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 disappear, 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?”