Friday, March 28, 2008

Split Personality?

I'm a people pleaser. Mom said even as a child I was always good natured and willing to do whatever anyone wanted, eager for approval.

And then I grew up. Sort of.

I had definite ideas about certain things, such as what foods I disliked, what clothes I wanted to wear, and even who my friends were. Unfortunately, I often was ridiculed.

For instance, one of my best friends in elementary school was a boy.

"Eeeuuuu! How can you be friends with him? Boys are yucky!"

I liked him because we crawled all over my treehouse, waxed-papered my slide, and even went down to the creek and climbed a few trees. My best girl friend wanted to play Barbies and listen to music. So at the tender age of 8, I decided to quit acting like a boy and be a girl again.

But....times had changed.

I wore dresses; read Little House on the Prairie and tried to be 'ladylike'. And opened my mouth at the wrong time and got slammed again! I didn't want to play sports; I wanted to be a cheerleader. But our school had decided to offer girls' sports, which I had no interest in. I wanted to read, embroider, and spool-knit, not run around and get dirty! Ick!

Consequently, I had only a small group of friends, instead of several. But we all planned our future weddings.

We all wanted the traditional white dress (preferably our mother's), white veil, and traditional white wedding cake. I was alarmed, because all wedding cakes were white, while I preferred chocolate.

"Don't be silly...Wedding cakes are always white!" was what I heard. So while in high school and college, while I secretly agreed with 'the dream wedding', I planned one where my cake would be chocolate, my groom wouldn't be forced to wear uncomfortable shoes, and we'd happily go off to Disney World, to play and ride the rides.

Why the fuss over the cake? I got my chocolate cake at my wedding, along with a tier or two with white. And yesterday on the news, there was a segment about 'non-traditional' cakes becoming more popular. Brides were ordering flavored cake, chocolate icing, and various other quirks. I personally always wanted the huge, multi-layered cake with the fountain in the center! But what I got was a modest, 4 or 5 tiered cake. I've told my kids that for our 25th anniversary, I want my dream cake! (And maybe Duff from Ace of Cakes could make it??)

I'm digressing. Anyway, around age 30, I realized I wasn't so dependant on approval anymore. My parents didn't particularly care for my shoulder-length spiral perm. "It's my hair, and I like it," I announced. Normally, their disapproval would have caused a mild depression to set in, along with me combing out my curls or something. Not anymore.

My parents do not especially approve of what I'm writing. So what else is new? I stupidly took my journal to school in the 8th grade and it was accidentally passed around, causing deep embarassment for about a week. I survived it.

Yes, I crave approval to some extent. I want people to like what I write; I want people to like what I have to say. But am I going to be depressed because I get a rejection? No. It just means the right person hasn't read it yet. Am I going to be depressed because no one comments on my blog? No. I'm just getting started! I know a few people have discovered me, and that's okay. Come next May, when I'm hopefully ready to submit my work and start praying for an acceptance, maybe then more people will be reading this. But until then, I'm content to sit here quietly, writing and trying to find my 'blog' voice. I've been approached about being controversial, and I fear it's just not in me yet.

I still tend to look at all situations from all sides. And that makes it hard to get off the fence.

So why the split personality? I suppose I'm a closet rebel. I do what is expected of me; I'm raising my kids, I'm saying the right things. But on the inside, and what is coming out in my stories, is the ME I longed to be twenty years ago; the girl who knew where life was taking her and how to get what she wanted. Trouble is, I let public opinion sway me in the opposite direction. So I'm reliving my early adult stage vicariously through my heroines!

How did YOU envision your future life when you were twenty? And what stopped you from attaining your dream?

Wednesday, March 26, 2008

Moving Right Along...

Got the final edits back on my 1st chapter:) Not too much to redo, so I sent off the second chapter! I really want this story to be on its way by May!

Found a terrific new blog,! Right now, the topic is Wonder Woman; do you adore her as a heroine, or does she send a mixed message?

I loved Wonder Woman, but I have to in the hell did she manage to do all that without her boobs popping out all over the place? Hell, I can't even dive off the diving board without losing my bikini top (when I wore one, that is!)!

Remember the Superfriends Hour? I was always partial to Aquaman and the Wonder Twins. Aquaman, because at the time I was 'in love' with whales and dolphins, and even thought about working with them. Until I learned I had to actually put my head under the sea water. Ugh. End of that ambition!

