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

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

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

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

Don't just read, reread

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

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

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

What's in a name?

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

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

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

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

Just a thought. 

Why I write

Why must you write?

The voices, Ann

The voices I cannot stop them

they come to me when I sleep

when I wake

when I sup

when I walk down the hall

The sweet longings of a maiden

the surging ambitions of a courtier

the foul designs of a murderer

the wretched pleas of his victims

Only when I put their words their voices to parchment

are they cast loose

freed

Only then is my mind quieted

at peace

I would go mad if I could not write down the voices

Are you possessed?

Maybe I am

That came from the movie Anonymous and although it isn't quite that bad for me the voices are there, the scenes playing out behind my closed eyelids as I try to sleep. So I tell their stories and for a while there is peace. Until the new ones want their turn. 

Yet, I also write for the same reason I read-to offer the escape of another world, of other possibilities, of dreams I didn't know existed. 

Justified, I still miss you

'If you run into an asshole in the morning then you ran into an asshole. 

If you run into assholes all day long, you're the asshole.'

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

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

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

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

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

Second Excerpt for His Healing Touch

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

Kindle

Nook

Apple

Kobo

How was it possible to get to twenty-nine years old and never feel longing and desire so intense I ache with it, or even just the feeling of contentment to have him close? It’s not like I’m a virgin, there had been an asshole in the first year of college who was more interested in my knowledge of economics than me outside of bed. In my last year I met a sweet, kind, and secretly gay guy who was hoping I was okay with that. Which I would have been, as a friend, if he hadn’t already been having sex with me for the previous six months.

When I moved back to my grandmother’s house after finishing school I felt lost. The house had been given to me with the stipulation I couldn’t sell it until I was thirty and came into the remainder of my inheritance. I was lonely, the house was too big, except, just the thought of leaving it made me cry. With my parents actually reaching out to me, I was loathe to leave, fearful physical distance would lead back to our previous distance. My parents introduced me to one of my father’s colleagues from work at a dinner party they had, their matchmaking obvious.

Colin was much older, yet still handsome. He also enjoyed many of the same things I did—like art, museums, opera, and traveling. For a few months I believed things were going well. On our first trip together visiting Moscow I came back from shopping to find his computer open and unlocked by the bed. Curiosity had filled me, he’d been almost ridiculously obsessive about me not touching it.

A few clicks told me why, it was filled with the most vile and illegal porn I’d ever seen. By the time he came out of the bathroom, I was already packed and walking out the door. When I got back to Dallas I reported him to the police. Weeks later, my father called and raged at me for getting Colin arrested, causing him to lose his job, and ruining his life. All I cared about was finding out he’d been sentenced to three years in prison and would be on the sex offender list.

Considering my last relationship had started for all the wrong reasons, it was hardly surprising when it crashed and burned. I was bored and he was there, only two apartments away from mine. Almost six months in I still hadn’t met any of his friends or family and the whole thing felt off. Then he lost his phone and asked me to call it. I found it in the bed ringing, with my contact name showing as fatty. The word felt like a punch to the chest. Instead of being sorry, he was rude, he’d only started sleeping with me because of my tits and he heard fat chicks were willing to do anything in bed. Which apparently was an urban myth because sex with me was so boring he didn’t know how he managed not to fall asleep before he was done. He walked out, and thankfully moved out of the complex only a month later.

At the remembered pain, I rub my eyes, pissed at the tears that fall. Would this time be any different than the others? Closing my eyes, I remember the way Nick smiled when he called me adorably fuckable, the desire and longing in his eyes as he touched my lips. No man had ever looked at me as if I was a tempting treat he couldn’t have. No man had ever taken care of me as if I mattered to him; no man had ever taken care of me, period. My phone’s ring startles me, I don’t have to think, I know it’s Nick.

“Hello?” Fuck, do I sound breathless?

“Can’t sleep?”

“No, I think the nap was too long. Are you busy tonight?” The real reason why is swallowed without a thought.

“A little, Mom said you were busy. Did you catch up on work?”

