Monday, May 30, 2016

Writing is work

With my commitment issues I don't have the best track record for jobs as well as cities. If I don't like something I quit. Because of this I found a fickle person's best friend is a temp agency. A few times I went to them to find a permanent job and sometimes I went for something temporary so I could pay bills while I found a job I really wanted. No matter what reason I took a temp placement I went in every day as if I wanted the job so they could keep me as long as I wanted and remembered that while I worked to get in. It worked, every temp assignment I have had requested me to stay longer and in the future if the job was truly just temporary. Twice companies put me in an uncomfortable position of having to turn them and them upping the salary offer-nice problem to have. 

Every time I sit down to write I do it with mindset of I want this to be my only job. Every time I create a tweet I do it thinking of that tweet being my knocking on someone's door and hoping they'll let me in as Fiona Murphy erotic romance writer won't you like me, my books and buy me forever. The money I spend I do wisely, do I want to spend three hundred dollars for editing? No but I do want people to remember that even if they didn't like the story itself it wasn't because of dropped commas, words and typos. Every book I sell is a brick I'm laying on the foundation of the home I hope to build as a full time author. Will it happen overnight? God no, hell it seems like decades are ahead of me, that's okay I don't have anything better to do because this is all I want to do. 

I spend at least fifteen minutes twice a day on twitter, retweeting, making connections and doing my best to be interesting to hopefully get a click to my page. Now please don't think every time I say hi, or retweet someone I'm rubbing my hands together while laughing maniacally as I think of the dollar bills floating through the air-not even close. I am genuinely hoping to make connections with people, because this is a lonely business and because if I didn't I would probably only have myself to talk to every day. What I'm trying to say is that this writing thing, at the nitty gritty it's a business and you have to work for it. Like anything in this world you get what you put into it and sometimes you don't get it back for awhile. If you aren't willing to put in the long hours, the money without return and the agony without any ecstasy then this isn't for you and kindly step aside for the rest of who do and are willing to do it every day. 

If you only want to write in between commercials of Gossip Girl or when the mood catches you for an hour or two a month then this isn't for you. If you aren't willing to edit until your eyes water then crash hard for six hours before your alarm goes off for the day job then just close your laptop and go back to playing candy crush on your phone. If apathy fills you at connecting with people just to say hey not buy my book or you can't get your shit together enough to put a blog or website up and update that shit at least once or twice a month then please stop calling yourself a writer and go back to reading. Does it sound like I'm being a bitch? Maybe and I'm cool with that. What I'm not cool with is listening to other writers whine or mumble with surprise why they aren't doing better when they aren't putting in the work. I hustle my ass off like my rent's due and my pimp is gonna beat my ass if I don't bring home the paper. Title by title it's paying off but I can't sit back and chill, I'm still working the day job and it still crushes my spirit every day when I have to get up and close my laptop to go to work. So I put in the time and I do my best not to whine or complain-but I'm a naturally whiny person and I'm always hundred percent grateful for every purchase and every review, every person kind enough to retweet and every author who says hey and share my shit and when I want to look at the distance to see how far I have to go I keep my head down and focus on the now as I move forward because it's now that matters, now that I work for and now that will become the distance I once looked up and saw. 

Friday, May 20, 2016

New Release Rafflecopter Giveaway

Two Releases in Two Months 

To celebrate the release of 
His on the Rebound in June 
I'm having a little giveaway
I hope you enter and good luck!

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Sunday, May 8, 2016

Don't cry about it on Facebook, fix it in real life

I will start by saying I do hate Facebook. I dislike the casual sharing of intimate moments that invite comments of approval. I dislike the constant spotlighting of ones self with the need for praise. I hate these things because I learned a long time ago the only person whose opinion should matter is my own. If I'm not happy with something I've done then five hundred people liking it isn't going to make it better. It took a lot of years to get that, I'm not going to pretend it didn't. For years I was a martyr, trying to please people so they would like me and I took genuine pleasure from making people happy. A part of that is the reason I don't like seeing other people do it, it is a slippery slope to start walking up and I never want to go back down that road again. 