But Zan and Jana? Zan could turn into any form of water (I think!), while Jana could morph into any animal. Now that was cool! Remember the Wizard Duel in The Sword and the Stone? It's always been my favorite scene in that movie!

I've been doing quite a bit of marketing for my alter ego, who has the first of four signings this Saturday. I hope and pray it goes well, and that I meet many new readers in the coming weeks. I don't want to sell out of my inventory too quickly, as the shipping costs will eat up my gas money, so I guess my goal would be to at least come out ahead on the gas charges! If I can sell 10 books at each venue, or even just five, that would be fantastic!

Weather is steadily warming up, and the fact that my children are on Spring Break and at Grandma's for the week has left me plenty of time to do what I want, without interruptions of 'Mommy Duty'.

How is everyone else handling Spring Break? Are you spending time with your family, or are you like me and ship your kids off to Grandma's so that everyone gets a break from each other?

Thursday, March 20, 2008

30 Years Ago...

Ashley Ladd asks the question today, where were we 30 years ago and what were we doing?

I was 12; in the 6th grade, and heavily into disco music, Shaun Cassidy, and the Bay City Rollers.

Star Wars was my favorite movie, and I saw it 28 times. Dad kept taking people to see it, and I kept begging to go with him. After the first two or three times, I spent the entire movie drooling over Luke Skywalker. But around the 10th time or so, Han Solo became much more exciting.

I was communicating with two friends of mine whose father was on sabbatical in Colorado. I'm still not sure what all transpired...but on the second or third day, one of the boys and I were talking and all of a sudden he said to me, "As long as you and I are going together, I doubt we'll ever break up."

And BOOM! I had my first boyfriend. Not sure when we started 'going together'...did it start in the letters? When we started spending a lot of time together?

Grease was also the movie that summer, and we spent hours doing the choreography to all the songs. I can still remember how we performed "You're the One that I Want" and "Summer Lovin". And let's not forget "Greased Lightening"!

And I was also particularly good at "Look at Me, I'm Sandra Dee". I also turned over both LP's and fell in love with "Freddy My Love", "It's Raining on Prom Night", and the Sha-Na-Na songs.

And by the time I started the 7th grade, I had received my first kiss (on the cheek) and held hands with the boy I 'just knew' I was going to marry some day!

And on the creative front, I was writing my first essays and fairy tales. But mostly, still continuing the stories in my head, concerning the books I was reading.

Today, I am doing edits on the first chapter of Head of the Class. I'm not going to send out chapter two until after the Easter Holiday. I only have to make some revisions and rewrite two sentances, so according to my critque partner, I'm doing a good job and she likes the story!

Read Dakota Rebel's book Hello, and it is fantastic! It is joining the short list of e-books to be re-read over and over! Good job, Dakota:)

Happy Easter! I know it's early, but not sure if I'll post again until after Sunday.

Wednesday, March 19, 2008

Enough Already!

I can hardly wait for these damn primary elections to be over, and a Democratic Candidate to be named! I am so sick of hearing whether or not Barak Obama is 'black enough', or why he should be questioned on his race issues. Get over it! He's intelligent; he's sure of himself; and has little or no skeletens in his closet!

Hillary on the other hand....not going there.

I think that this country is so not used to having any public person having any dirt to dig up, the media needs to invent some. Yes, there are extremists out there. Yes, there are the stereotypical characters out there. Just because Obama doesn't fit the stereotypical African American...come ON!

Remember Sanford and Son? Several other 70'a shows, such as the one with Jimmy Walker and even certain aspects of the Jeffersons? (Forgive brain suddenly blanked on my two favorite sitcoms!) THAT was stereotypical. But I grew up loving The Cosby Show, and the CBS news had a very profound statement the other day...of people going, "Huh...Obama is black?" And is struck me, Russ Mitchell is black! Go ahead; make fun of me...but skin color is fading away. So what if we like a candidate based on what they stand for? So what if we watch a TV program because it happens to be funny? I'm white; I'm not a racist; I have friends of nearly all color.

