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Secrets, we all have them.

Things we don’t want anyone else to know.

Things we keep to ourselves, to protect us, to protect others. Big, small, silly, heartbreaking, secrets run the gamut. Some we’d be better off sharing, exposing to the light. Some, not so much.

So what do you do when you need to tell your secret? To someone, anyone? Sometimes just saying it out loud helps. Hearing your own words, aimed at your reflection in the mirror, aimed at a higher power, aimed at the dog.

Sometimes we tell a stranger, which is often so much easier than telling someone we love. Sometimes we tell the whole damn world, by way of the internet, things that the one sitting beside you on the couch still doesn’t know even as you type it beside them.

Secrets about why we read what we read, why we write what we write. Things that almost slip off the tongue, but that are caught instead, and swallowed back down.

When I was young, I wanted the ability to read minds as a super power. As I’ve gotten older, I realized that it wouldn’t be a super power, it would be a curse. Now, I’d pick flying. Sometimes, with the top down on a nice day, the music blaring, driving a bit faster than I should, I come close.

And yet when you come home, windblown, exhilarated, your secret is still a secret, because wherever you go, there you are. Where secrets are told for one week, and then disappear forever. (If I could get the damned link button to highlight itself, I’d link it. Guess you’ll have to work for it instead. :) ) where some, but not all collect.

I mailed one, once. And I watched the website. It never showed up, maybe the mailman took it home, or I missed the week it sat there, exposed.

Totally unrelated, honestly- Alpha Bitten, my first shifter short, is free through today, Tuesday 10/14, on Amazon.

FREE 10/10-10/14

FREE 10/10-10/14



Authors and Alcohol

They have been paired together forever, authors and alcohol. But why?

Are authors really a drunk lot? I’m assuming many more write sober than write drunk, but the image persists: a man (usually), his pen, (or typewriter, or computer) and his favorite drink:


My always present writerly companion seems to be my cat. She will not let me write alone. See this picture? It is me, writing this post, with my cat:


She hears me settle in, and must be a part of things. First, she tries to play with me, I guess because she knows that as my mind wanders, I have a tendency to either jack with and play with her, or pet her, in procrastination mode.

But, I must admit, that a shot glass is often also beside me as I write. I have a decent size shot glass, slide an ice cube in it, and fill it to the brim with my favorite- Jameson Irish Whiskey.

But why?

I think for me it is part routine, and part ‘I’d probably be sipping Jameson anyway, may as well get some work done.’

I discovered alcohol, and Jameson in particular, long before I started writing, so I don’t think the writing begat the liquor. I just like liquor. I like wine, some of my husband’s beers, and sipping on shots.

I haven’t actually shot a shot in years, since my bar days, (which were hella-fun, BTW, damn I miss wearing corsets with jeans sometimes) but now I just sip them. I like to sample different whiskeys, as well, when we travel. That’s how I found Jameson, actually. Touring the old distillery in Ireland. Before that trip, tequilla was my go-to. Now, I sample and sip whiskey.

I like cinnamon whiskey. There is a caramel whiskey we found in Gatlinburg, TN that my husband loved, we ended up buying three bottles, the caramel, the cinnamon, and a normal whiskey. I fear I’ve corrupted him.

Davy Crockett’s Salty Caramel, that was it. And their Cinnamon. They even had Chocolate Whiskey! If you are ever walking that street (if you’ve been there, you know the one) in Gatlinburg, stop in at Davy Crockett’s and sample all their shit!

Oh also, Jim Beam has a Red Stag line, and their Black Cherry is delightful. Goes down way too easy, my friends. Way too easy. Sometimes I mix it with Jameson (Shh!!!) just to lower the sweetness.

Anyway, I’ve gotten a bit off topic. I’m blaming the Jameson beside me, as I write this.

One of my favorite quotes has been attributed to both Shakespeare and Hemingway, “Write drunk, edit sober.” I think it is because I can relate.

There is something about settling in to write, the Ipad on the kitchen table, or the laptop on my lap in the spare bedroom for quiet, a cat on the keyboard, a full shot beside me, that just opens the floodgates to my words.


