Category Archives: Payne Hawthorne

Author, writer, storyteller. Erotic romances, BDSM/bondage/SM themes. Supernatural/paranormal characters. Highly graphic and emotionally charged stories. Blog on self discoveries and introspection. Life, love, sex, humor. Shame-free living. Spiritual journey.

Mediocre

arianredhead

Mediocre

I love that word, it says so much.  Mediocre, average, ordinary, pedestrian, unexceptional, and the list goes on.  My entire life I’ve feared being mundane, and loathed the thought that I was average, or just like everyone else.  Middle of the pack, or normal seemed an insult to me.  So, I strived and I worked hard and I pushed myself towards the areas I seemed to have aptitude.  Keeping in mind that even as a child, my only dream was to find a person that I could make my entire life, and I in return would be theirs.

I’ve always been aware I wasn’t average, I was better than average, if I applied myself I was the curve by which the others were judged.  However, and here is where it stings, I was never extraordinary or exceptional, I was just slightly above average.  This applied to my intelligence, my ability to learn, my memory, my athletic prowess, even my looks and now, as I look back, even in my ability to love, I was just a hair above the rest. 

Some of you might ask, “What’s so wrong with that?”

My answer? It sucks because I am fully aware of how close, and yet how far away I truly am from making any of my many endeavors a real success.  Just like me, everything I’ve attempted to succeed at, has only partially prospered. Right down to my relationships, which seem nothing more than a total mirror of my life in general. Always near that place of greatness, close and within sight, but not reachable, not achievable, impossible. 

I’ve worn myself out, my mind and body, and now I realize my heart is right there with the rest of me.  What do I want? Two different, unrelated people asked me that very question this week.  My mouth opens to offer an answer and nothing comes out.  I shrug.  I don’t want anymore.  I want nothing, I crave nothing.  I know that to want and crave and hope means to be denied, and if not denied, the work required is much too exhausting for the eventual outcome to be fully enjoyed.

So yeah, I’ve spent my life knowing I was close to special, but not quite. I’ve been near to the gold ring only to have it mercilessly snatched from my grasp.  I’ve been attractive, but not enough, I’ve been passionate, and real and honest, but maybe too much? I’ve toiled with not a scrap to show for it.  I’ve loved without reciprocation. I’ve applied myself physically and mentally, and still not found satisfaction or reward. 

Yeah, yeah, I know the affirmationists are chanting, “It could be worse!”

I call bullshit on that whole logic.  Worse than what? Worse than knowing you were close to a raging success, but never permitted to fulfill your potential? Always one obvious step behind? Close to brilliant, but oh sorry, not enough to be anything special. Close to talented enough to go to the Olympics, oh so sad, if only you’d been born to different parents and had the funding to follow your true capabilities?

And what about that whole relationship thing? Yeah, close to real love, close to that kind of mated for life, soul mates crap, but nope, sorry, you don’t get that.  Instead you get friendship without passion, desire without fulfillment, and an appetite without a meal to sate. My lifelong ache to be in a relationship that can ascend past shelter and food, now seems a total fairy tale, a true impossibility.  Who can be expected to have any passion left for life, let alone a partner, when the act of survival is all encompassing?

I often think it would have been easier to be less than average and totally unaware of my own lacks and stupidity.  Much easier to swallow the pill I am now forced to take daily. 

And no, to all of you chanting, “You’re not too old to still accomplish all that you ever wished for.”

Of course I’m not too old, but the sad truth is, I’m just too tired.  Too tired to fully love, think, dream, hope or care. Don’t you dare give me the bwah? Look.  Too tired to love? To dream? Yup, and if you’re honest with yourself, you know all that stuff takes work and energy as well.  Maybe it’s just me? Maybe I was indeed born with a broken heart and my reserves were low to start with.  I’ll give you that, might just be me.  I know I can be hard to take and I know I’m a big personality, and you either love me or hate me.  I shrug, very few love me, so on top of it all, I am thinking I might be the one at the audition that can’t carry a tune in a bucket, but thinks they are a wonderful singer.   

I told a friend I thought I had dreams and hope as synonymous words, which made me really think on that for well over a week.  To me, dreams intones a possibility that, me as the individual can accomplish them, maybe at some point, an outline for a future that I need to work at.  Hopes on the other hand are a wish for intervention; be it fates, or a divine holy power, or even other humans that might help and deliver on said hopes. 