I'll admit; the closest I ever came to dating outside my race was when I happened to become friendly with three of my fellow college basketball players. They were respectful; they were friendly; one even helped me slam-dunk a basketball ('white girls can't jump', ha ha!); and we even talked about getting a pizza together. But it never happened. And I even taught one of the cooks where I worked to jitterbug, in a public bar. It never even crossed my mind I might be labelled. But I didn't care...I wanted a dance partner and he was available. I look at what's on the inside...the heart, the personality, rather than the skin color.

Others need to do the same.

Monday, March 17, 2008

Happy St. Paddy's Day:)

I'm wearing my green; are you?

Bronwyn Green blogged about misconceptions of romance authors the other day; I'd like to add the one that really makes me roll my eyes.

It's the one where I show someone what I'm working on or writing, and they immediately assume I'm either an atheist or my soul is in dire need of salvation.

I've been a Christian my entire life, and made my statement of faith before the Elders of our Presbyterian church when I was 13. I spend at least 5-10 minutes every morning doing a Daily Devotion aka Quiet Time aka Q.T. I married a non-practicing Catholic, but when our children started asking questions, we made the decision to commit to Sunday morning church services. And since my husband would only consider the Catholic Church, off we went. He confessed and is now able to partake in the Eucharist; our oldest, who was baptized in my home church, converted to Catholisism so he could partake of the Sacraments. I decided to take the Catholic classes, in order to understand more fully what my kids were about to learn, and discovered I have a better knowledge of the Holy Bible than most Catholics!

No, my Protestant upbringing held true and I did not convert. I attend church; I pray constantly (and not just what is being recited...sometimes I silently will pray my own prayers!), I half-kneel on the kneelers; in short, I do almost everything except take Communion. And I often tick off my hubby by sometimes changing the words to the Lord's Prayer!

In fact, the two of us are conflicted our needs in the church. Hubby feels more at home in our home parish up in Martinsville, rather than the church we attend, which happens to be the one in which he grew up. I love our priest down here, because he is a wonderful speaker, and often 'zings' me, or challenges me on certain topics.

Like the question he posed yesterday:

When you look back on your spiritual journey, what do you see? Are you devout? A Peter, who runs away when confronted, and then turns his life around? A hypocrite, who is pius on Sunday but not the rest of the week? Or are you a doubter, waiting to see some proof?

I guess in the eyes of some, the fact that I choose to write erotica labels me a hypocrite. But you know what? God gave me this talent for putting words together. He also gave me a conscience, so if I'm not comfortable with what I'm writing, then I can re-evaluate the reasons behind it. I don't try to 'shock' anyone. If a person doesn't like what I've written, I will gladly point them to some other author who writes more conservatively.

But don't throw stones at me until you examine your own heart and actions. I know where I'm headed when Jesus calls me home. Do you?

Thursday, March 13, 2008


The proverbial gauntlet is about to be thrown down. And it's not going to be pretty when it is.


These blankety-blank gas prices!

How in the hell can an author go on tour and do the rest of her job if gas prices continue to rise?
And especially when her SO is close to forbidding her to drive?

I was informed this morning that IF the gas prices reach $4 a gallon or higher, I will have to cancel my signings farther than an hour away.

Eeeeexuse me?

Let me get this straight: You support my desire to be published. Check.

You swell with pride when readers gush a bout my work. Check.

You even patiently (at times) watch me monopolize the computer
when I'm 'in the zone'. Check.

But...if part of my job is to travel, in order to get the word out about
my books and to boost sales, but you won't allow me the gas money
to get do you expect me to sell any?

Oh wait a minute...Does this fall under the 'Get a Real Job' category? Got news for you: It won't ever be a 'REAL JOB' until you leave me alone and let me do it!

Maybe I'm wired differently, but since becoming an adult, I've discovered if I'm told not to do something, and their arguments make no sense to me, my brain comes up with several alternatives so that I can do whatever it is, be it visiting a friend I've not seen for several years, or even something as simple as taking supplies to a sick relative. Or going on a road trip to promote my work. And especially now that I'm not afraid to call people and ask to set up a signing. I've made the commitment; I'm gonna do it. End of conversation.

Okay...maybe I've already picked it up and slapped him across the face with it?

Nah...he doesn't read this. But when he does try to tell me I can't out! He'll have to remove the engine or hide the car keys to keep me from it.

New authors cannot afford to back out of personal appearences commitments.

And I intend to honor mine.

Wednesday, March 12, 2008

Singing the Praises...