It seems to slide the rational, thinking part of my brain aside, and allow all the things us women are told we aren’t supposed to like, to just flow out onto the page.

Normally, I’m a classy mom, someone you’d be shocked to realize writes what I write. Or even thinks about what I think about. But a bit of whiskey, and the judgement turns to Jr. High giggles, and a story just magically appears out of nowhere.

I think I do some of my best work slightly sauced. I don’t get hammered. I don’t drive after drinking, I don’t wake up hungover, I don’t lose chunks of time, I just enjoy sipping on a couple of shots as my creative side comes out to play.

I re-read my work later, and edit it, completely sober. But I have found two things to be true, for me at least. One, I usually don’t need to change very much that I wrote while drinking. The spelling is mostly caught by spell check, but very few things need rework.

My latest piece, which you will find at the end of this post, was a prime example. I originally wrote everything from her perspective in first person, because that is how most of my shorts are. But then during his point of view, I reverted to third person. The two didn’t play well with each other. So I re-wrote her point of view into third as well. And that was just about all the editing it needed.

The second thing I’ve realized is that my slightly sauced mind can really turn a phrase. When I reread things later, sober, I am always prepared for it to be sheer crap, but it never is.

Once my judgemental, day-to-day, mom, wife, classy member of society-ness moves out of the way, I’m really quite good. Phrases pop that would never have flown had I been stone-ass sober. Of course, that is only my own opinion, but still. I’m usually quite surprised with myself when I re-read myself.

So maybe that’s why so many authors drink? It releases the creative mind? Gets the rational out of the way a bit?

Any authors out there who want to chime in on their soberness while writing? Any readers who think they can tell between an author’s sober musings and their liquor-loosened work?

There is a paranormal bundle coming out soon, that I very desperately wanted to be a part of, only I had no erotic paranormal stories to contribute. Even though shifter romance/erotica is something I quite enjoy reading, I hadn’t written any yet.

I do have a longer, four-part erotic romance shifter in the works, but for this bundle I needed a shorter story.

So, I poured myself some Jameson, sat down with my cat, and wrote one. It’s the most I’ve ever written in one sitting. I started about 4:30 one afternoon, and nine hours later, at about 1:30 am, I had Alpha Bitten written. Completely sauced by then of course.

It cracks me up. It is a shifter story, but it kind of, almost, makes fun of shifter stories, at the same time. Full moon, fairy circle, naked chanting, the whole works. I love them, so the making-fun-of is not done meanly, but is done with love.

Anyway, if anyone wants to read a story that kind of makes fun of my own love of shifters, that was written completely in one sitting, with very little rewritting, while drunk- here it is, my newest release, Alpha Bitten. It’s free for those in Kindle Unlimited, but if the cheapskates amoung you (like me) want to wait a bit, it will be free for everyone the next time I post here- from 10/10 – 10/14. I’ll remind ya then if you’d rather wait.

Click to see on Amazon

Click to see on Amazon

Treating Hysteria- The Invention of the Vibrator

imageI’ve searched and searched though any relevant keywords I could think of, because I thought I first learned of this here. I didn’t find anything, though, so my apologies if it has already been covered.

I read somewhere, a while ago, (here? not here?) that the vibrator was first invented as a labor saving device for doctors. It seems that going to the doctor to be treated for ‘hysteria’ back in the 1800’s and early 1900’s was as common for women then as flu shots are now.

It seems that the doctor’s hands got so tired and cramped, from rubbing vegetable oil into women’s nether regions all day, that they tried to make a mechanical model to do the dirty work for them.


Steam Powered Vibrator

My understanding is that the steam-powered version turned out to be particularly dangerous.

Then electricity came along, and bam, the vibrator was like the fifth thing ever to become electrical.

Can’t really wrap my mind around it personally. I mean, the fact that every time something new comes out in the world of technology, it is immediately used for sex, like say the camera, the moving pictures, the internet, etc, I get that. What I can’t wrap my head around is going to my family doctor for a medically advised hand job.