“Hmm, is your mom spying and relaying everything back?” I’m thrilled to know he was busy, yet still taking the time to call me. Then I wonder just how much will she tell him about me.

“Fuck yes, I need all the help I can get to make sure you aren’t doing anything you shouldn’t, and to take care of you when I can’t be there. How is your knee feeling?”

“Not bad, it’s actually my ankle hurting. The ice didn’t feel great, but after it was off I missed it. You know I can take care of myself, I’ve been doing pretty well for a long time. This is kind of an unusual circumstance.”

Nick’s laughter in my ear makes me shiver. “There’s how you take care of yourself and there’s how I want to take care of you.” The way he says it makes my panties wet and my mouth dry. “If you knew all the ways I want to take care of you, the things I thought of in bed, with you down the hall, close yet untouchable, it’s a good thing you aren’t mobile or you’d run as fast and far as you could get.”

Longing is clear and coats his every word, leaving no room for doubt; Nick wants me. Remembering the way he told me I make his cock hard thrills me. “And if I don’t want to run?”

The intake of air in my ear makes me smile, no he wasn’t as cool as he seemed. “Maggie,” it’s a whisper, “I will hold you to that, under me and against me until I’ve made us both so weak you couldn’t walk if you wanted to. You’re killing me and I love it. Three long weeks since I first saw you and I walked into a damned car because I couldn’t stop staring at your gorgeous ass.”

“What?” No fucking way.

“I was finishing my run, going back through the parking lot when I saw you bent at the fucking waist, tying your shoe. My cock has never gotten that hard that fast in my entire life. I couldn’t take my eyes off you and walked straight into a parked car. I didn’t want to let you get away, except my cock wouldn’t cooperate. Like a fucking kid, I hid behind a car and watched you until you disappeared. You were cracking me up the way you were talking to Pickles, like you expected her to talk back. You just rambled on and on complaining about the humidity and early mornings and all the tall, skinny bitches. I wanted to follow you to hear what else you had to say and to watch your ass in your tight jeans.”

“Oh, my god,” I groan at the idea of him hearing me talk to Pickles. “I can’t believe it. That is so embarrassing. Wait, when was that?”

“March sixteenth, I remember it vividly because I was supposed to have a date that night, but I called and cancelled. Right then and there I didn’t want anyone but you. As you walked away, I consoled myself with the knowledge I’d be back at my new time for a better chance of seeing you again.”

“Wow.” His honesty is clear, he really has wanted me since the moment he saw me. Me, Margaret Jane Pruitt, wow.

“My thought exactly, when I saw your ass. I never understood the whole fascination with any one facet of a woman until, with one look, I wanted to be behind you with your hips in my hands watching your body move with my every stroke. Then you took my perfect view away and I saw those bright blue eyes and your wide luscious mouth. I thought, no I want to watch her face. I want to see your eyes dark with passion, your face flushed in excitement, your mouth wide as you beg for more.”

Oh. My. God. “Nick?” It’s an exhale of breath, I’m too stunned to speak.

“I knew it, you’ve had sex but never fucked. A man has been inside you but never made you scream his name. Did they even get you wet, baby? Hmm…did your pussy flood with need to have their cock inside you?”

Wrong, dirty, so fucking hot. How could he know? “No.”

“It wasn’t your fault, it was theirs. So sweet, knowledgeable, yet innocent. Tell me, baby, is your pussy wet for me right now?” I can’t answer that, does he really want me to say it out loud? “Maggie, is your pussy wet for me?”

“Yes.” I choke out the word.

“Yes, what?”

Biting my tongue until I’m afraid it will bleed, I don’t even consider not answering him even though I’ve never used the word in my life. “My pussy is wet for you.”

“I know. I just wanted to hear you say it. I like knowing I’m not the only one leaking with desire.” I hear a door open and a male voice talking to him. I deflate a little, I don’t want this to be over, not yet. His voice full of regret. “I have to go, baby.”

I don’t say any of those things, I’m pretty sure he already knows. “I know, goodnight.”