That means when people post personal things I usually ignore it and keep scrolling until I get to a funny meme, a sale to share or something about writing I like. It's why I don't post much in the way of anything personal, my life is not up for liking or passing judgement on. Yet still I see it, people posting rants about how hard their life is and how they hate everything and everyone and they are miserable and it's because of horrible people who have pushed them too far and they can't take it anymore. And when I see it I shudder and usually I unfollow the person. Sounds shitty, yeah but the reason why is because I was that person once. I wanted to help and have people like me and I often I did want to help people but I'm not anymore because as so many things do there came a breaking point. I was miserable, depressed, I wanted to run and hide and never see anyone ever again. Then I had an aha moment, this was all my own doing. Me saying yes, me accepting the way I was treated all led to me being miserable because people were taking advantage of my willingness to say yes. I was trying to be helpful, I wanted to do the right thing but the right thing wasn't right for me. Here is a universal truth people don't want to believe in, people are inherently selfish. Some people are going 'not me!' others are nodding sadly because they've found it out the hard way. But it's true. While I do not believe people go out of their way to be selfish at the heart of the word is self, if it is going to help them, make their lives easier then people are going to use something until the button breaks and sometimes that button is a person. 

So if you are miserable please don't bitch about it on Facebook because I couldn't give a fuck and you ranting like a five year old without a nap about it will probably only make me unfollow you not send you a stupid hug emoji. Stop, just stop and think about every single thing you want to bitch about and figure out how you are to blame and then stop doing it. Did you offer to read someone's book and write a review and they didn't do the same for you? One, SHOCKING, two don't do anything you don't want to do and have the time for. If you are running behind on edits, your kid's costume or cleaning and doing something for someone else would put you behind then DON'T fucking offer. If someone asks you then there is this AMAZING thing called saying no. 'I would like to (lie) but right now I have too much going on to properly give it the time it deserves.' Then move the fuck on. Did you offer to spotlight someone or they asked and you did it and now you're upset they didn't return the favor? Again SHOCKING and two make it clear before you accept it's quid pro quo, sure I'll be happy to, when will you be able to spotlight my title? 

I know you've seen it and you chuckle probably because you don't know what it really means but you should learn it and you should live it. Have zero fucks to give. Basically, just don't care what other people think of you, whether it's the neighbor who judges you for taking your kids to school in your pajamas or the other moms who judge you for taking store bought baked goods to sell. Here's the basic question did you not doing something harm anyone, or hurt anything of value or importance to YOU? Not anyone else, to you. If not then LET IT GO and move on. 

In the writing world the support we get from fellow authors is important, I'm not saying it's not but your support doesn't have to be anything other than what works for you. Maybe sharing on Facebook and retweeting is easier and quicker maybe you have a blog and you need to fill your page once a week because writing a blog every single week is time consuming so it actually helps you out BUT if it doesn't help you then DON'T DO IT. Don't offer anything you don't have one hundred percent time for and if it isn't going to be reciprocated doesn't bother you. It's like loaning money, I only loan money if it doesn't put me in a hole, one, and if two, I am okay with never getting it back because there are no guarantees in life. So if a fellow author will think you're mean for saying no to reading and reviewing their new book-who cares? You aren't mean, you are doing what you need to do for you. And if she/he bitches about you not reading and reviewing then guess what? It frees you up from doing it for someone else you don't have time for. Then if there comes a time when it fits into your schedule and life and you offer to do it for someone then it actually means something. That is what should be important, is what you're doing mean something to you and if it means it's taking away from living your life the way you need to to make you happy then don't do it. 

This is your life and you have to take responsibility for it, the good and the bad. 