I found this article in Psychology Today, “Hysteria” and the strange history of vibrators, where quotes like, “…Not surprisingly, these beliefs left an enormous number or women sexually frustrated. They complained to doctors of anxiety, sleeplessness, irritability, nervousness, erotic fantasies, feelings of heaviness in the lower abdomen, and wetness between the leg. This syndrome became known as “hysteria,” from the Greek for uterus…” are sad and kind of funny now.

imageThe article is a fun read, mainly because of the author’s sense of humor as he puts forth the dry facts, like in these sentences: “But ironically, women’s sexual pleasure was the furthest thing from the minds of the male doctors who invented vibrators almost two centuries ago. They were interested in a labor-saving device to spare their hands the fatigue they developed giving handjobs to a steady stream of 19th century ladies who suffered from “hysteria,” a vaguely defined ailment easily recognizable today as sexual frustration…”

At least I think the author has a sense of humor about the whole thing, either that or my dry sense of humor makes it funny for me. But whatever, it’s still a great read.

It also got the creative juices flowing. I wrote a quick little short about my version of what might have gone on back then. It was a fun write, but I’m not expecting any major sales on it. It is free today, Tues September 16th though, for anyone interested. And it’s in Kindle Unlimited, so if you subscribe, you can pick it up whenever.

Free on Amazon, just click the pict.

Free on Amazon, just click the pict.

Straight Women and MM Erotica

I heard somewhere that MM erotica was really popular right now. Silly me, I assumed that meant that gay men were getting their read on.

Now maybe they are, but I was surprised to hear/read that it was straight women that were devouring the man on man stuff. What? Why?

I thought women read sexy stuff to put themselves into the main female character’s shoes. Or panties. Whatever. How do you do that if there isn’t a female character to become?

Before reading it myself, the only experience I had with MM erotica was by accident. I was selling something on Craigslist, and started goofing off. I like goofing off in the missed connections tab, where people say things like, ‘To the girl with the dark ponytail in the yoga pants at Starbucks in front of me in line, I was too shy to say hi, but you got my attention,’ or something.

I clicked on one once that was more like, ‘To the smoking hot guy I saw at the local gym. I really enjoyed watching you shower, I’m glad you didn’t seem to mind when I started rubbing my cock as I watched you. Imagine my surprise when you started doing the same. The way you soaped your…’ and it got quite hot and explicit from there.

I didn’t get disgusted or click out of the post. Oh no, I read every bit of that one. At least twice. It was hot as hell. But why?

I still don’t get it. Why did I enjoy it so much?

Is it because all sex is hot?

I live somewhat out in the country. Seeing cows get mounted by bulls as you drive home from the grocery store doesn’t happen every day, but it happens often enough. I laugh, point, and say, ‘Get you some!’

I recently saw two dogs doing it near where I work, and weeks later, two cats in my neighbor’s yard. I admit it, I watched. It was oddly hot, in its own way. So maybe watching and reading about anyone or anything is just hot, whether or not they are your gender or even your species.

But then reading or watching two girls doesn’t do it for me at all. I need a guy. A girl and a guy, hot. Twelve girls and a guy, still hot. But I’m watching whomever the guy is with, however many that is. The extra girls doing each other? Nah.

I get why guys like it, but it does nothing for me. I need at least one cock in there, somewhere.

So maybe that’s it? The more cocks the merrier? Is it because MM is extra cocks, extra biceps, extra abs? Maybe.

I don’t know.

I know a lot of these posts ask the question, and then give what they think is the answer, but not this time. I still have no clue either why I liked it or why MM is so popular with straight women.

So of course, I had to experiment. I got Scarlet Cox’s Doctor, Doctor.

This one is free!   Click to see on Amazon

This one is free! Click to see on Amazon

It’s an erotic short that is the first in a five-story collection. You can get them individually, or in the bundle of five. It was hot! Not a woman to be seen, but I enjoyed the hell out of it. I loved the little twist at the end, too. No spoilers though.

Click to see it on Amazon

Click to see it on Amazon

Then I tried Mona Lottze’s Weekend With My Boss. The third one just recently came out, but I’ve only read the first one. So far. This one is less quick, down and dirty, but is more romantic, will they/ won’t they? I loved the humor and human-ness in this one. But it’s  still hot!

I still had no idea why MM was doing it for me, so I kept going. This time it was a MM Werewolf Shifter story.