He ends the call. I push my face into my pillow and scream. Nick hadn’t been able to take his eyes off me. Hearing him talk about the moment he saw me, his wonder came through clearly enough I almost felt it myself. How could he do that? Tear me up and put me back together saying the sweetest things, fill me full of desire using the naughtiest, dirtiest words I have ever heard as easily as if he were talking about the weather. The doubts swirling before his call disappears, and in their place are things I haven’t felt, ever, when it came to a man: desire, excitement, and hope.

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. 

His Healing Touch-Cover, blurb, and excerpt

His Healing Touch

Universal link

Kindle

Nook

Kobo

Apple

Smashwords

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.” 

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. 

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?” 

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. 

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. 

Do NOT engage the trolls

You see the stupidity, and knee jerk reaction is fuck you, you stupid motherfucker. (Yes, I have been trolled.) A torrent of responses other than curse words tumble around, no it doesn’t, did you really read it, were you dropped on the head as a child, for the love of god please don’t breed. I’ve been there, wanted to do that had my blood pressure go up and wanted to throw something but it wouldn’t have helped because the troll wasn’t even within reach. That’s the whole problem the troll isn’t within reach and the even bigger problem is that pretty much nothing you say or do is going to make the troll listen, understand, or behave like an actual human being.

This could be for any number of reasons, you can’t fix stupid, for them ignorance really is bliss, and the worst but likely most common reason is they want to piss you off and create turmoil/agitation in your life because their own is sad, pathetic, and boring without having someone to piss off. There are sadly a large number of people out there who aren’t and never will be happy and they get a pathetic kick out of spreading around their unhappiness to others.

I recently saw a post on Facebook where someone felt the need to call out the FSOG author and from atop her white horse condemn the author for responding to a troll in an undignified manner. And herein lies the other side of it, people who feel they have the right to judge you and will then condemn you for responding in whatever way you see fit. Actually, I thought the response was funny and laughed.

Unfortunately not every response I have seen do I agree with. Which brings me to the fact that I have unfollowed two writers/authors because of their rants against I don’t know who on Facebook. Sorry, it can be painful and turning the other cheek is the last thing people want to hear when they are hurting but if your response sounds like you have gone batshit crazy don’t hit post. I get it, I do, you aren’t going to take it lying down and fuck anyone who doesn’t like what you do and how you’re doing it but when I see a paragraph rant that makes it sound like you didn’t take your meds today, it makes you look unprofessional and that is that last thing I need to clog up my feed. Because here’s the problem when you try and kick at shit, you’re going to get some of it on you and then you no longer smell so good.

I saw one of the stupidest articles on self-publishing I have seen in quite some time, so I called out his being a troll and his stupidity and the jackass then tries to engage and further piss me off by sending me another dumbass article he wrote. Blocked on twitter after that. I’m not saying anything is easy and maybe it’s only slightly easier for me because I grew up with three brothers who got their jollies from torturing me when there was nothing good on television. They are the ones who taught me words are just words and for a moment they can hurt but you are the only person who decides if they do or not.

So please boys and girls do not engage the trolls, when you engage the trolls you feed them and they get stronger and they come back again and again and then they go after others. Don’t feed the trolls. 

Covers again? Yes because they are just that important

Covers are almost, almost more important than the story inside because if your cover doesn't look good and attractive then no one is going to even open it see what's inside. I'm not going to admit how many free ebooks I've downloaded let's just say it's more than I'll ever read in my lifetime. However, not one of them has an unappealing cover because even for free I won't download and take a chance on something I think is bad. Because I do feel that a bad book starts with a bad cover and I'm not the only one. So unless you have a background in graphic design and you can honestly say it looks as good as something sitting on a bookshelf in Barnes and Noble than work with a cover artist, it's essential to the success of your book and you.

As I mentioned yes, I have already done a blog on covers (Of course people judge books by their covers) You can check that one out because only repeating two from that post. I am only endorsing Cheeky Covers because I know and have worked with Carrie and I can't see myself using anyone else. Repeating Alchemy book covers because again their cost is so low on premades and they have a huge selection of them most premades are only $65 but they have a selection of sale premades that are only $25.00 you can't even get a stock photo for that lately. I like their selection, across all genres, not so heavy on romance and erotic romance but several look great for romance.

