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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.

bday

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.

The Most Important Thing About Writing…

…is to get so caught up in the not-writing things that writing becomes that which gives you more work. The thing that leads to spending hours on Goodreads, on Twitter, on Facebook, on forums, desperately hoping that what you’re doing, whatever you’re doing, will lead to finding more fans, more sales. To become a little bit closer to your dream of self-sufficiency on writing alone.

Fine, I’m being glib, but I know I’m not the only author that feels this way. Between creating covers and marketing promotional pictures and movies, between updating sale vendors and reaching out to readers in a myriad of ways, our time gets dominated.

Suddenly, writing gets pushed to the back burner, and becomes the thing to do if you have the time and the inclination and the creativity to manage it. The thing that leads to more work, the thing that you’re fretting about even as you’re writing, hoping you’re not wasting your time on a book that will bomb.

That’s what happened to me. I got so wrapped up in finding fans, in getting reviews and doing all that other ‘stuff’ that comes with being an indie-author, that writing was hard and frustrating. It wasn’t the pleasure it used to be, because I was constantly wondering… will this sell? Will people enjoy it?

And the answer, in my all-or-nothing, mentally ill mind screamed back a violent “NO!”

Never mind that our fans seem quite pleased with our stories, in my mind they were never good enough. They weren’t like the books I saw on all the best seller lists, and it got to the point that if it wasn’t going to sell like hotcakes, I didn’t want to write it.

So then I stopped wanting to write.

Theodora's Descent Small

Theodora’s Descent – Coming later this summer

And then, Amazon threw down their gauntlet and suspended our publishing account, making us swear acceptance of them before they gave it back. They warned that one more violation could get our account banned, forever.

Just like that, all my dreams and hopes and desires came into view, and I realized what I had been squandering. Writing is my passion, and Amazon is more than just where our money is. It’s where we connect with fans. It’s how people who love our stories can find us, how new people who might love our stories discover us.

Amazon is a Goliath, and we won’t risk pissing it off or antagonizing it in the future, because what we want to write, what we really want to write? It’s not the erotic shorts that got us banned, though we love writing those too (and if you enjoy reading them, please become our Patron on Patreon.)

What we really love writing is scifi/fantasy/horror novels that have explicit sex. Sex written in the same amount of loving detail that most traditional sff novels describe fight scenes.

So in stepping away from it all, being forced away from pushing the boundaries of taste and acceptability, we come to a calm place where we can return to what we want. If sales slip, we’ll be okay, because even though we won’t have our bread and butter, we’ll be able to focus on fewer books, and really give them our all. From start to finish.

Here-There-Everywhere-Nowhere

bd gag

 

 

 

 

I’m still thinking a lot about writing but nothing new yet in the works.  So I guess I will continue to try to market what’s already on the market.  I have two new strategies.

As I mentioned last time, I’m on Pinterest now. http://www.pinterest.com/mnerotica/ 

I spent the past couple weeks pinning up a storm.  At first I didn’t think you could pin sexy stuff, which made Pinterest seem like the stupidest thingy on the planet, but somehow I managed to find like-minded individuals and copied some of their pins.  Then I added my own – from pics I saved from Twitter feeds and from Google.

Then I started a Tumblr account.

https://www.tumblr.com/blog/mianatasha-erotica

I noticed a lot of the best bondage pictures came from tumblr and one of my favorite picture posters on Twitter, Jay Gremlin, had a Tumblr account.  So I jumped on that.  I only reblog.  I haven’t written anything or even commented on the pictures I reblogged.  I am merely a kind of phantom blogger.  Not interacting with anyone.  I’m following loads of people and some are following me back.  But I’m more or less reblogging pictures that inspire me – if I ever write again that is.

I also prefer to post pictures of women with bodies like mine, thin, 34B, long hair, although some boobyish types do slip through the cracks.  I cannot stand fake boobs.  They make the women look older and those tits look like balloons.  And you can see the keloid scarring underneath depending on their positions.  That’s totally gross.

I was watching this documentary on Showtime about porn stars.  This celebrity photographer wanted to photograph them as real models.  Nude, but beautiful with very lovely makeup and softly curled hair.  She chatted with them, asking how they got started in the industry.  They were between 22 and 30.  Most started at 18.

They called themselves porn stars but I would say they were simply actress in porn.  Not stars.  They all commented that they have this goal of being the best porn star out there, but they just seemed very naïve about it all.

This one woman, who seemed to be a producer of some sort, said that men prefer watching adult films with young, attractive women in them.  Women who look more like girls, who look nothing like their wives.  The porn stars have a shelf life, I guess.  No one who worked in 2005 is still in it or something like that was mentioned.  I guess nobody wants to pay to see a woman my age fuck around no matter how tight her body.

The girls talked about how they came to do this work and pretty much across the board I saw a gross naivety.  One had wanted to pose for Playboy and signed with a company that was actually a hardcore porn company – they convinced her to make movies beginning with a masturbation scene.  And she had never masturbated before!!!