Amber Ridge’s Heart Of The Alpha was completely different from the first two, but I loved it, too. The animal need and soul mate connection of a good shifter story, with some smokin’ hot sex. Alright, I seem to have a bit of a thing for shifters- I read all three of this series.

Click to see on Amazon

Click to see on Amazon

And I still don’t know why two men was so good. Is it the same reason MF is good for me, and probably what I would enjoy about FF, if the sex did anything for me- meaning the emotional connection? Or was it hot because of the sheer power of two men?

I think power is sexy as hell. Not billionaire corporate power, that does nothing for me at all. No, power power. I like watching airplanes take off and land, the sheer force and power is hot. I like flying, but it is the take-offs and landings I enjoy, not the boring middle. (Yes I’m weird, animals doing it and big powerful machines are turn ons.)

So is it the forceful need of two strong, sexy men coming together? Still no clue.

There was a link in my face book feed showing gay men reading passages from Fifty Shades of Grey. It was hilarious. My favorite comments were, “I know I’m personally scared of the vagina, a little bit…Heterosexuality is weird.” And, “It’s actually kind of gross, if you think about it…”

Click to watch. Hilarious!

Click to watch. Hilarious!

I totally understand that! What I dont understand is why straight women DON’T seem to think along the same lines when it comes to MM.

I still have no idea.

Since I seem to have a thing for shifters, I also read Amelia Faulkner’s Wolf In Geek’s Clothing. I loved this one, too. Not nearly the sex of the other MMs, but the story was a fresh, unique take on the genre.

Click to see on Amazon

Click to see on Amazon

So, basically, even after reading and enjoying quite a few out of my norm MM stories, I still have no idea why they are so popular right now with women in general.

Any ideas? Do any of you read MM? Why? What do you like about it?

Ok, enough pondering for today. And enough plugging these fabulous authors. I have my own to plug. It’s not MM, but it is free through today, Tuesday 9/2. If you like your public menage with taboo step brother relations, pick up Taboo Times Two- Amusement Park. If the taboo part doesn’t do it for you, the same story is available without the step aspect, just pick up In Public- Amusement Park.

Taboo Version Click to get it free on Amazon

Taboo Version
Click to get it free on Amazon

Not Taboo Click to get it free on Amazon

Not Taboo
Click to get it free on Amazon


The Fucking Farewell

I’ve been thinking a lot about real life conversations with men vs. erotic romance novel stuff.  I find myself having imaginary conversations with the man I’m seeing and when we talk face-to-face or on the phone the reality is it goes nothing like the way I imagine.

Books are often geared towards women, especially those written by women because we aspire to have an epic sexual romance that is better in fantasy than reality.  One where no one farts or clears their throat or does other obnoxious things that grate on a person after days, months and years of being with them.

Our meet/cute didn’t go that well.  I mean, I didn’t think it did because I felt like the expectations for both of us had to do with our individual experiences.  And like I said, no one acts the way you think they will.  I acted chatty, telling stories the way I always do and later he said I talked too much.  He told me stories too so I vehemently deny that I didn’t also listen intently to what he shared, although at the time, I did kind of think he was a combination of wounded divorcee and egomaniacal jerk.  He started calling me afterwards, stalker-like and that settled down.  Then it stopped altogether so I started it up again and our conversations became intimate and honest, and like nothing else I have ever experienced before.  Now I’m not sure where we are to be honest with you.

I hate when I start out with my giant ego and think about all the things that are wrong about the guy – wrong for me – and then I make some sort of massive 360 and start thinking the exact opposite.  I start thinking I want to marry him and have his baby, and grow old with him and hope I die first because I can’t stand the idea of living without him even though we’ve only had a couple of dates and we really don’t know enough about each other to even know what 40 years of marriage would be like.  But I live far into the future.  In a way, it’s like that episode of STNG when Jean-Luc was out cold for like 30 seconds but he lived an entire life on another planet and learned to play the reed flute.  I convince myself that the universe has intervened and now it is my turn to have a great love despite that rocky start.  And I will have my happily ever after, after all.