So no, they are not the same word, although to me, I’ve lost both; dreams and hopes just don’t fly anymore.  They appease and pacify a lonely heart, but they don’t really help in the end.  They seem a futile way of calming my angst and my constant need to scream, “Is this it?  Really!!! This can’t be it!  There has to be more!”

Now, I once again find myself investing in one of my small talents.  My ability to tell a story and author those tales into printable words. It is so much work! So hard to write twenty thousand words a week consistently. I’ve been working at this for about three solid years now, and although I’ve gotten much, much better, I still see my lack of the academic as a giant hole in my development; and sadly, I find I am mediocre in comparison to any authors that are a success.  I read their works and I marvel at how good they are, and then I see where I am so obviously lacking, and it makes my soul ache. I know full well I can do better, given time and practice.  How though? How does one afford time?   

 I often feel a fraud or a fake, and always the fool.  What degree or certificate do I have that says I can produce, and then self-publish an entire novel? None, nothing, I really don’t have a clue what I’m doing.  That hasn’t stopped me, but it also hasn’t shown me anything close to success.  Definitely not enough to say this is what I can make as a career choice as I head into the second part of my life.

I’m still doing it, the writing.  I write all day, every day, and of course I am getting better.  My own inner template demands that of me. In everything I’ve ever done I don’t feel successful unless I grow and learn and change daily.  If I do something, I do it with my whole heart and I give it everything I have.  I don’t see the sense in being half assed about it, if it seems a possibility, and besides, what’s a better way to kill time?

Yeah, I fear that is where I am now days, killing time, counting down the days and months in my life.  I can’t live forever, I have to die eventually.  Right? Depressed yet? I chuckle through my tears, and then I write stories where I can disappear into a different world.  Into a world where love is all that matters and finding each other, being with each other, surviving in each other’s arms is the only answer to any question posed.  Love should always be the answer.

It isn’t in real life, but in my books it is, and I really like living in those worlds. So, even though I still feel the fool and I have no hope and fewer dreams, I seem magically capable of creating characters I wish I could be.  I feel lucky that for now, I am permitted to inhabit these other souls for short spells and exchange my reality for theirs.  I cringe though, because I think it might be mental illness, but then again, at least I am not aware of my lacks while I am there. 

Developement Through Questions

HI Guys… this is a blog I wrote a few weeks ago, but never published it.  Its my response to the negative reviews on Alpha.  I didn’t post it because on the whole, the reviews have been quite positive.  Encouragingly so!! And on the whole, I am trying to ignore the negative if I can… I read the reviews and if I can somehow take what they say and improve my storytelling, I will do just that.  Otherwise, I ignore when someone obviously doesn’t get me or my writing.  Anyway, I am working on a new blog about sex and how it effects a friendship… Yay! Anyway, I came across this one and I think its good enough to put it up… .so here goes:

Development through questions?

            I’ve spent the better part of a lifetime learning how best to develop horses to their highest potential.  I hate to call it training.  Training seems to portray repetition, and yes, there is some repetition in developing horses, but not nearly as much as most people think.  Its humans that require hours, months, years of doing the same thing over and over.  Horses, not so much.  They don’t even have that much time, nor does time hold any meaning in their moment to moment existence. 

What I learned was, if I can ask the question correctly, I will get the answer I am looking for.  What my equine partners learned about me was that I was always willing to ask the questions differently, but I always ask questions.  I never state, I never demand, I do change the questions frequently and often change how I ask, but I always develop through raising the question, asking for the puzzle to be solved, or simply wondering how I can make my, what if? Their what if?

I realized today that I write my stories from this same angle.  I am constantly asking myself and my reader, what if? Or would you believe this conversation? Can you even imagine? How about sometimes getting from point A to point B is impossible to do in a straight line, what then?

There are rarely wrong answers, it simply means I didn’t ask the right question.  But…and there is a but…what if my readers aren’t used to thinking this way? What if my readers are simply used to being told? If those are my readers? Well, none of them will get me or my stories. 

Another thing I’ve really worked on is never making assumptions.  It’s darn near impossible in a normal, everyday, mundane and normal life to NOT make assumptions.  We do it every time we turn on the faucet or flip a light switch.  It’s always worked, why would now be any different? Problem here is, I think I might have made assumptions that by now, the genre I am writing in, which is paranormal romance, has been glutted with stories of shifters and lycanthropes etc.  I figured my readers knew the game, didn’t need all that filler and explanation. 