Another said she did not want to perform acts on screen that she hadn’t already done in her personal life because then she would always remember it happening that way.  They spoke of getting more money for various sex acts (think anal).  All the while, they were each being photographed on a luxurious bed in a fancy hotel room looking very lovely – not looking porn glam, but innocent and girl next door sweet.

There’s this part of me that wishes I had done something like that with my life when I see that fantasy – getting paid a lot of money, more money than a women with a master’s degree gets for her college necessary job, to have sex with professional fuckers – men who know how to do it right.  But then that naïve talk put everything in perspective.  They spoke about getting tested all the time for STDs and how they do it so much more often that the regular person (or as they called us, civilians) and that makes them so much cleaner.  Lol.  Seriously.

Now I’m sure you have had an STD at least once.  Bacterial infections are pretty common.  But when that one lovely girl began to rattle off everything she’s had including herpes, and when she acted like herpes was as common as the common cold and that people can have it without ever having symptoms and even civilians have it – everyone has it – blah, blah.

No, we don’t.

I don’t envy those women.  I don’t want to be a porn star.  I don’t even want to have sex like the people in my books or the fetish that appeals to me.  I obviously would not want to be kidnapped by some scuz and forced into sex slavery.  Naturally, the fantasy is to be abducted by a beautiful, wealthy man.

The problem with the fantasy is that it really doesn’t go past the abduction part for me.  What is everyday life supposed to be and how do I sustain the fantasy and make it fun to write?  I have noticed that my Cinderella series has the following review curve – Cinderella Club gets 5 stars, Cinderella Thyme gets mostly 4 stars and Cinderella Ending gets mostly 3 stars.  This is on Goodreads.com, although Cinderella Club gets a lot of 1 stars too, but I don’t concern myself with those.  Those readers obviously stumbled into territory genre they didn’t like.  The captive fantasy is specific and if the reader doesn’t like that, it doesn’t matter how well you write.  Their ratings rubric doesn’t exist.  They just pan the whole shebang.

This 5-4-3 though, indicates to me that people probably liked the Miller and Thomas storyline, but in the second book it was all about Thyme.  Miller and Thomas made appearances but you see them differently, through the eyes of Thyme and that perspective is very different, not to mention she is falling down a mentally unstable rabbit hole in the process.  The last book is the way I combined the two stories with an ending that satisfied me.  I’m assuming people identified with my characters in such a way that they had their own plan for them.  Maybe they did not love mine.

I was thinking that I should turn my blog http://www.mianatasha-erotica.blogspot.com/?zx=e6d8a5e4c88e316a into a book review blog.  That way bondage fantasy writers could send me free books and I could read them.  My problem right now is how do I know if my story idea has not already been done somehow?  A zeitgeist.  Every time I think of a way to move the story forward based on a scenario that may have some element of truth to it, like snatching a jogger in the park where I go running, I think that someone has probably already thought of it.

When I look at all of the Tumblr, Pinterest and Twitter picture porn, and there has been a hell of a lot of it lately, I think, oh, that idea is a good one.  Damn it, why didn’t I think of it first?  The actress/model/trust-fund girl snatch, which I can do pretty well.  I don’t really want to research jobs that I know nothing about so the people in my stories need to have some sort of artsy job because that is what I know.  I’d love to do a black man captor but I just can’t write black characters.  I mean African-American.  I can do Nigerian because I have some friends who are from there.  I already did that in Cinderella Club.  But the slang of black America – I don’t know it and I know I wouldn’t be able to do it justice.  I don’t know much about anything now that I mention it.  I’m not as smart as I wish I was, otherwise the sky would be the limit as far as ideas for stories go.  I have so many.

But how many readers are there willing to invest time in a capture story, regardless of the details, especially now when it is difficult to sell on Amazon?  It’s basically rape.  Non-consent.  It gets me off.  In fantasy.  I like the idea of not having any responsibility at all.  Can you imagine just being tied up all day then fucked all night?  Being someone’s fuck doll?  A beautiful pet/toy/slave?

I was thinking about that all day yesterday while cleaning.  I clean on Saturdays but I had the day off yesterday so I got a jump start on it.  Laundry, vacuum, dishes, Windex, dust, change the sheets on the bed, pay bills, pick up all the junk I was too lazy to put away during the week.  It’s a huge fucking pain in the ass.  If only the house could be this camera ready all the time.  Then if I ran into the man of my dreams, I’d invite him over like no biggie, no embarrassment.  He’d tie me up and fuck me.  I wouldn’t need to do a thing.  He would bring me to orgasm then whisk me away to his place for the rest of my life as his love slave.  Sometimes I’d be bound in rope, sometimes tape or cuffs, or silk scarves.  Sometimes naked but also in sexy lingerie, like corsets and garter belts with stockings.  I would only be allowed out to have my hair and nails done.

Okay, maybe I am getting somewhere.

Paralyzed By Too Many Choices

I’m blocked.