Saturday, May 7, 2016

Blurb for His on the Rebound

***Currently available in Kindle Unlimited***
But only until March 9th

                                                               His on the Rebound


Hell... I’m going to hell. I can hear the nuns now, condemning me, and I deserve it. How could I have let Maxwell Brandt kiss me? A man I found disgusting at the way he treated woman—as if they were disposable, to be used then thrown away. It didn’t matter who he was, or how much money he had. He was a horrible person. Who the hell am I kidding? I’m just as bad because I let him kiss me. Then I did the unthinkable and kissed him back, with a hunger I’ve never felt before. All of this while my fiancé was in the same house. It was a horrible mistake, one that can never happen again. I love Kevin. I want to make a life with him, not be used by a man who won’t remember my name a month from now. What Kevin and I have built is real and I’m not throwing it all away. It didn’t matter if no other man, including Kevin, had made me feel the way Max did, it was wrong. Despite the fact Max keeps coming back to entice me, I stand firm. I won’t cheat on Kevin. I won’t become that person, no matter how badly my body wants him. I don’t want to want him.
Until the moment he drops a bomb that destroys everything. Kevin has been cheating. His words destroy the illusion I’ve been hiding behind, because I know he’s telling the truth. Knew it in the way Kevin has gradually been pulling away... late nights out with the guys, his disinterest in me, and the way he’s twice pushed back the date of the wedding. I hadn’t wanted to believe, had been willfully blind to preserve the promise of a future with a man I believed I loved. All I want is to hide and lick my wounds, but Max won’t let me. With Kevin gone, he demands I fulfill the promise of that kiss. I don’t understand how a man like him wants a plus size woman like me, when my own fiancé refused to date me seriously before I lost weight. Yet, he does, refuses to go away. In a rush of anger, pain, and hunger, I give in. The feeling of being wanted by a man like Max wiping away the humiliation of Kevin’s betrayal. Maybe a fling, a rebound affair, is exactly what I need. No promises, no expectations, and no broken heart. At least, that’s the way it started.

Out of curiosity, to get a look at the fiancée who put up with a cheating weasel like Kevin Jarvis, I find myself looking into the bright green eyes of a woman who makes my body hard with longing. Then the weasel does the unimaginable and introduces green eyes as his fiancée. Even though she looks at my hand like it’s a grenade about to go off, she takes it and we both feel the attraction. We’re both in deep shit now, because I know she feels what I feel and I’m about to go after her, fiancé or not.
I don’t care if she stays with Kevin. I just want her body. Besides, it won’t last long, desire never does and I don’t want her clinging after it’s over. Only, the bitch keeps pushing me away, denying us both the satisfaction our bodies crave. Her sanctimonious refusal as she uses Kevin and her engagement ring as a shield pisses me off. I didn’t want to drop a bomb, but if it gets me what I want, her in my bed, then I’m not going to flinch from it. I need her to satisfy this craving that’s eating me from the inside out. I’ll make her pay for making us both wait. I’m not her asshole ex, and I’m sick of paying for his stupidity. Her body makes my cock ache and I want her exactly as she is. Only, inch by inch I’m consumed by my need. I warn myself to pull away, sure this won’t last, can’t last. But letting go isn’t an option, no matter how hard I try.


