Thursday, July 2, 2015

His Healing Touch- Cover and Blurb

His Healing Touch
Coming soon


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 doesn’t explode 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.



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. 

Thursday, June 4, 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.