When You Dream

hand

From a story I am working on: (its all fiction, NOT real life!)

When you dream, I feel it. If you dream of me, I feel it.  If your thoughts turn in my direction, and you focus, I feel it.  Today, I leaned back, closed my laptop and I too took a nap.  The night before really wore me out.  Lots of emotions, too many, not enough, all wanting, no quenching.  I suppose I will grow accustomed to this feeling.  I will miss it when I do though.  It is a great feeling. I’ve gone a very long time and wanted nothing. 

I cried myself asleep.  I actually sobbed and let it all out, it hurt.  A lot! I won’t allow myself to tap into that place again.  There is no need to wallow.  It is what it is and there isn’t a thing in the world I can do about it.  I realize you think you are somehow motivating me, and I realize that everyone else you’ve ever met needs a motivator.  It’s kind of funny really, I am the developer for others, or at least I used to be, and I have always been my own best trainer and motivator, hard to believe, but I seriously push myself harder than anyone else ever has.  I know I can always do better.

I also know that doing better requires effort.  I am tired.  Life holds very little interest for me.  I am poor, and stuck in circumstance.  Anything that might interests me costs money, which is not going to happen for me.  And so I sit. I write to kill time.  I like writing, it’s a great outlet.  Fuck load of work, long, long hours and often its crap and wasted time, but heck, at least I burned that puppy and now am one day closer to this lifetime being over.

I know, it sounds so fatalistic.  I am not at all a fatalist.  I am just not that attached to living.  I seriously feel it is a bit of an exercise in futility, but heck, killing myself didn’t pan out, and so here I sit.

Anyway, I digress, today, after I sobbed myself into a partial sleep, I began to feel you.  New visuals, images I’d never before manifested sprang up into my mind, unbidden they barged in and demanded I notice.  I looked, I noticed, I liked.  My body immediately reacted, which it has been doing now since you started talking to me.  Two weeks you said, well for two weeks, my body has been in the highest state of arousal I’ve ever experienced.  It takes all my will power to not stare at my phone, waiting to see your name.  I even woke up incredibly early just to see if your name was there.  Sigh.

So here were these new visuals.  Something about me; I truly believe our brains are incredible communication devices and if one has a powerful enough need to reach another, they can achieve it.  With the horses, they send visuals constantly.  It’s the horses that whisper and us that needs to learn how to hear them, see them, communicate with them on their level. 

So, today I got your visuals.  I guess you were sleeping, it was intense.  There was so much need, I about melted on the spot. I love how powerful you are, you don’t frighten me, you mirror me, you are the first to be such a force that I must reckon with you and not vice a versa.  We were sleeping together, naked, sleeping.  You pulled me to you, wrapped your arm over my waist and palmed my stomach, dragging me to your front.  You got hard so fast you still hadn’t fully awakened, but you were hard as granite. 

I gave to you instantly, wanting to be pressed as close to you as possible, always.  In real time my body was a wreck at this point.  My heart was stuttering along, not so much hammering as it was literally doing some erratic, irregular stall and restart shit, and it was a bit painful.  My pussy was soaking wet, and I could feel my pulse deep inside my core.  My ultra-sensitive nipples were jutting and hard as erasers.  My mouth was watering too. 

You pushed me onto my belly and you mounted my ass, sliding your cock up between my legs.  I spread for you, opening my apex, your hands came around and found each tit.  You smothered me with your body and buried your face in the back of my neck, and within seconds you were deep inside my body. Sliding in and letting my heat sheathe all of your incredibly heavy length. 

You stopped and we just languished there, in the land of synchronized breaths and thudding hearts.  We felt each other.  It was the most delicious moment of my life, you kissed my neck and then you bit me.  You fucked me hard for long breath holding minutes and I came so quickly it startled both of us.  You were soon to follow, and it took all your air, it was heated and copious and it made me cum again. 

It was a blip in time, quick and fast and the most feeling I have had in this body in so long I can’t really remember.  It made me ache to be in bed next to you.  I want to wallow with you, I want to belong to you so you can access me at a moment’s notice and use me to satisfy your every need.  I want to be your every need.     

Meticulous Anarchy

arianhelpme

I was just outside and got distracted with a climbing vine that I am training over an archway.  It is still fetal, small, its tentacles are soft and young and very unruly.  It hasn’t learned how to really climb upwards, it keeps getting confused and going back in on itself.  I talk to it as I try to carefully extricate itself, from itself.  Then I carefully wrap that arm up and in the direction I want it to go.  It’s still an unruly mess, but now it is all contained and traveling in the same direction.  Controlled abandon?

As I was helping with the shoots that were splayed out into nowhere, searching for something to grab onto, I thought about myself and all my little parts, the tentacles of my personality and intellect and also my emotions.  Rarely do my emotions get the best of me, rarely do I succumb to their nagging.  I am a girl though, and sometimes, rarely, but sometimes I feel something much stronger than I think I should.  Or my body reacts without any forewarning from my brain, and I start to cry. 