...of Anny Cook! I finished reading Honeysuckle last night, and boy was it worth the wait! Granted, these fictional women approach their sexuality in ways I never dreamed of, but isn't that was fiction is?

Now I want to experiment!

Unfortunately, it will have to be a fictional experiment...I happen to be married.

Honey's the kind of woman who likes two men at once. Admittedly, I was presented with an opportunity like this several years back, but when I tried to picture it, one of the guys always ended up fading out of the dream, and I was left with my dream guy.

I guess it shows I'm a one man woman.

I do commend Anny on her excellent way she deals with two books which deal with different aspects of the same events. My alter-ego has this happen in a couple of her books, and I'm happy to see it can be done without a lot of repititious dialogue and description.

Honeysuckle and the 1st book, Chrysanthemum, can both be purchased at The 3rd book in the series, Daffodil, will be available soon!

Tuesday, March 11, 2008


I seriously hope I heard what I think I heard wrong earlier. With all this flak over the NY govenor admitting he had sex with a prostitute, infidelity is back in the spotlight, and Dr. Laura is blaming the wives?


What I heard was, women need to take responsibility for providing a loving atmosphere for their spouses, so they don't have any reason to stray.

Okay...I've been on both sides of this argument, and frankly, I'm inclined to say it doesn't matter if we emulate June Cleaver, Roseanne, or even any female lead; if the guy is going to cheat, he'll find a way. It matters not if we are loving, kind, or a regular bitch! If our men are strong, self-confident men who know themselves and what they want out of life, or even have a shred of self-respect and honor, they will stay faithful.

But if the man has a weakness for women, or feel they are lacking somehow, they'll look elsewhere.

And it's not just the men! I've known women who feel there is 'someone better out there', or maybe her hubby isn't fulfilling her needs. If there is no communication, she'll stray. And maybe they both want to be that case, it's a cry for help! A wake-up call to the spouse who realizes s/he's taking the other for granted?

But don't you dare tell me it's my responsibility to keep him happy!

What happened to committment? Yeah, I heard someone say that 'standing by your man' is simply the price these public women pay to be in the spotlight. And yes, I also heard someone say that the wife might as well be wearing a burka. 'Find your backbone...let him stand up there alone...'

I'm undecided on these points. It all depends on their definition of committment and self-respect. If their men are truly repentant and want to change their behavior, I'm all for the second chance. Third, nah.

Go ahead; tell me I'm wrong. I really hope I misunderstood Dr. Laura!

Friday, March 7, 2008


I finished reading the book In Bed We Cry, by Ilka Chase yesterday, and as I was reading, I suddenly stopped and checked the copyright date.


Why was this an interest?

Because part of the plot involved a young cosmetics designer whose husband decided, for whatever reason, he needed to concentrate on his own projects for a while and moved out. He was a chemist, and felt smothered by his wife's company.

So while they were still married and living apart, she had an affair.

Their friends soon realized it; the husband soon realized it....but there were no jealousies exchanged; no heated conversations with friends over the morality of it. Everything was pretty matter-of-fact, as if this happened all the time.

Not exactly a storyline I expected out of the 1940's!

The reason I brought this up? I have a controversial manuscript I've been working on, and it deals with infidelity. Not the usual, "oh, I've met someone else and now I don't want you anymore" type; not the mid-life crisis type; more along the lines of "We were meant to be together, only our timing sucked, so let's correct this problem and see where it leads" type.

The only problem? It seems to be mirroring one of my friend's life. And I'm getting scared to work on it; every time I get the urge to write another scene, several weeks later she calls me and I find out what I've written is dangerously close to what is going on in her world!

I didn't plan on writing her history; it just happened. I'm also afraid this story will never get a chance to be told, given the subject matter. Or that I'm orchestrating an epic that will only end in heartache.

Fortunately, I've neither written anything on it, nor heard anything from her in the past several months.

I don't know if this is a good sign or bad.

Thursday, March 6, 2008

Power of Words

Before I start, I just want to state, for the record, I am not a homophobe. I happen to have a couple of gay friends, and have nothing against them personally. I may not agree with their lifestyle choice, but they are my friends and I love them.

What does the disclaimer have to do with what I'm about to say? Simply this: We should be careful about what we say, because we don't know who is listening or how long they will remember.