Mayhem Cover Creations  was a recommendation, great covers. They do all types from thriller to romance but they seem to interchange the same covers so although the premades are a a great price at $69 you might need to ask for a custom cover and they have different packages starting from $119 and go to $199.

Bioblossom Creative  rates are kind of high with premades at $99 but as I have done more looking this time around that seems to be where the premades are starting out a custom cover is $199. The covers are a wide range but not many are romance.

Adipix Design is custom covers only but the pricing is great when compared with others and her previous covers are really eye-catching and impressive price starts at $115 and could go up to $215

ProBookCovers is another custom cover designer, his designs are mainly sci-fi and fantasy, even horror and thriller. They look great and although the custom cover pricing at $169 is pretty good right now he appears to be having a sale for $99. 

Lime Light Book Covers another custom covers only designer who mainly seems to genres other than romance most of them look great but I admit there were a few that had me cringing however the designer seems to be willing to go back and forth until it's right so at $99 it looks like a great deal. 

AM Design Studios really impressed me with their premades which seems to specialize in the fairy and romance with premades starting at $59 and custom covers at $200.00

I hope these help and if anyone uses them and has feedback they'd like to share hit me up. 

Networking-don't make it hard because it isn't

I used to think networking was some made up word like 'synergy' and I had no idea what the hell people were talking about. Even today if you tell me to network in my day job, I would have no idea how exactly to do that. It might be because I hate my job or because I don't really care to meet new people at work. It's insurance and boring as hell and it pays the bills and that's it.

Networking isn't that big of a deal and it's not that hard. All it is, is making connections with people, that's it. That thing I wrote about Twitter where you thank someone when they tweet you? That's just being polite. When you tweet the person back, that's called networking. Hopefully, it will become a regular thing and you will have formed a connection. Will that single person make a difference to you? Maybe, maybe not. Maybe it's someone they know that will make a difference. It might not be that day, it might be in the future, someone who hasn't even been introduced to them could down the line see a tweet and it could spark something for you.

Then there are the actual connections you can make besides just tweeting,  unless your are so busy you just can't spare three minutes it doesn't hurt to reply and have a  back and forth with someone on Twitter or Faceback who knows what kind of connection can be formed. In this indie thing it's easy to feel alone and fall into the rut of same old, same old day in and day out. Meeting someone online and forming a connection can make you not feel so alone. In tweeting alone I have made connections that have gotten me reviews and an invitation to a Facebook group where several people retweet each other, it's been great being in that group because there are other things that we've done and even just the back and forth has been a great source of support.

The Indie writing group I formed is a form of networking, meeting other writers and talking about writing but we also talk about dozens of other things. Those people are my sanity, my oasis of thank god I'm not alone, I'm not the only one is positive what I've written is shit and should be tossed and we've all talked each other down from the, 'I'm just going to burn it' moment. I didn't think of it as networking when I set it up but that's exactly what it is and it doesn't just help me as a writer it helps me as a person.

I've debated posting this because I hate for people to get the message, 'Hey, everyone you meet will do something for you' because one that might not always be true and two that's a pretty mercenary way of thinking and if you're only going to do it so you can get something out of it then you're doing it for all the wrong reasons and likely won't get anything out of it. Like the people who only follow me because I retweet yet I don't see from their history that they do anything but tweet themselves seven times a day, I'm not going to follow you and retweet you if all you're out is to take. 

For me I've only ever looked at it as being a really great way to meet someone and bonus points if I learn something from them. As far as I'm concerned I'm happy to meet and more than happy to help out another writer because my feeling is if they succeed than I can succeed whether they are in my genre or not. Every time an indie writer makes good it helps all the others by proving that an indie book can be just as good as a book on the shelf at Barnes and Noble and just maybe that will trickle over to me. 

So take some time, say 'hey' and be open to forming a connection. You might make a new friend who can help you not feel so alone or you might even meet a new fan or someone you can become a fan of. The more you form a network the more it gives you stronger ties to your community and it can only ever be a good thing.