Such as, my male nurse, Matthew, he’s an affectionate guy, he’s part wolf, animals are tactile creatures, lycanthropes crave touch and affection over all else.  To him, and his inner wolf, being affectionate with Allison is not at all strange.  Her inner wolf calls to his. 

To me, as the story teller, this makes perfect sense.  To me as a voracious reader of paranormal shifter stories, this makes perfect sense.  To me, as an affectionate creature, living in an affectionless life, it makes perfect sense.  And to me as the author, I need time to develop a character that plays an integral role later in the story, I need to ask that question, is he creepy or his he normal for what he is? And finally, if he is creepy, does that mean those readers will not allow anything other than Christian missionary sex in their erotica?

Why are these people giving a book a bad review over a minor character? Why aren’t they figuring out this puzzle without prejudging a character? Do they jump to those kinds of assumptions and conclusions about everyone and everything in their lives? And if so, are they then that judgmental once they’ve concluded the offense? I want to ask these negatively articulate reviewers why they bothered if they hated it so much?

I want to explain my story better to the nay sayers, I want to look at them and say really? You found that part hard to take but the whole turns into a man wolf beast creature is cool and totally believable? That sitting on a floor and masturbating four times a day is just fine and dandy? But a male nurse can’t massage and be affectionate with a woman in a coma? Its erotica? Where else do I put this stuff in? Is the whole thing to be one big cock and pussy show only? Or can I have some fairly intricate characters that take books, and books to develop?

Hey, I know! What if the characters learn and grow and actually change and develop as the story goes along? You know, like real life?

Like I said, I love this genre and I consider myself fairly well versed in myth and lore about lycanthropes and were-creatures.  Some stories and some characters stick with me, others do not.  It’s the ones that are out there that stay in my mind.  It’s the ones that aren’t trying to adapt to society and please anyone but themselves that I remember.  I want to write those kinds of characters.  And of course, if I do, I am fully aware I will gather a raft of haters that like conformity and spoon fed, watered down untruths.  Static, never changing characters that all sound exactly the same when you read their lines.  

I’m so sick of the women being either too tuff or too weak, no middle ground… fuck me, but don’t touch me there, oh yeah, touch me there but oh god not there.  Jeannine Frost has a sodomy scene between Bones and Kat that is fucking fabulous.  LKH has all kinds of stuff going on with Anita the Succubus and don’t even get me started on Merry Gentry and her battalion of Fae lovers.  Its yummy stuff! It’s all fantasy of course, none of it would ever happen.

Anyway, sorry for the rant.  I know if I ever get a real publisher and a real editor, they will iron out all my little flaws with the characters and the storylines.  Until then, the best I can do is just keep writing, and just keep asking what if? And just keep asking questions period, if I can leave you all wondering long past when you read it? Well then maybe I’m doing exactly what I set out to do.  :]g

Excerpt from OMEGA RISING

First draft excerpt…. subject to change…just a little sumpthin-sumpthin to keep ye all going! Check back often for more…. :]

Allison was dreaming again, dreaming of crawling into a dark den and snuggling up next to her mate.  His breath was hot against her neck and she was wiggling in happiness as she attempted to smash herself closer to him.  He was a big wolf, dwarfing her much smaller frame, and his black hair seemed almost blue in the pale moonlight that filtered into their small cave. 

His massive body kept her warm and for the first time in months, she felt entirely safe and at home.  She’d finally found him, and now all was well and good in her world.  She felt her male’s adoration as if it were a garment he’d thrown across her shoulders.  He wanted her and was relaxed in her presence.  She felt no aggressiveness from him, only a single minded need to be with her that rendered her from the inside out, leaving her happily contented and peaceful. 

Although she’d been sleeping all these long months, she’d not fully rested for her ceaseless searching. Now she could sleep and not worry.  She was safe with him so close, and she knew that her mission was now fulfilled and she could continue on with life.  The last of the gauze that had coated her thoughts was removed and she could think and process all that had transpired.

The beast that had rolled down the hill, had not frightened her.  It should have, but in reflection she couldn’t recall any real fear of the massive, mythological creature.  She only remembered feeling a fleeting moment of intimidation because of his enormous size, but that was overshadowed by an indescribable relief that he’d found her, and that they were once again together. Her own inner animal wiggled in happiness and she smiled in her sleep and sighed contentedly.  She was home and with her mate.  It was all going to be okay.

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