For instance, way back in my high school years, somebody started the idiotic belief that anyone caught wearing green on Thursdays meant the person was gay. Don't yell at me; I didn't start it and can't even be sure who told me! But for years, this stupid little phrase has haunted me for the past twenty-plus years.

This was back in the early 80's, where homosexuality was still 'hush-hush'. Only the incredibly brave ones dared to speak out publicly.

My sophomore year, St. Patrick's Day happened to fall on a Thursday, and I remember agonizing over whether to wear green and be labelled, or not wear green and get pinched. I settled for a yellow, screen-printed T-shirt which had a small green stripe in it. Every time someone mentioned pinching me, I simply corrected them by pointing at the stripe. And no, no one dared wear full green that day, that I remember!

But even now, as an adult, I still remember the ones who 'forgot the tabboo' and were teased about it. I'll go to pick out something to wear, and suddenly I'll remember what day it is. In my brain, I know it's stupid, but I still can't get the faces of my former classmates out of my brain.

And it's not just limited to what color I'm wearing.

I am also a product of the label craze. We wore Calvin Klein, Polo, Chic, Lee, and Izods proudly. Recently, I went shopping with my daughter and made the mistake of telling her I used to love my Chic jeans. That did it...she promptly went to another brand! I didn't tell her I used to wear Lee also...

But my new jeans don't have the label on the back pocket anymore. And I'm kind of over the label thing anyway, so it doesn't matter what is on my behind, as long as I feel good in them and they are comfortable. And ditto for my kids.

I overheard a conversation in the store several months ago. A mom was complaining she spent over $800 on her teenage son's clothes.

I couldn't help it. I turned around, incredulous she should spend that much on a 14-year-old boy. "Where do you shop, Abercrombie and Finch?" I gasped.

"Of course. Where else?" she answered, somewhat snottily.

I just shook my head. "JC Penny...Kohls...Sears?"

"He wants to be in style. All the kids shop there. Mine wouldn't be caught dead in Kohls!"

I should mention this was in the morning, and the woman and her friend were both dressed to the nines, and in full makeup. I had just dropped off my little one and had run inside for a gallon of milk; no makeup and wearing jeans and a sweatshirt!

If she's got the money, fine. But I'm not about to spend a lot of money I don't have on a kid who's in a growth spurt!

Hmmm...I wonder if she donates her kid's castoffs to GW Fashions? A&F at a fraction of the cost...

Now if I can only forget what day it is when I get dressed...

Wednesday, March 5, 2008

Somthing My Brain Demanded...

Had a dream last night...this shows my muse is trying to come home, ha ha:)


I’m lying in bed, restless because you’ve been on my mind all day. I toss and I turn; Heart’s “Alone” is playing in my head, stuck on a loop that plays over and over.

I finally resign myself to the fact I’m not sleeping; I have an itch between my thighs and an aching in my lower body that refuses to go away. I’ve tried pressing my legs together and even putting a pillow between them, trying to relieve the pressure, but no luck. My body is crying out for one thing, and it is several miles away.

I get up; some inner force directs me to the computer. I check my email, and there is something from you! My heart leaps…is it good news? Bad news? With shaking fingers, I position the mouse over the address. And as it loads, I childishly shut my eyes, hardly daring to breathe…I send up a silent prayer for a positive message…I’ve had so many bad ones lately, I don’t know if I could take another. Especially not from you.

I crack my eyes open. Two words…Come over.

I breathe deeply and read it again. Come over.

My heart dances and flutters. He wants me! We’re on the same page! Oh god…it’s been hours since I’ve showered…and I need to brush my teeth! When did he send this? Oh lord…two minutes ago! Is he still on? Wait…there’s more to the message….

Email me back if you get this by X o’clock.

Yay! I eagerly type back, Give me ten minutes to leave…I’ll be there in forty. Is this okay? I hit Send and anxiously wait. I check a couple of sites, tabbing over so I’ll know the minute he writes back. A few minutes tick by, and there it is. I’ll be waiting.

I send up a silent Thank you to the god who wants us to be together and log off. Hurriedly, I brush my teeth, change my clothes, skipping the underwear as he prefers me to go commando, throw on some shoes, and briefly let my drowsy teenager know I’ll be back in an hour.

As I’m driving, the internal dialogue with my conscience begins.

