Wednesday, February 27, 2019

Writing with your whole heart

As the fire raging around the CopyPasteCris clusterfuck begins to die writers, real writers, are still simmering with anger. The reasons feel almost too many too many to count but I'm going to attempt to break it down because it's important for readers and writers to understand. 

1. Writing is HARD. To sit down and create something from nothing, figuring out that first paragraph, the opening line, how to move your character across the room, how to turn "It was scary." to "Heart racing, the fine hair along his neck stood up as sweat began beading along his forehead. His lungs grew tighter with every breath, was what he seeing real?" Isn't easy, it becomes more as you do it over and over, with every book, as the pages build, as the words go from 50 thousand to five hundred thousand under your fingertips. If you think anyone can be a writer, I'm going to challenge you. Sit down, open up a word document and write just five thousand words about anything, your day, the new puppy you bought. Five thousand words, make it interesting, take it from it was scary to something that the reader feels. A writer has to do that for 50k words, at least. Could you really do 50k words????
That's the thing, the most important thing. Making your reader feel. It takes writing with your whole heart. It sounds corny as fuck but it's just that simple, just that real, just that fucking hard. We have to be in love with our characters, we have to care, we cry when they cry and if we don't then the reader knows, the reader won't cry, they won't care about our characters. Here's the thing, we kind of can't help ourselves, we put so much time into what we do it's a waste to not make it mean something. 
So for someone to use a ghostwriter working for ten cents an hour to pump out a story and put their name on it to just to cash check when they didn't put in the work, when they don't care about creating a world for their reader to get lost in, that's bullshit. 

2. Creating a false sense of the time it takes to create a new story from start to finish. When using ghostwriters who sit down and push out a story in two to three weeks because they write: I was scared, he is sexy. 
There's no sense of writing a scene where you deliberate over every sentence, picking, deleting, writing as you go then rereading and finding better words, cutting a sentence only to decide you do need it after all but figuring out how to write it better. It might take a half hour or an hour to write a thousand words the first time but to refine, clean it up, it might take another hour or two. Will every one thousand words written take another hour or two to make perfect? Not always but for some writers it very well might. And those writers should get the time they need to write the story they want. It has THEIR name on it, they are OWNING the story, THEIR story and whether it takes them three weeks or three months to write they should be able to have it. 
But when people use multiple ghostwriters and push out books every month readers think why can't this writer get me a new book every month? Again, writing is hard and it takes time to make the very best story we can write. 

3. Buying your way into anything is offensive to those who actually put in the work. I'll say it, I'm fucking offended by people who call themselves writers when they pay someone else to do the writing. For all the reasons listed above. If you didn't sit down and create something from nothing, then you aren't a writer. If you pay someone else to do the writing and you publish it under your name you are lying. You aren't a writer, you're a publisher by pure fucking definition. 

4. When I put my whole heart into my stories I'm giving up a little part of who I am to do it. As Virginia Woolf said: Every secret of a writer's soul, every experience of his life, every quality of his mind is written large in his works. 
My hope is for the connection of readers who recognize a part of themselves. Dreams they have, fears they've experienced, anger they felt. Giving up a part of myself isn't easy and I don't know if any amount of money will ever pay me back for what I lose. 

5.  Those people who put their name on something someone else wrote will never know what it feels like when a reader contacts them and tells them they loved the story. The reviews that say they can't wait to read the next one, that give love to something you wrote means everything. Those fake writers might be lucky enough to get those reviews or the emails but they didn't earn so it means nothing. 



Thursday, February 14, 2019

His Dirty Demands







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Three billionaire brothers: Cesare, Enzo, and Dante Sabatini have everything except the one thing money can’t buy. Three big beautiful women Alicia, Bethany, and Chloe will teach them the ABCs of love. Follow these couples as they negotiate the riskiest deal of all, falling in love.


It’s hard to believe when I get the call: an offer to work for one of the Sabatini brothers. Cesare and Dante head a real estate firm that buys, sells, and owns some of the most spectacular real estate in Chicago. Dante Sabatini is the youngest of the brothers, and even though he’s an arrogant manwhore he doesn’t come close to the a$$hole level of the oldest Sabatini, Cesare. While I work for Dante, Cesare is in the office across the hall—and too close for comfort. I’m not sure what misfiring synapse has my stomach flipping a thousand times a minute or my skin hot and tight when the man is around, but I’m doing my best to ignore it. Even if I weren’t a virgin, I’m very aware getting involved with Cesare Sabatini would be a complete disaster.

Until the moment I find out Cesare is having the same problem. Seriously? The insanely gorgeous billionaire wants me? I’m a plus-size woman who has become numb to insults I have heard about my weight. I’m far from numb at the idea of throwing caution to the wind and giving in to the dirty demands Cesare whispered in my ear.

Then I get a call I never thought I would have to deal with. My little sister is being blackmailed. I need twenty five thousand dollars or her future goes up in flames. I’m borrowing it, I’ll put it right back.

When Cesare finds out, he demands twenty-five days and nights of my body. Only once I’m in his home and life, twenty-five days isn’t enough—I want forever. But what does Cesare want?