This sucks by the way. It is embarrassing and seems weak.  I am anything but weak.  I am strong, and self-aware and sure of myself, and in general, I am the one doing to others or ‘happening,’ to others and rarely is the converse true.

This week for me has been strange.  I have writers block.  I suddenly have ADD too, something I’ve never experienced before.  I am the queen of focus.  Not this week.  This week has tumbled me this way and that, and I am still feeling as if it isn’t quite over.  I feel as if I need to protect and go fetal.  I don’t want too, I haven’t done that in years.  But still, that is where I am right now. 

My tentacles need help, I need to tuck them back in, unwind the ones that went the wrong way and get them going the right way.  But what is the right way?

When my mind does this to me, I am always in an existential crisis.  It happened to me over and over when I was on my horsemanship journey of good-better-best-never-let-it-rest.  I would reach a new level of competence and suddenly think I had no business teaching others and I probably shouldn’t even have horses.  It was a moment of oh shit, I’d been doing it wrong all that time before, and just now, all of a sudden, in that moment, I got it and I would forever do it correctly. 

Problem is, how do you say sorry to those you’ve taught, if you taught them wrong? It’s a tuff one for a teacher, and I am sure I am not the only one who’s taught others, that has gone through this exact thing. 

I definitely need some gardeners tape wrapped around a few stray limbs just to help me stay on track.  Unfortunately, I am my own keeper, and I don’t know quite how to apply.

The good thing about horses is that they forgive and forget.  They are in their moments, always will be, always are.  It’s over, it’s done, let’s move on.  It is so much harder when our big brains fire off random memories of past wrong doings, errors and mistakes we’ve made along the way.  So much harder to un-do, and then re-do.  If I let this vine do whatever it wanted, and a year from now I went and tried to untangle and re-train it, I couldn’t.  It would be set, it would be rigid and firm, and its soft delicate little tendrils would be hard and woody, unwieldy. 

I don’t want my heart to be this way, I don’t want my soul to be hard, woody and unwieldy.  So, I’ve allowed myself to open up and be honest and real, raw, truthful.  The problem is that others are still responding to me like they do to all around them, as if we all lie about ourselves and we are never truly honest. 

I am not like that, I am not lying at all, I am trying my darndest to be transparent, although I hate that word.  I think the word naked, is better.  My heart is undressed, my heart is open, my soul is exposed? I feel naked and exposed, all the time. 

I said something to a writer friend.  A young writer friend who is having a difficult time putting emotion into his work.  I told him something interesting, and it really hit home for me as well.  I said that emotions come from a place of experience.  The good and the bad, they are all slowly uncovered and exposed over time, after living for a span and duration.  Then, after they are uncovered, after we feel them and experience them, and whatever trigger that happened for us to see them, we either embrace them, and begin to strive to feel them again, or we start to cover them back up, push them back down, bury them, go numb.

Then they turn into this raw place, a slightly callused place that gets rubbed once in a while, and re-exposed, disturbed enough to crack open and bleed or weep. It is from there that we find depth for our words, and it is from there that we must learn to live if we want to be good writers.

The problem however is this, it’s a place of angsty upheaval, controlled abandon, governed chaos, meticulous anarchy.  Plain and simple, it’s a very uncomfortable place to live.  It’s your softest parts being unwound and then redirected, all without breaking, all without pruning.

I feel as if the first part of my life involved a lot of pruning.  Now though? Now is so much different.  I can’t just discard parts that are unpleasant, I can’t chop them off and walk away like I did before.  I don’t know why I can’t, but I just can’t.  So I am trying to train all these parts of myself into some sort of coherent clutter of personality, and at the same time, I am attempting to put all of that into words, to create a visual so others might feel and understand what is happening inside themselves. 

That’s all.  For now. In this moment.  Feeling deep, too fucking deep.  Sigh.

SEX SELLS!

 relentlessly

SEX SELLS

I’ve spent the better part of a month trying to decide if I should own it or not.  It wasn’t an issue when I was writing for other people as a ghost writer, and my name wasn’t anywhere to be seen.  I even signed disclosure agreements that I wouldn’t share these other stories or that I had anything to do with writing them, but that all changed when a few smaller publishing houses signed me on to write under my current pen name.  Once again, it is all about royalties and nothing is guaranteed, and I work really hard with little to no return. 

Eventually though, eventually it will pay off, or so I’ve been told, and if nothing else, it will help me get my other works, my ‘real books’ as I like to call them, noticed, and to top it all off, they all agree that the more I have up, the more I will sell.  So, I am adding to my list of works and shooting for that magic number where it will all start to snowball.  At least that is what they are telling me I need to do. Most of what I am releasing is a one hour read and all about the sex-sex-sex!