What the hell are you doing?

I want to see him.

What self-respecting mother leaves her kids to go meet her man?

A mom with a healthy sex life. Shut up.

But this late at night? And why won’t he come to you?

Because there’s more privacy and less people at his.

You’re being a sex-starved hussy.

I don’t care.


For him, yes. And only him. Now I said shut the fuck up.

Okay…it’s your life.

That’s right. This has always been my choice.

With my conscience settled down, I arrive. His lights are on. I get out of my car, my legs shaking, still at war with half my brain. Will he think less of me? Will this set the stage for future trysts?

The door opens and there you stand, your tall muscular body surrounded by light. You’ve had a haircut; your eyes are smiling; you still have that tiny patch of facial hair instead of the goatee I’ve come to like; your lips are open and inviting me to kiss them, but not yet.

Your arm reaches out to guide me inside, and once the pleasantries are exchanged and your arms encircle my body in a tight hug, our lips meet, our tongues entwine, and all my doubts and insecurities melt away. This is my man, my lover, my soul mate. Everything is right with the world when I’m in your arms.

Our clothes fall off; your hands are eagerly at my breasts, squeezing and caressing the nipples. Your mouth descends; I clasp your head as your tongue and teeth scrape over my taunt buds, drawing them painfully tighter.

I reach down and lightly grasp your engorged cock, feeling the warmth of you in my fingertips and hearing your intake of breath. After all these years, it still amazes me that I can still evoke this response from you, and that your massive length can fit inside me to the hilt!

I sink to my knees and carefully take you in my warm mouth. I feel your hands in my short, tousled hair as I lightly play with the head, swirling my tongue around and sucking lightly. I suck as much of your length down my throat, wishing I could take it deeper. I reach up to cup your balls and gently squeeze them. My ministrations are causing impatience; you tug me up to crush my body to yours again.

This time, there’s no gentleness. I’ve pleased you, and it shows. You lead me to a soft bed of blankets and lay me down. Your tongue invades my mouth, roughly giving me a taste of your desire. I answer with my own hunger and eagerly spread my legs, wrapping them around your hips and reaching down to assist, ripping open that packet you've handed me and rolling that damned latex over you. Your hips settle into the cradle of my thighs and we let out simultaneous sighs as your thick dick finds its way into my wet passage, and we feel a wondrous contentment. Why do we wait so fucking long to be together? Is it just the delicious self-denial? The knowledge of delayed gratification? Are we simply afraid it will go stale?

And then you start to move and the song in my head is suddenly replaced by Heart’s “Surrender to Me”, and I want nothing more than to keep you trapped deep within me, going slowly even though we’re both starved for this feeling. We kiss, we gasp, we moan with desire as your hard cock plunders my soft pussy, over and over. My arms hold you tight; your eyes burn dark with desire; you reach down and caress my clit, trying to bring me closer, but what you don’t know is I’m already there…I love having you inside me, and this roller coaster of sensations is the only one I’ll ride. I’m excited; I’m calm; I love watching you attain your ultimate pleasure and knowing I’ve made you happy.

And when I’ve achieved several, and you've emptied your essance into the protection of the condom, I want nothing more than to hold you close and cuddle as we recover. I want your arms around me, holding me close to your chest. I love hearing your heartbeat; I love the conversations which follow.

And when I confess my pussy and mouth are not the only holes craving you, you smile broadly and reach for another packet to accommodate my shy request. But it has been a long time, and it takes a while to achieve relaxation. But you’re pleased, and my ass is finally satisfied.

All too soon, it is time to reluctantly leave your warm arms and return to my cold bed. But I’ve got happy memories to sustain me until the next time you have time for me. I’m sensing a Heart theme here…as I’m driving away with your kiss still on my lips, I’m hearing “I Didn’t Want to Need You”

And when I’m safely back in my solitary bed, my brain brings up ‘Will You Be There in the Morning?” and long for the day when we could actually wake up in each others arms in the morning.

Tuesday, March 4, 2008

Little Lies...

Warning: The following is a rant, plain and simple. If you don't want to read, feel free to exit this site immediately. I'll be in a better mood tomorrow.

Saw something on the news this morning.

Women are apparently better liars than men!

The examples ranged from lying about how much we spend at the store to those 'white lies' everyone friends look nice, even if we think they look on their deathbed; 'I'm fine, really,' when all we want to do is go back to bed and cry.

