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.”