I get so crazy-like and I’m not that type of whack-a-doodle, honestly.  Maybe I am and I scared him off inadvertently – oh, and here I go making excuses and analyzing the whole thing as if it needs to be dissected and figured out, like a science project.

In romance novels, the man loves the woman’s quirks.  We don’t ever know his quirks because he’s a strong guy without any.  But in real life, I think there are more women for men than there are men for women.  Men can pull this – I want something casual – routine as if women are a dime a dozen and maybe we are.  We on the other hand,  fixate on the one we want.  The one with the all the attributes we write down on a scrap paper and fold into the pages of The Secret.  Oh, it doesn’t matter if there are red flags that go against what we believe.  And if you don’t understand what I’m talking about, watch an episode of Bachelor in Paradise.  How the girl is already naming their children and the guy is like, I think we should explore other relationships while we are here and not pair up.

I’m thinking the whole thing is a giant Jedi mind trick.  It’s happened before where I feel like my mind has been somehow altered.  Mind control.  Hmmm.  Then I think I am totally head over heels in love and then…crickets.

I’m like a baby who only sees the rattle and wants it but when it’s not there I feel like it was never there to begin with.  The idea of real love just tortures me to tell you the truth.  I don’t want to want it because I feel like I can’t go back there and get my heart ripped away from my chest like a character on the TV series Once Upon a Time.

I stopped writing again.  It was something I did to babysit myself in a way and I feel like that time spent was incredibly isolating and resulted in only patching my finances and not fixing them.  I need to rip the Band-Aid away.

Frankly, I don’t know what I’ll do with myself if this relationship doesn’t pan out.  But I know that as of now, I don’t want to be Mia anymore.  This will be my final post here at One Handed Writers.  Thank you, Michelle, and everyone else for the opportunity to participate in this forum.  I wish you all the best in your careers.  My books will still be for sale and it will certainly be hilarious if they start selling despite my disappearance from social media.  I’ve sold nothing on Amazon since my sale ended so I will be able to easily monitor that during the transition.

As a thirteen-year-old, I used to write stories in a spiral notebook while sitting on the floor of my bedroom.  I am, always have been and always will be a creative person to my core and that requires a lot of alone time to actually do that work.  But it shouldn’t be at the expense of a real social life.

50 Zillion I Don’t Knows


I have two chapters written so far in my new story.  It’s something like fifty pages of work so it’s not nothing, but it’s definitely nothing in comparison to every other one of my one-handed colleagues’ productivity.  Writing is just very slow going this summer.  I’m not blocked – I know what this story is – I know the whole thing.  I even feel like I can see it as a movie.

The characters so far would be played by I-don’t-know, I-don’t-know and I-don’t-know.  I say it like that for obvious reasons.  I saw the trailer for The Giver and every actor seems to be a celeb.  That only works if they can transcend and sometimes they can’t, so not sure how good it will be.  When I read the book, I pictured a wizard style guy not the big Lebowski doin’ it hippie style.

Sometimes I’m watching a movie and I’m like, that’s Meryl Streep.  For example, Meryl has a thing she does to feel embarrassed where she puts her hand over her mouth then kind of pats her cheeks and chin with the back of her hand, as if she’s comforting herself.  She did it in Bridges of Madison County a lot and in something else that I just saw but can’t remember what it was – maybe it was “a dingo ate my baby” (what the hell was that movie called?).  Of course, other times she comes up with a completely different walk or laugh, or something and you forget it’s her altogether.

Dakota Johnson played a silly dork in that TV series she was in.  Pretty, but not pretty enough to be beautiful.  Horrible bangs.  She seems to be playing the same role in 50 Shades only with mouse brown hair, but she does seem to look thinner in it, at least in the trailer.

The trailer made me want to see the film but more likely alone at home on demand with my hand ready to masturbate to the bondage parts.  Sad but true.  I never read the books – I really should to see if I would somehow be turned on by the idea of it, but I really thought the writing was so bad – okay, that was mean coming from a writer without zillions of fans telling me I’m great.  I read the first two pages on the look inside thingy on Amazon and it seemed too much like a British person desperately trying to sound American and also like an older woman trying to sound like she knew anything about 20-somethings.