“What the fuck is it with you and bathrooms? Is this some kink you have?"
She’s blustering, trying to get her shots in first. I laugh. “There’s no way in hell you are like this with Kevin. I refuse to believe it.”
Whether it’s my laughter or words, I catch her off guard. Pausing, she considers my words. “Maybe because I like him.”
"You don’t have to like me, I just need you to sit on my cock.” Sarah makes a fatal mistake, turning around to see where she could hide. I pin her against the low vanity, pressing my hard cock into her soft ass. Heaven, fucking hell, heaven is her body melting into me. My arms go around her, resting palms down on the vanity my lone concession to not going faster than I think she’s really ready for. “Do you feel how hard you’ve had me since I met you? I haven’t had to jack off since fifteen, do you know that? Now, every damned night I’m hard and my cock only wants your pussy. No one else’s will do. Come to me, tonight. I see the longing in your eyes. You’ve been thinking of me too. Put us both out of this misery.”
She closes her eyes against me from the mirror where our eyes have been locked. “No, I’m not going to change my mind. It’s wrong. I’m not made the way you are. I can’t give my body to someone when I’ve promised it to someone else. Kevin cares about me, he loves me. I’m not throwing all that away for sex, not when I have love.”
Now, I’m squeezing my eyes closed, damn it! This isn’t the way I wanted her, but now I don’t care anymore. My cock is howling in agony for her. Any way I can get her, I’ll take. Pushing away from her startles her into turning around. “Fine, you want to throw Kevin up like some shield? Interesting, you use him as an excuse not to cheat when he’s been cheating on you with Lindsey going on six months, now. Don’t look shocked, because I don’t believe it! I refuse to believe on some level you didn’t know! Lindsey helped get him fired from Feinman because they were fucking all the time, and his sales dropped. Her way to make it up to him is how he got this job. I owe Lindsey more than one, however I’m done, because tomorrow I’m firing the both of them. They spend all day fucking or texting about fucking, he still isn’t selling and she isn’t getting her work done. There’s also a married neighbor he keeps company when her husband goes out of town. Don’t, don’t look at me and tell me you didn’t at least wonder once or twice, don’t you dare!”
Why am I angry at her? She fucking looks like I’ve kicked her in the gut. I don’t hurt women, that’s not what makes my cock hard. Closing her eyes, tears fall. I’m pissed I can’t wrap my arms around her and tell it’s all right, because right now, it won’t be. Shuddering, she nods. “I wondered, okay, once or twice I wondered. But I love him, and I thought he loved me. Because of that, I refused to do more than think, refused to do more than wonder. And right now I refuse to take your word.”
No fucking way, her hand is on the door. “God damn it! Don’t you dare fucking go to him! You know he’ll lie! I don’t fucking care what you say, this isn’t about you and him, it’s about you and me.” Two weeks have been too long. My mouth comes down on hers. Her mouth is closed to mine, at first. The pent up anger dies as I work at getting her to invite me in. I tease my lips against hers, nibble on her lush bottom lip. Stealing in on her gasp as I press my cock right against her mons, I’m in her mouth. Fucking hell, she’s rubbing against me and the gentle kiss goes up in flames. She’s moaning my name, whimpering. I fight everything in me to pull up her dress right there. Breaking the kiss is fucking painful. “Come home with me. Let me kiss you right, where you belong, in my bed. I want to taste your pussy dripping on my tongue, I need to feel your pussy sucking my cock deeper inside you, your legs wrapped around my waist. I want to kiss your mouth as I pump into your body, and feel you shudder against me when you come.”Universal link

Blurb for His Under Contract

His Under Contract

***Currently only available in Kindle Unlimited ***
But only until March 9th


Universal link

As a kid with a Marine for a father, and a doormat stay-at-home mother, I didn’t have huge aspirations for my future. Maybe a teacher—working with kids, and then enjoying a summer break. However, I didn’t think I would end up a housekeeper scrubbing floors. It doesn’t matter if the floors are in a million-plus dollar condo, in one of Chicago’s most exclusive addresses. I’m still on my hands and knees for one of the most obnoxious assholes I’ve ever met. The jerk believes his own press as one of the biggest rainmakers in Chicago. A lawyer specializing in business and sports contracts, Ethan Bishop is sought after in the boardroom and the bedroom. While even his sister thinks he’s best taken in small doses, she offers me a job I can’t refuse, not if I don’t want to go back to my parents with my tail between my legs. I need this job, and it’s not like it’s forever, just until I’m not on the edge of poverty. Let him be the unrepentant manwhore who didn’t do repeats. It’s better for him not to be at home, so close that my stupid body goes nuts when I even think of him. It’s better this way, because he could never want me. I’m a plus size not a size two model he’s used to having. I’m safe, it doesn’t matter how badly I want him, he doesn’t want me. Does he?


In my world, the stakes are high, million dollar high, so no, I’m not nice. I don’t say please or thank you and I never apologize. If you have a problem with that, it’s your problem not mine. I didn’t make partner at one of the biggest law firms in Chicago at only thirty-two with my winning personality. I’m on top because I make money for my clients, whether it’s a high stakes takeover, or a player getting paid every dime he’s worth. My clients come out on top. I have worked hard for the life I have, the million-dollar condo, the Ferrari in the garage, and the hottest woman on my arm and in my bed. So, if my bitch of a new housekeeper wants to look down on me, like I give a fuck. My one weakness, my little sister parked me with a housekeeper who is far from perfect. Okay, she has the cooking and the cleaning down. But damn, does she have an attitude and a mouth on her that smiles even when she’s insulting me. It’s a good thing she isn’t my type, or I would make her pay the best way possible. At least, I’m trying to tell my cock she’s not my type, only the asshole has had his own idea since he saw her. It won’t last long though, it never wants any woman for long. When she offers herself to me, it’s with a contract where I hold all the control, all I have to do is sign.