But the one that hit me the hardest was an innocent remark: But the worst ones are when we lie to ourselves...convincing yourself you love him when all you want is stability....



Because truthfully, a) I never should have married him or b) I should have divorced him when the thought first crossed my mind.

Why didn't I?

FEAR! And, admittedly, a little selfishness on my part.

I told myself I could focus on the kids, my writing, and I was very good at tuning him out. ten or so years.

I'm reaching my publishing dream; I've learned I can live w/o why not show him the door?

Again, FEAR.

Fear that my straight A teens will promptly do a 180 and blow their chances of a higher education. Or become juvenile delinquints. Unfair judgements from people in the community, should my older ones choose to live with HIM instead.

Fear that some of the things I've done in the past will become public knowledge.

Fear that I can't support myself and my toddler.

Fear of disappointing my family. Okay, this one's a non-issue...they're pretty much waiting for the announcement!

But I'm getting tired of getting blamed for his shortcomings; things that happened YEARS AGO are still getting trotted out whenever I lose my temper and dare to defend myself.

It doesn't matter that yes, back in '94 I panicked when I realized I'd spent too much and lied about it; it doesn't matter that I lied about a certain road trip, because I knew he'd never let me go see my friend who happens to be a lesbian; it makes no difference I helped my neighbor cover up her was all over 13 years ago.

But the fact is, I lied to him and now he won't let me forget it.

And sometimes I look at him and say, 'and you wonder why I ever lied to you in the first place?' when I tell the truth about the amount of money I spent on groceries, or that the kids and I ordered pizza instead of cooking, and he spends an hour dredging everything back up.

I'm tired of it; he should get over himself; we should just quit this charade of marital bliss (hell?) and live our separate lives. At this point, I don't even care about getting a divorce; I just don't want to live with him anymore.

Monday, March 3, 2008

The Road to Erotic Romances

When I was in jr high school, there were 2 books on the 'sh-sh' list that every girl was dying to read. First Love, by Judy Blume, and Flowers in the Attic, by VC Andrews.

First Love, because it described a high school senior losing her virginity. Flowers because it had a sex scene between two teenagers who happened to be brother and sister.

I was mother BOUGHT First Love for me, and I happily devoured it. The other...well, by the time my curiosity had piqued, only the girls who were deemed 'wild' were reading it.

I had to wait until my sophmore year to read it. And instantly became a fan of VC Andrews!

As a high school senior, my understanding mother let me read Jean M Aul's Clan of the Cave Bear and Valley of the Horses. And when I got to college, and everyone's favorite topic was sex, I pulled out that VotH and eagerly read and reread all those scenes between Jondalar and the various women.

And when the mystery of how it actually felt was solved, I started writing my own sex scenes, with a lot of heartfelt it felt, the reactions, the get the picture.

The trouble was, no mainstream books at the time wanted to publish what I was writing (or so I thought, anyway!). The guidelines were bed-hopping; heroine has to be a virgin; sex scenes must be 'somewhere in the middle of the book', or something asinine like that.

There was a popular line of books that I quickly realized was the same story, only the setting and character names were changed. BORING! I wanted something fresh.

So I started looking around, and they say to 'write what you know', and boy, did I have a lot of material gathered from roommates, people who decided I was a safe ear to bend, shoulder to cry on, whatever. Men and sex, positions, toys, etc was all debated, pondered, admitted, and shuddered at. We knew who to avoid 'because he's a lousy lover', or who couldn't kiss, or who couldn't even maintain an erection!

I had one friend whose boyfriend was into the kinky stuff, and she was a willing participant. Frankly, I wondered why anyone would want something plastic shoved inside them when they could have the real thing?

I came across the Ellora's Cave site when I saw Jaid Black on Montel Williams. I ordered two books that sounded interesting, and the very first one had a dream sequence involving a very different sex that I had heard of, but only gays practiced, or in one book I'd read, it was referred to as 'Greek-Style'. Sounded painful.

For the first time, I saw there were books that had the description I was craving, and I didn't have to subscribe to Penthouse. (An ex-boyfriend had a copy and I looked through it out of curiosity!) And now, I finally have the freedom to write the way I wanted to twenty years ago.

I just hope I can find an audience.