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Que Sera Sera…

…whatever will be, will be.

That song is stuck in my head. It’s kind of fitting though, because today is my last post on this awesome website.

I have some personal issues that will be taking up quite a bit of my time, plus the holidays are swiftly coming as well, and since writing is now my full time job, it is FaceBook, blogs and forums which I need to cut.

Plus, I just suck at this blogging stuff.

One of the reasons I joined, besides loving the site and wanting to be a part of it, was that I knew it gave me a deadline. Post twice a week, come hell or high water. I figured that would help me stay on top of it, but man, I just really suck at it. I haven’t missed a single post, but it has become a strain instead of a joy.

Anyway, I wanted to thank you all for having me, for reading me, for putting up with me, lol.

Normally this is where I’d leave you with a freebie or something, but I have nothing running free until Friday, so alas, I can’t even gift you with free smut upon my exit.

I wanted to say good bye with some awesome, kick ass, inspirational post, but… did I mention I suck at this?

My heart is heavy, for many reasons. Please, pray for me if you are a praying sort, and keep me in your thoughts if you are not.

Happy Veteran’s Day

Today is a holiday here in the states. Veteran’s Day.

I’ve heard the occasional person ask what the difference is between Veteran’s Day, today, and Memorial Day, in May.

Both holidays celebrate those brave men and women who serve in the military, but the easiest way I know how to explain the difference is- Memorial Day is a day for remembering fallen military. Whether they died in combat, serving their country, or died peacefully in their beds of old age, many, many moons after serving their country, Memorial Day is for them.

Veteran’s Day is to honor those who are still serving, or who have served, who are still with us.

I’ve always been a bit of a sap when it comes to those willing to lay their life on the line for what they believe. I tried to enlist, even. My scores were great, but it seems no one wanted someone who fainted as easily as I do. What? It’s the south. We’re known for our ‘vapors,’ lol.

As an erotica writer, who deals with what is and isn’t acceptable to publish on various sites, who hears phrases like, ‘freedom of speech’ bandied about daily, this day effects us personally.

We are lucky to have the freedom of speech, the freedom to assemble, the freedom… well, the freedom to do damn near anything.

Look around at the rest of the world.

These are freedoms not everyone has.

These are freedoms men and women, young and old, have fought for. Fought life and limb for. So that among many other things, we can write and read what we want.

Granted, it isn’t perfect. Nothing is. But damn it, we have it a hell of a lot better than some. And it is because of those who have gone before us. Period.

I’m not offering you any free reads today. I’m not going to try to sell you anything today.

I am going to ask though, that you take just a few seconds, left or right, conservative or liberal, for or against military, hell, for or against the USA, and give this holiday a little bit of thought.

Enjoy your day off if you’ve got it. But take a second to think about the why behind the holiday.

That’s all I’ve got. Have a great day. Enjoy your freedoms, they didn’t come cheap.

The Naughty List

Please forgive me, I’ve been putting off writing this post because I’ve had a migraine headache. I keep thinking it will go away in time to write this, but my deadline has arrived and I still have a headache. Being on the computer makes it worse, so I am going to make this a quick plug post.

Have you guys signed up for The Naughty List yet?

You can sign up for erotica emails, romance emails, or like me- pick both. New releases and freebies delivered straight into your inbox. It’s an awesome service, one I not only subscribe to, but also advertise my books on.

Click to go to website.

Click to go to website.

While I’m shamelessly plugging things, Kitchen Capers is free through today, 10/28.

Free on Amazon

Free on Amazon

I also have a new bundle up, its a big ole thank you bundle to my readers.

Free in Unlimited, or $0.99.

Free in Unlimited, or $0.99.

And, my first longer shifter romance is up as well.

Free in Unlimited, or $0.99.

Free in Unlimited, or $0.99.

Check them out, but of all of them, check out The Naughty List! Ok, I’m crawling back into my migraine hole now. See you guys in two weeks!


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.