The worst part is how fast I need to get these done, and invariably there are always errors even after reading and editing them multiple times, again, I just don’t have time to do it all by myself, but I am trying, HARD! Not slacking in the slightest, and I want to say sorry for the errors guys, it’s all too much about quantity and not so much about quality.  Although, my goal is for quality. 

So, I decided early this week, I’m owning it! I write smut! We have a nice word for it, ‘erotica,’ but let’s be honest, it’s raunchy, smutty, porn, sex, often nasty and graphic, explicit, sometimes quite obscene! Whatever you want to call it, I write it! And ya know what? I write it well, and I like writing it.  It doesn’t mean I do it, or have done it, or will ever do anything I write about, ahem, I have lived though, and I am pretty old, and well, shrug, I have no shame.  Make of that what you will.

I like the idea that I am bringing others arousal and desire! Seriously people, isn’t that like one of the best gifts to give another? It doesn’t mean I personally would ever fulfill someone’s fantasies, but shit, if I can impart it well enough to turn them on just through my words and my stories? Boo-fucking-yah! I don’t see a thing wrong with it, and apparently not everyone is capable of writing it.  So I shrug and think, works for me.

The thing with me is this, I like a good story, and I like it to be interesting even when they aren’t fucking like bunnies.  I want to get to know the characters and I tend to get quite attached to my protagonists, and even my antagonists, (which honestly are often just the inner musings of the protagonist, because we all know, who our worst enemy really is).  I still have the need to get to know them and their inner musings even when they aren’t fucking, or even when they are.  Since after all, sex is the best way to demolish any façade and shine that light on the real soul hidden inside.   

This whole thing, (ha-ha—she said hole!), has been evolving over the past few months while I struggle with the need to earn some sort of living.  I don’t need much, really, seriously, I can be content in my chair, with my laptop across my thighs, and escape into these other worlds and stories and get totally lost in the moment.  Time is speeding by.  It’s awesome! I do tend to forget that everything I am producing is going out there, available to the masses, (not really the masses though, at this point I think there are maybe twenty of you that have read something I’ve written), but still, most of you twenty actually know me, know who I am and my ‘real’ name.  Bwah! No wonder I often get odd giggles when I see a friend out in public that I haven’t see for a while. At this point, what I write hardly effects me, and I forget it’s really explicit!

My desire is still to work on the stories that are closest to my heart, my AdventuresinPayne saga and my Dormant Desires Lycanthropy series.  The problem however is that there just isn’t enough time.  So, for now I am writing this other stuff, this erotica, and honestly, as frustrating as it is to not have time for my own stuff, I still find a ton of satisfaction in helping others live out a fantasy or give them a memorable story that brings them personal pleasure. The very best side effect is that I am getting way better, faster and my execution is so much smoother than when I first started.  Yay for me! Yay for my readers.          

I am finding one thing sort of ironic, I am mostly writing for women, I write stories like fifty shades and all that lovely smut we adore to pretend our books aren’t full of.  You know, the quote-unquote paranormal romance genre.  NOT the YA genre.  Not ancient vegetarian pedophile vampires that seduce young girls, and of course they never fuck! OF COURSE they don’t! BWAH!!! Pleeese!! Enough already! I write for women, and quite a few women hate me. 

Those of you that still like me, just know I love you all dearly and you are the best friends a literary ho could ever want!

Men don’t buy this crap, its women that do, so I don’t understand where all the judgment and shame comes from, are you gals really that fucked up? Unfortunately, I’m asking the ones that won’t be reading this post, I’m just curious, that’s all. I feel like the stripper that said she did it for the money, but secretly also loves the power trip that comes from giving arousal to another.  I AM doing it for the money, but honestly, I think just doing IT, and getting paid to do IT, would, one –take way less time, and two –bring me in a butt load more money.  I averaged what I am making, and based on the time I’m spending, its right around two bucks and hour! Woo-hoo!! On the bright side, I’m paying my bills and I am kind of enjoying myself, and getting exponentially better at the craft of writing. 

The best part is that I get to stay in my jammies all day and drink coffee, and trust me, I am anything but good looking on those days, which is every day.  Nope, nothing here to see people, move along, I might write like a slut, but sure as hell can only attract a fly or two as I sit here in my old sweats with my hair up and wondering if I brushed my teeth this morning.

So girls, lest you think it’s all glitz and glamour, let me tell ya otherwise.  Men are easy to write for! Use the words, cock, cunt and tit enough times, oh and they like the words glisten and juices quite a bit too, and they are good to go. Like, that’s it! Women, oh my god, women, women, women, what is wrong with us? Thousands of words later and I we still haven’t had sex, we’ve been spanked and kissed and held and finger fucked and our nipples sucked on and good-fucking-grief, can we just get to it already? Isn’t that what we’re here for after all?