But then, no one cares.  Because I think the majority of people who liked those books were old women.  I have a 50-something friend who said she masturbated like she’d not done in a zillion years to parts of that book.  I don’t want to throw her under the bus but I don’t remember the last time she had a boyfriend and she’s menopausal.  She also said the sex in the book was very risqué so I’m under the impression that no one ever really gave it to her good.

My friend has not read my books, which have been called by reviewers and panners “not for the faint of heart”.  If she did, she would be aghast.  Maybe suffer a heart-attack from the risqué rather than have an orgasm.  Needless to say, I am such a direct person who would pretty much say aloud everything that I’ve written in my books to the appropriate crowds because I don’t think they are so “bad”.  Of course, I’d eliminate prudes or children, or gays who don’t want to hear anything about stuff happening to and in a vagina.  And P.S., my friend does tend to think I’m on the vulgar side of her prim and proper.

The 50 Shades movie can only be a good thingy, because I imagine there are loads of women who have clueless husbands, or rather, they have this secret desire they just can’t communicate to their boyfriend/spouse about wanting to be dominated.  This movie might be all they need to get that dialogue started.  And I’m including myself here, apparently.

Another reason I didn’t want to read 50 and didn’t like Twilight is because the main character in both thinks she is ordinary or frumpy, or ugly – one of those.  And the attractive men – not just attractive but desirable to the masses, pick THEM.  Like, why me? (said in sing-song cry baby talk) You can have anyone in the world but you want lil old me.  It’s the Cinderella fairy-tale in a way.  But Cinderella wasn’t like that at all.

Cinderella had a rapport with the prince.  She liked him and he was kind to her, and when they danced, she just knew he liked her back.  There was no – he’s so hot, why does he like me?  It was more – I can’t tell him who I really am because I’m not royal and therefore I know he will think I’m not good enough.

I battle that Cinderella feeling a lot for some reason.  It’s happening to me now even though I know that I have a lot to offer this man in my life.  It’s to do with being an artist and the value that finance types place on it.  I personally don’t like dating other artists because there is that competitive thingy where we both have egos the size of volcanoes and that requires too much soothing of egos while both secretly hoping each other will be the more successful one.  With a non-artsy guy, especially one who doesn’t get it at all, there’s no need to even get your ego into turmoil because he seriously will ground you into realizing that the drama of it is so fucking fabricated and non-sense-ical.

But on the other hand, I don’t want him to dump me because being with a Dharma-type is just too different than his version of the future.  I would rock his boat too much, you know what I mean?  It’s one of those – you don’t really fit in with the rest of the family; therefore, I must cut you loose heartbreaks.  (Hopefully not, but it definitely is in the back of my mind).  It’s happened before.

At the same time, it is nice to hear that people like your work.  When you get it from your non-art man, it’s like when Tarzan gets a pat on his head from his ape mother.

My favorite compliment of all time is when someone says I am original.  Wow, isn’t that the BEST?  It truly is.  They don’t know whether they like it or not but they can’t categorize it and it flabbergasts them.  I like that even better than actually making a living with my art, the feeding my soul bit, that is, as long as I can afford to at least eat enough to not die.

When I started writing, it was all I thought about.  I am going to make millions!  I am going to have Harry Potter caliber fame.  My books will be the new genre – bondage romance.  Needless to say, I never read erotica.  I didn’t even know books like that existed past the stories I found on  God, I was so fucking naïve.  I don’t know.  I don’t know anything anymore.  Maybe I will still acquire Harry Potter-style fame (by the time I’m fifty?).  I don’t know was a line he said about a zillion times in both the movies and the books.  What are we going to do?  I don’t know.  Who’s behind the Chamber of Secrets?  I don’t know.  What’s the next horcrux?  I don’t know.

Will I ever finish my new book?  I don’t know times infinity.

So back to my newbie- Maybe you agree with this, maybe not, but I tend to see a lot more beautiful women than attractive men in my world.  And lately, there are also so many more women who are uber-attractive even into their golden years.

Men – meh.  I mean, as far as men we watched on TV in the 80s who still look good, like John Stamos.  Well, that’s pretty rare.  By the way, did you guys know Ian Ziering is fifty?  Beverly Hills 90210 was about kids who graduated high school when I did and here he was a zillion years older playing my age.  Not a zillion, you know what I mean.  Despite his campy turn on Sharknado, he is a golden god.  A rare gem.