Since he’s gone, I turn on the radio, turning it to a pop station. I’m pulling out the pan for his eggs and turning on the burner, swinging my ass with the music, when suddenly it’s cut off.
          Straightening in surprise, I look up to see Ethan staring at me in annoyance. “You’re early.” I accuse.
          “I strained a muscle. I had to cut my workout short. I’m going to spend time in the tub to work out the pain, until it’s time for breakfast.” His forehead is creased, the pain clear on his face.
          “If it’s a strain, the tub won’t really help. I can rub it out for you. My mom did it for my dad then when she got arthritis I did it for him and my oldest brother when he went too hard on the weights.” He looks like he’s about to refuse. I want to smack him. “It will take ten minutes for me to rub out, or a few days of pain.” I’m staring at a point above his head. Holy shit, if I thought he looked good in the plain undershirt with tattoos almost to his wrists, now, with the shirt almost clear from sweat and clinging to his muscled tattooed chest, I’m doing that thing again. Damn him. I’m wet, there, again.
          “Fine, let me shower off this sweat. Give me five minutes.”
          My legs wobble as he leaves. I lean on the counter for support. Most days he moved so quickly I had barely gotten a look at the knife with blood on his right forearm, today I saw the gavel with the wooden holder on his left arm. Who the fuck knew I had a thing for muscled, tattooed, asshole, manwhores?
          I’m sure it’s been five minutes, I have no real idea as I’ve been dreaming about what he looks like without his shirt on. I go into my room to grab my almond oil before going to his room. Knocking lightly on the half-opened door, I see he is lying face down. A little sigh comes out at not seeing his chest. Fuck, is he ripped, his back is a mass of muscle with the scales of justice large on his back. Across the bottom of his back is a wolf lying down with its head up. It feels like it’s looking right at me. I see the White Sox logo up his right side, but say nothing. Along his left side is a large, intricate tattoo of Don Quixote, with a small windmill at his feet.
          Start talking, my mind screams, stop staring. “What movement were you doing when you injured it?” Okay, good, I don’t sound as breathless as I feel.
          “Bench press. My spotter looked away for three seconds. I tipped it to one side. He had to pull it off me.”
          “What were you pressing?”
          “Two hundred.” He sighs as I squeeze a dime size puddle of oil into my palm. I can see the injured muscle glowing a vibrant red.
          Damn, it took my brother years to press that. “You know this is going to hurt like hell. I’m sorry, but then it should only be mildly annoying.”
          “I’ll deal.” He says into the black silky comforter.
          For a moment I freeze, it’s been over five years since I did this, please don’t let me hurt him. Pressing into the muscle with the ball of my palms I circle. I watch him push his face into the comforter and know he’s hiding a moan of pain. “I never would have figured you for a tattoo person. I thought all lawyers were supposed to be stuffed shirts.”
          “Mainly got them to hide the fucked up ones I got in juvie with pen ink. They looked like shit. I thought about trying to get them removed then said fuck it, and decided to cover up the bad ones instead. Along the way I saw some I liked so I added them.”
          “I got one tattoo, and then was so terrified my parents would find, out I never got another one.” I admit.
          “Let me guess, a butterfly?”
          “Ughh, no! I should press down harder for that. How is it feeling?”
          “You’re working out the right place, it’s still pretty sore.”
          “Okay then, round two.” I begin again with my palms, adding a little more pressure and circle the muscle.
          “A heart?”
          “I find that offensive.”
          “Hello Kitty?”
          “Okay, I’m going to stop if you keep insulting me.”
          He chuckles, and oh, my god, I don’t think I’ve ever heard him laugh before. It comes deep from his chest yet is still somehow melodic. I think I could become addicted to that laugh. “Is it a cartoon character? Give me a hint here.”
          “No, it’s not a cartoon and I don’t have to give you a hint.”
          The sigh comes out of him long and loud. “Damn that feels good.”
          “Told you, I had a lot of practice. Take something over-the-counter for it and sleep on your other shoulder tonight. I would lay off the chest workouts for at least a week, too soon and you might tear something. I should have your breakfast ready to go on time while you get dressed.” I say as I climb off the bed. Ethan sits up and I almost walk into the wall. His chest is a masterpiece, Lady Justice is massive over his chest with the sword in her hand, and down low on each hip is a one hundred dollar bill. Turning blindly, I powerwalk down the hall. Holy fucking shit, his body is sin.
          The only way I get through the next few minutes is by concentrating on everything I do without thinking of anything else. He’s waiting for his breakfast but says not a word as I bring it through. It’s on time, he had come in a few minutes early and was engrossed in the Tribune.
          There isn’t another word from him until he leaves with his shake in his hand. “Thanks again for the massage, it really helped.”