I’ve actually had one gal accuse me of trying to steal her husband, this was a couple years ago, and before I was writing all this erotic stuff, and simply because he liked a post of mine on Facebook, and we chatted back and forth, publicly, (not privately!).  I can’t even imagine what she would think of me now.  It does kind of make me laugh, and it also makes me wonder what kind of wonderful husband she has that someone would take the time, and make the effort to steal him.  Seriously? Really? Either that means she thinks I am fucking awesome and capable of the heist, or she has no faith in her husband.  Of course, it says everything about her, and nothing about me. It is funny though.

I do feel I should add some sort of disclaimer that I am not after anyone else’s husband, and especially now that I write all this raunch and erotica, I’m writing it for us girls, you know, as something to get our minds off  the barnacles in our lives, not to steal some one else’s man and hoard them all for myself. Not sure why they are all so paranoid anyway. Have you gals looked at the men you’re married too? Trust me, I don’t want them, and more than likely, if you’re reading my stuff, you kinda don’t either!

I’ve actually been celibate for well over four years because I don’t want any of them!! I have yet to meet a guy that I can both talk too, and turns me on physically.  Not that I couldn’t be persuaded, I am a girl after all, and if you talk to me and respond enough, you know carry on an adult conversation? I can overlook all the other stuff and get into it.  BUT!!! And there is a big huge BUTT, I don’t want a guy that is taken, married, partnered, roommates, I don’t care, if he belongs to you, I don’t want him, can’t see him, he doesn’t exist! I am stating this clear as day because I have a few casual girlfriends that have unfriended me as of late, and I really can’t figure out why, unless it is because of the above mentioned issue, or they are embarrassed to be my friend.  Either way, bye-bye, don’t let the door hit you on your way out.

Maybe it’s because I am always friendly and maybe it’s because I like men, I like talking to men and I like the male energy, and their perspective on things.  It’s so much easier than other women, (most other women, my girls know I don’t mean them).  Also gals, if you do read my stuff, you know what I like, and I have yet to meet the male creature that embodies these men.  I truly do not believe one exists.  If a Jacob, a Jess, a Collin, a Jamie, an Aiden, a Donovan, a Sebastian, or an Ezekiel does exist? Please come out-come out where-ever you are and I will happily bend over and let you spank me silly.  (Some of you don’t know my other hero’s mentioned above because I don’t get author credit for them, but that doesn’t mean I don’t still fall head over heels for them when I write their stories).

So, where was I? Oh yeah, SEX SELLS, I am making a decent enough living doing something I’m good at.  YAY for me. My message and continuous thread in all my work is that there should be NO SHAME!! It suffocates and extinguishes, dampens and smothers, whatever words you want to use, a life with shame, is a life without any passion at all, and for me, that is a life not worth living.  Shame kills all love too, and love can give energy and power to an otherwise powerless soul.  The worst part about it is that those that are shame based, or devoid of love, either way you look at it, it’s horrible because they feel the need to put it back onto all the others, and douse their fires, or embers, I rarely meet anyone truly on fire anymore, and in doing so, they can feel better about themselves, while killing all love and hope in the ones they are shaming. 

I know full well I am setting myself up to be judged and shamed and ridiculed.  I sigh and shrug and think, I might be pretty good at it by this point in my life,  been practicing to let it all roll right off.  Like a fucking duck people! Like a fucking duck —I’m owning it now guys, this is what I do, I like it, I’m good at it, it makes me money and I don’t have to be out in the world being shamed on a regular basis by all the normies, I know that isn’t a real word, sorry, I like to make them up when appropriate. 

In the horse world that I was once a large part of, we had ‘normal’ horse people that were still acting like predators and treating their horses like slaves, training them through punishment instead of encouragement; and then we had the natural world, the world of people who have found themselves on a journey of self-discovery simply because they want to make the relationships the most important thing.  It really has very little do to with the horses and everything to do with our own reactions to others. 

In this world where sex sells, but no-one is having it, I am still on this same journey of self-discovery, and most of the people that I like, or like my stories, are on it as well.  It’s still about self-discovery and freedom from shame put on us by others or even, sometimes ourselves, and for a lot of us, it is still entirely about the relationships, the ones with others and the ones with ourselves.  So, this is what I do, this is who I am, for now, in this moment I sell the idea of love and sex and fulfillment through physical gratification.  If you don’t like that, please move along, but don’t make yourself feel better by shaming me in the process of your departure. It only pisses me off and makes me want to steal your husband! BWAH!!!!

 ““We don’t see things as they are, we see them as we are.” ― Anaïs Nin

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.

jacobswolf1 (2)redwolf1

All roads lead to Payne