all that, he did something every author needs from time to time-he told me my baby was ugly and he told me how to make it pretty and when the several times came that I didn't like how he told me to make it pretty I had to take a new look at what I was writing and how to make it better in my voice and my way. 

The first book I wrote took over a year to write and six months of editing-now I question if it was truly edited after all of this-by the time I was done I was sick to death of it. I didn't want to look at it anymore, I was done. Three print outs and two red pens had taken my adoration of all my pretty words and purple prose into disdain and revulsion. That sentence is too long, this is redundant, that is overindulgent, why the hell do you mention this and then never bring it up again. It wasn't pretty but when I was done it was what it needed to be. 

All of that said my other editor, I knew she not only respected what I wrote it was clear she liked it. I didn't think that because of ego it was because it was clear in her edits and her notes. Her writing style might be different but she made her suggestions exactly what I would have written. Did I take everyone of her suggestions? No, but the ones I didn't were extremely minor and just me being a brat. 

I feel like she not only made my stories better she made me a better, more thoughtful writer and any way I can grow I'm happy to take. One thing I hadn't expected was gaining confidence and feeling like I have a new ally when I write. There's a story I've been writing since October-yep October. I start and stop, torture myself with thoughts it will never be good enough. The reason why is it will likely cause a bit of a buzz-I talk about indie authors and models and the relationship between the readers and the erotic romances written and I guess you could say I tweak the nose just a tad. My hope is people will chuckle and blush a bit and enjoy the story but then again not everyone has a sense of humor and it could be taken the wrong way. A few times I've just said no put it away. Yet I have over thirty thousand words and fuck I don't want to throw it away. 

Slowly as I got story after story back from my editor I just knew, if I wrote it she could help me make it the best it could be. Could people bitch about my thoughts on the almost ridiculous lengths writers go to out dirty talk each other? It's true but they won't be able to mock the sentence structure or be annoyed at a dropped word. If I'm going to get whipped I want it to be for the right reasons. So now I'm working on it and for once I'm confident and happy as I do. 

Because editors aren't just there to cut your words they are there to give you better words and help you tell a better story and I finally found that. 

Saturday, May 9, 2015

Why having no life can be painful

Story is waiting, laptop open with damn blinking cursor sitting at the end of a hard fought to finish sentence. Taking a sip of water I'm lazy and some spills down my shirt. Damn, why is this shirt so tight? Oh yeah, it's ten years old and I am not the same size I was ten years ago. My eyes go to Gandy on my screensaver, gorgeous with his six pack abs.
 I don't know if I ever had a six pack, Shit, didn't I promise I was going to start working out? I haven't, ooh I know I remember when I lived with this body builder dude (sadly no sex involved, just a roommate) and when he started training a chick he had her start with a hundred crunches every day. It was a way to remind her of all the hard work and they were relatively easy even for people not used to working out. Hmm...I'm not doing anything. The last sentence sucked, I'm not going anywhere with this. How long could a hundred crunches take?

Okay, down on the floor. How do I do these again? Okay, ten down not that bad. Twenty...fuck where's my inhaler. Don't be such a big baby, breathe deep keep going. Thirty okay, slow down this isn't so bad. Forty, I'm almost half way done. Fifty, cramp of agony OMFG cramp of agony. Whimper and flail about as I try to uncramp. Water, dear god I need water. Half the water bottle gone. Inhaler puffed. Fuck, I was half way there. Come on, no pain no gain...

I'm laying on the floor with my hands behind my head for too long to admit to. Alright pussy, get to it. Sixty, okay this isn't so bad. Seventy look at that not even breathing hard. (Although it might have to do with me giving a five count after my head hit the floor before doing another.) Eighty, look at that, almost there. Ninety, water-I need water. Cramp? No, oh thank god. Just ten more to go, you can do it. 

One hundred, Oh god I did it. I really did it. That is so awesome. I look to Facebook, maybe Twitter to post then nearly pass out on bed huffing and puffing. Okay, maybe later. 

Two hours later and I've written about a thousand words and every time I move I'm reminded of the hundred crunches, woo hoo. I did it. Okie doke bed time. 

The next morning is errands, I'm feeling good, walking tall and straight. I consider sharing my hundred crunches achieved a few times as I go about my day but I stop myself and simply smile smugly. Once I'm home the words start  flowing and before I know it, it's after one in the morning. Damn, I wanted to do the crunches again. Tomorrow I promise myself. 

I wake slowly and breathe deep. Holy fucking shit!!! The breath is trapped in my chest. What the hell? I attempt to move to get out of bed but pain is blinding, shooting from my lower abdomen out in an angry buzz of warning not to move or it will get worse. What's the matter with me? What could I have possibly done to suffer-oh shit. The hundred crunches. No way, I felt fine yesterday and crunches are lower abdomen why does it hurt to breath deep. Shit, I have to pee, now-like right fucking now. I start to push myself up and the pain is so bad I almost piss myself then and there. Oh hell no. Lowering myself back on the bed I blindly think of the best way to get out of bed quickly with the minimum of pain. 

Putting my left foot up I push myself off the end of the bed and my feet hit the floor. Ow, ow, ow is all I can mutter as I go into the bathroom. Thirty seconds later, I'm relieved and calling myself a long list of names that call my intelligence into question. Okay, I'll make breakfast and pop some painkillers and it should take the edge off. Moving to clean up, pain explodes, that was bad. Really bad. Deep breathes you big baby. You can do this, move fast don't scream and do it. Whimpering, I bite my lip so badly I'm pretty sure it's bleeding. 

Now to get up. Oh come on, it can't be this difficult. But it is, it really is. Tears running down my face I wash my hands and walk stiffly and very carefully to the kitchen. I drop some toast and pour out more over the counter pain meds than I'm sure is safe. Forcing the toast down I pop the painkiller and then hobble to the chair in front of the television. I sit there for hours although the medicine helps, it only knocks it down to a throbbing nine instead of a twelve. 

For three days I hurt so badly at least once a day I want to bawl like a baby. 


And that's the reason why when I want dick around and not write I'll be on Facebook or Twitter. How was your week?