My story is about several beautiful women through the decades who are kidnapped by one man – It’s called Caryatids (okay, now don’t go fucking stealing my idea because I won’t finish this thingy for another year or two – or never so…carry-on).  Beautiful women in ordinary circumstances.  They are not models and actresses and they don’t all look alike.  Some are teenagers, some are much older.  Some have had kids.  But they are all women who will not have to be mousified if there is a movie.  By the time that happens, if at all, I will have no idea of who the latest gorgeous it girls are because I will probably be too old and out of the loop.

Yeah, come to think, I have no idea how people juggle several jobs and a relationship with writing a book.  I don’t know.  I don’t know times a zillion.



Mia Again


Yep, here I am again just in the nick of time – the eleventh hour.

I’m surprised to see that people are still linking up to my blog,; still checking to see if I’m going to post something because I have practically abandoned it.  I have to say marketing is such a bitch.  It is my detriment that I’m not the kind of artist who likes to connect to an audience.  The minute I hear someone’s opinion, whether praise or criticism, I’m completely out of my head and I start to question every fucking decision I make.

I finally started something new.  Trying to regurgitate the lost manuscript from last year but in a new and improved way and I have a clear picture of the whole story and all the chapters I have yet to write.  There’s something about being in this groove.  Spending hours writing like it is the easiest thing in the world, that is something I can’t really comprehend.  It doesn’t happen or it’s not supposed to happen.  I can’t will it to happen to save my life, and then I take a break and boom – I can do it.  It happens like some mystical magical other-worldly thing.

What is that?  It’s really, really weird.  And yet it feels very right.  It feels like I’m doing something important and special.  Yes, I realize that every other writer thinks the same thing.  They obviously do.  But I can’t think about them.  I’m not about the comraderie of the group AT ALL  It’s just not me.  If I was the only person on Earth and all I had were a few cats and my stories, and an internet full of porn, I’d actually be okay.  Is that sad or weird?

My new story may or may not have sex in it to tell you the truth.  I’m wondering about that.  What if I tell it without all the sex and as a crime story?  I’m leaning that way right now because it seems like the only way I can have what I want and make it something more people would want to read.

There are a couple days left to get my books at the sale prices.  Cinderella Club is only 99 cents.  I mean, I should have never done that, but I did and you can buy it plus the other two in the trilogy for $3.99 each.  Those are Kindle prices. The Createspace paperbacks are a lot more.  But we’re talking 400 plus page novels!  Putting the Madge in Danna is also only 99 cents.  It’s such a cute story, maybe not so erotic but I LOVE it and so did everyone who rated it on Goodreads (all 5-stars).  A Ghost’s Chance is also 99 cents (and a 4.96 on Goodreads).  But only until July 31st.  Then they will be back up to normal prices.

Okay, so I’m going to try to get back to writing.  I’ve been on Tumblr a lot re-blogging sexy bondage pics like cray-cray.  Check out my site here -

How to write a novel…

How to write a novel… it’s what you’ve always wanted to know, isn’t it? And now for the bargain price of $999.99, I’m going to let you in on the secret of my success…

Okay, once you’ve stopped laughing and cursing, let me actually tell you about this post. If you caught my last outing here, you’ll know that my so-called success is inversely in proportion to the amount of time I spend distracting myself on social media rather than writing. Status update: the social media’s going well. The writing? Meh!

Why? you might ask. Why, after last week’s admittance of your distraction habits, have you not now got them in check? The answer’s simple. I’ve discovered a new and exciting distraction: the infographic template. And so to celebrate, I’ve made you all a sexy little infographic called Creating the Novel!


(No, that’s right. I didn’t mention where I got the template from. Because I don’t want you all to realize how damn easy that was! But I’m not that mean either, so if you want details, just hit me in the comments. It was, in fact, like taking candy from a baby!)




Happy Birthday To Me

I am writing this on my birthday, the 21st, but when you guys read it my day will be over, on the 22nd.