          I only nod, speech is still too hard for me.

Sunday, May 1, 2016

If you don't work for free why should we?

It's happened and I've been pissed and I wrote a blog about it but of course it changes nothing. Then something came through my Facebook feed and I just lost my shit. Because I know, I fucking know this shit for brains bitch isn't alone-there are readers out there who want the same damn thing and they might say no but their actions in returning books they've read tell another story. 

I don't know Elizabeth York yes we are Facebook friends but I have never posted on her page or the other way around. I can't even say if I've liked anything she's posted or shared anything until today. But when I saw what she posted today I feel for her and I couldn't imagine being on the receiving end of this email then insane fucking instant message. 

This is apparently what started it all:

Wow! I am completely speechless. I had seen one of the books purchased were returned and then I noticed more... Didn't think anything of it until I got a email. I don't even know how to reply.
"Ms. York, I wanted to tell you that your books are above par and you should be proud. I was able to read them all, but sadly I returned them all because they range from $0.99 to $2.99 and that is just too much for me to spend on a ebook. Can you please make all your books in the future free so that I do not have to return it?"

Then when Elizabeth shared it and blocked the psycho she friended Ms. York again and let loose a deluge of steaming pile of off her fucking meds. Yes damn it, yes you should pay for the stories in a writer's head because yeah it was in a writer's head then they sat the fuck down spent their time writing, revising, and created a product which you consumed. 

I've been vocal in the past about not pricing myself low and how I don't want a reader who is only willing to pay .99 cents for my books. Quite frankly the writers that price their stuff so low make it worse for everyone else I fucking wish they would stop. If your work is longer than a short story, and you have paid for it to be edited and a person can get about two hours out of it, pricing it at 99 cents places little value on your hard work. It might take less than two hours or more maybe even more but it sure as fuck didn't take that long to write. It was days, weeks, for some maybe even months of starting, stopping, finding the right words and self-sacrifice to get those words out the first damn time, revise, money spent on covers, editing, more time on edits more time on getting the word out, bothering bloggers, beta writers, drumming up people willing to read and review. This is fucking work and to say hey yeah a dollar will do is complete and utter bullshit because we don't walk away with a dollar- thirty fucking cents is all we get, not even enough to make a damn phone call. So when I see these writers pricing for 99 cents it makes me fucking nuts but what can I do but shrug and move on? 

It happens every damn month, returns from assholes who I know read the books, probably read more than one and then returned them. I gave you two hours of enjoyment and you pay me back my returning it. A movie these days can cost $10.00 or $11.00 depending on your city, when the movie is over whether you loved it or hated it do you go up to the box office and ask for a refund? A meal at a fast food place runs on average between $7.00 to $12.00 and it usually only takes fifteen minutes to eat and keeps you full about three hours. When you're done do you go up to the cashier and ask for your money back? That cup of coffee that gives you your fix in the morning runs about $5.00 to $7.00 it takes you maybe ten minutes to drink about two hours of zip, when the caffeine buzz is over do you go back for a refund? No, just fucking no. Would you ask any of those people to give you anything for free???? When you go to work does your boss say you won't be paid for the first half of the day and you think that's okay? Of course not! 

So why the fuck is it okay for you to bitch, moan, complain, about pricing and return a book you read??? Why? Please explain to me why that is acceptable. Months, I spent months on that and you read the blurb and you read the sample and you decided to press buy and when it was over you hit return and took back the paltry two fucking dollars I made back. I just paid $335 for a current book to be edited, most of my books because of their length run about $250 to $300 for editing. Three hundred dollars and you can't pay less than $5.00 for it? 

So please sign this petition. Do I really think anything will change? Not really but maybe in a few years this will stop. If even one asshole who reads and returns stops because of it then it's worth it.