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Excerpt:


I’m barely settled into my chair when an instant message comes through. It’s from Cesare. All it says is:


My office


          Why the hell does my stomach drop then twist painfully? Is it about me giving my notice? It has to be—he can’t know, not so soon. I look to Hannah, who is engrossed in the report she’s writing, doing that mumbling thing she does as she’s typing. Heart pounding, I push up from my chair then make my way to Cesare’s office. I knock, I hear him say come in. My palm is sweating as I turn the knob then push the door open. He’s leaning back in his chair. For the first time in what feels like forever his eyes are meeting mine. They give nothing away.
          “Yes, sir?”
          “Have a seat, Ms. Jeffries.” He gestures to the chair in front of his desk.
          Slowly, I sink to the edge of the chair. “Do you need something?” I feel it now: a heady satisfaction surrounds him. He smiles, it’s blinding, it’s scary. The hair on the back of my neck goes up.
          “Maybe I should be asking you that. Do you need something, Ms. Jeffries? Was there a difficulty in your personal life?” Oh god, my heart stutters. “It must have been an enormous difficulty to run into twenty-five thousand dollars. I take it the matter has been resolved?” His tone is of concern, of solicitation, with just the faintest twinge of sarcasm. I don’t respond. I can’t. “The matter has been resolved, has it not?” I don’t move an inch. “Ms. Jeffries, I asked you a question. The reason why you needed twenty-five thousand dollars, has it been resolved?”
          I nod, just once. I hate the tears that pour out of me as I blink. It’s clear he’s not happy about them either. “Ms. Jeffries, this isn’t a speeding ticket where you’ll get away with a warning if you turn on the waterworks. You stole twenty-five thousand dollars from my company, from me.”
          “I gave it back. I only needed it to make a trade. I can pay you interest if you want it.” The words come out of me before I can swallow them. “Bethany was being blackmailed. If I didn’t pay fifty thousand dollars her entire future, everything she worked so hard for was going to get flushed down the toilet by a malicious brat.”
          His eyes narrow. “You made a trade with that money? Are you crazy? In this volatile market, you could have lost everything.”
          I shake my head. “I’ve made this trade three years running every quarter and it’s never gone against me. Your twenty-five thousand was safe—I made even more this time around. I’m sorry, I’m already quitting. Isn’t that enough?” I plead.
          He cocks his head as he studies me. His eyes run over me slowly, so very slowly. It’s back, the heat I haven’t felt in so long, burning me from the inside out. “No, it’s not enough, not nearly enough. I’m going to need twenty-five thousand dollars’ worth of recompense in the form of you.” A plain manila folder is pushed toward me. “Option one: I pick up the phone and make a call to the police and give them that file that details every step of your removal of funds, unapproved, into your grandmother’s account. Or option two: You agree to give yourself to me when I want you, how I want you, as often as I want you.”
          This is supposed to be humiliating, I’m almost sure of it. Yet, his words cause a rush of wet heat to flood my core. What is the matter with me? Lydia’s words come rushing back to me as I fight not to fall on my knees screaming option two, a thousand times option two. Cesare needs to feel like he has the power, he needs to be in control. I had already told him I wanted him, would take him whatever way he was wanted me. Yet as a virgin, somehow I had the power of obligation over him; now he has the power all over again. Forcing a deep breath, I meet his eyes, glowing with fierce hunger. “What if I don’t meet your usual standards? With my lack of experience and everything?”
          “Let me worry about that. All I need from you is a willingness to please. I’ll take care of the rest.”
          Hell yes, I’m willing. God, I’m such a slut. I nod, too embarrassed to meet his eyes. “Okay.”
          “Okay, what?” I swear he purrs the words like the tiger Dante once compared him to. I’ve caught a tiger by the tail—now what the hell do I do with him? No sudden movements flashes as a shiver runs up my spine.
          “I’m yours, any way you want me.” A dark eyebrow goes up. “As often as you want me. I belong to you.”
          “You’ll withdraw your letter of resignation. I’ll deal with Dante. At noon you’ll leave early, to go home and get packed. Movers will be at your home at two. Pack everything you will need for the next twenty-five days. You’ll be living with me in order for you to be within easy reach to fulfill the whenever I want you, as often as I want you portion of the agreement.”
          Living with him? I get to keep my job too? “I have a dog. I can’t leave him at home.”
          He sighs then shrugs. “Bring the dog. He won’t be sleeping in the bed. I’m not willing to share my bed with a dog.”
          I shake my head. “Me either, he sleeps in his own bed at the foot of the bed on the floor. Um, how long am I keeping my job for? The twenty-five days or…” I’m almost afraid to ask the question, yet I need to know.
          “For now, the twenty-five days. I’ll look into moving you into another position, where you don’t have access to money, maybe as an admin in our legal department.” He says the last drily. I fight not to blush and lose.
          “I’m sorry, you don’t know how sorry I am. I have never so much as taken a penny from one of those take a penny leave a penny things. But this was for my sister, and I can’t say I wouldn’t do it again.” I shrug. “It was her whole world at stake—hers seemed more important than my own at the time.”
          He’s quiet for so long, I can’t take it anymore and look up to meet his eyes. We connect and he sees into my soul. Every secret I have ever had he knows, every lie I’ve ever told is revealed to him. “For the next twenty-five days, I’m your whole world.”