The big 39. The year during which people will look at me funny, and the braver souls will ask, “And how many times have you turned 39 so far?”

Lol, I almost wish I could skip it and be 40 twice. No one thinks you’re lying when you say 40.


So, you poor guys get to read my birthday thoughts/ramblings as I turn a year older. I’m not taking the day off, after I get this post ready I planning on getting my “Shared” bundle up on Amazon.

I’m walking on my treadmill desk as I write this, not even taking the day off from that. It’s habit now, and I want to keep it up. It’s also mindless, which is nice.

The husband and I celebrated Sunday night, with a fabulous lakeside dinner at our favorite marina. Well, the night was fabulous, the food not so much. We definitely don’t go there for the food, or the prices, but it was a beautiful night sipping drinks, visiting with my baby and enjoying the breeze/water/people watching.

Wanna know something weird? I can’t wait to turn 40.

I’m not even sure why. You know those feelings you get sometimes, telling you that something you are about to do is either going to go very well or very badly? I JUST KNOW my 40’s are going to be GREAT. Like all caps great!

The last time I JUST KNEW about an age, I was waiting on 34 and 35. I met my husband at 34 and we married when I was 35. So…

Not to get all religious on you guys, but I totally believe in a higher power, and I’ve often JUST KNOWN things. I knew my kiddo would be a girl, and my sister’s would be a boy. I knew when my grandpa died before the phone call came. Stuff, ya know? So I am so psyched for my 40’s.

Other weird stuff happens, too. Like this one time in college, I came flying off a freeway exit way faster than my young self should have. There was a car. There was no way in hell I could stop without hitting it. I hit the brakes, feeling sure I was about to meet this person face to face after I joined him in his back seat.

Then this hand? wall? separated us somehow, and I felt the car come to a sudden stop where experience told me should have been in the place that car was already sitting, but no. A piece of papers worth of space was between us. It was very odd and has stayed with me forever.

Then, there was this guy I had met and was just starting to date. Our first real, getting picked up at the house, date was to be in a few days and I was getting this weird feeling about it. I woke up KNOWING I had to cancel and never see this guy again. Whatever had gone down in my dream state, I woke up in a panic. I was sick to my stomach and my whole being was screaming out, “Do Not Go!”

It wouldn’t go away. I HAD to call him and cancel. Then I saw that it was 2 am. So I said out loud, “I will call, I promise. But it is 2 am right now. Please let this feeling stop. I will call in the daylight hours and break this off, I will never see this man again, but please let me sleep/feel better. If I go to sleep tomorrow night not having done so, then you can make me feel this way again.”

The feeling went away, I slept like a baby, broke it off the next day, and have never felt like that about another person ever again. Of course, I have no idea what would have happened if I had gone out with him, but I’m fine with that.

I’ll give ya just one more. I was out drinking with a group, for my boyfriend at the time’s birthday. We had a designated, and we were all crashing at his friend’s house, so sky was the limit. I drank his ass under the table. I matched him shot for shot with jello shots. Now normally I don’t drink like that. I have my certain amount of liquor, I drink to a certain time, and am sober before I leave the bar. Responsible and shit.

But this night, the shots had ZERO effect. Nothing. I couldn’t feel them. He got so shit faced he broke his foot that night, and never felt it til morning. He spent time later at the friend’s house on the bathroom floor. We were given their kid’s room, (the kids were not there that weekend) which had two twin beds in it. We plopped him into one, and I took the other.

He was passed out cold. Some of the people we partied with that night were cops and medics, so I didn’t worry about him much, as a few of them stayed sober, and they kept an eye out.

Later, after the house settled down and got quiet, some guy let himself into our room. He was quite surprised to be confronted by a lucid woman. I KNOW the only thing that kept that from taking a bad turn was that I, who had matched my boyfriend drink for drink, was stone ass sober and awake when he came in.

So, the past is the past, and the future lies ahead, unknown. But for some KNOWN but unknown reason, I can’t wait for my 40’s.

Thanks for allowing me a birthday ramble, I’m sure my next post will be more erotica minded. If I haven’t bored you too much, any weird happenings you’d like to share? Either way, have a drink for me tonight, and always, ALWAYS go with your gut.