I’m still a big believer in doing whatever I want as an indie author, and I know none of ya’ll give a fuck, so I’ll keep my whining brief. :)

It’s not that I don’t have any ideas, it’s that I have too many. I have the third and final novel in my other name’s trilogy I need to write. I’m only an outline and two chapters in.

I have a half-written erotic version of Romeo and Juliet waiting to be finished, Romeo, Juliet & Mercutio.

I have the first in a planned series ready to go- Claimed By The Cowboys, with plans for a second and third.

But I can’t seem to write them. I sat down about a week or two ago, with a few fingers of whiskey and an intent to write part 2, and whipped out a very short, 2,600 word, 4th of July fireworks, taboo, public, menage story instead. Then I adapted it into a non-taboo version as well. It is free right now, from July 4th through July 8th:

The Taboo Version, click to get it free on Amazon.

The Taboo Version, click to get it free on Amazon.

 

 

 

 

The Non-Taboo Version. Click to get it free on Amazon.

The Non-Taboo Version. Click to get it free on Amazon.

 

 

 

 

 

 

And I haven’t been able to write anything since.

So I looked around, reading, trying to find what my muse wanted to write. I discovered milking stories. I read a couple by an author I respect and enjoy on one of my social sites. I thought, “I can do that, too!”

And I read some more, discovering shifter stories- your werewolf, werebear, and dragon shifters. Man did I have an interesting 4th of July weekend. I liked them, too!

I thought I’d prefer dragons, because, well…dragons are awesome! But my favorite was a wolf story. The animal need, the mating, the protection of the pack, the…well… the everything.

I want to write that, too!

Should I get a new new pen name or two? Milking and shifters are way different than my norm, and from each other. Or just hope that readers like to read a bit of everything and keep to just the two I already have?

I couldn’t decide. I still haven’t. And I still haven’t written anything new. So I did what anyone does when they are putting off doing what they should be doing- played some more on the internet.

Wow, did you know you can buy dragon dildos? That squirt? So, I found this new site, thanks again to my author’s forums, way to keep me productive, guys.

Bad-dragon.com

Bad-dragon.com

Check them out- Bad-Dragon.com. And I still don’t know what to write next, but man, am I catching up on some reading.

 

 

 

She’s Very Pinteresting

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I’m on Pinterest now.  http://www.pinterest.com/mnerotica/

Time zapper, but what the hell?  Every time I visualize the sexy-sexy, it brings me that much closer to writing something new.  I’m a little all over the place in my pins, but maybe not – Scottish castles for Cinderella Club, Madonna for Putting the Madge in Danna, underwater lairs for a future story, and of course a lot of bondage including vintage illustrations by John Willie.  It seems crazy to think that women from my grandmother’s era practiced BDSM and that people read detective stories with lots of kidnapping in the 50s.

It’s a shame that my non-con genre is coming under attack – making it difficult to find its way into buyer’s hands since it isn’t like it’s a new fetish or anything.  My sexy pins are mostly all re-pins so there’s plenty of it on the site already, even though it claims to be sexless or whatever.  PG?  G?   Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!

I have something like seven followers.  No biggie – I have only been on it for two days.  Spent a lot of time on it today though.  It’s basically a type of drug.  That bizarre need to find more images for your categories, as if you’ve created something more than a virtual scrapbook.  Well, it is more.  It’s inspiration, right?  Let’s hope I don’t go blind staring at the computer screen for another umpteen hours.

I can never do things in moderation and right now I’m in all or nothing mode.  Meeting friends in an hour for drinks – or I will be pinning the fuck out of myself.  One of the two.

Guess What? No One Gives A Fuck!

Ok, so I’ve been at this self-publishing thing for about a year now, and I figured I’d share my wealth of knowledge. Here is everything I’ve learned, in no particular order:

NO ONE GIVES A FUCK!image

Yep, that’s it, guys. Thanks for reading, see ya back here in two weeks.

But seriously, some of the things I have learned:

You should always put your click-able Table of Contents at the beginning of your book, of course. Duh!

And, you should never put your Table of Contents at the beginning of your book, because when readers hit “Look Inside,” they should be able to jump right into the story, getting hooked, so they buy. Besides, if anyone wants to use your Table of Contents, they can always just click on it on their device.

(But in reality, once they are done looking at your book, they don’t really give a fuck.)

You should always have reviews and an excerpt in your blurb. How else is anyone going to know how good you are at first glance?

And you should never have reviews or an excerpt in your blurb, cause that irritates the hell out of people.

(Really? The placement of reviews is going to determine my entire career? Umm, nope. No one really gives a fuck.)

You should always have a small summary at the beginning of your book, so people who downloaded you months ago can be reminded very quickly of what your story is about when they get around to actually reading it.

And you should never do that, cause again, it irritates the hell out of people.

(Say it with me guys, who gives a fuck?)

You should definitely put your book in Kindle Select, because that is where the money is. And you should never put your book in Kindle Select, because you are leaving money on the table by not having your book available at B&N, Kobo, etc.

(And again.)

You should totally write pseudo-incest, because that genre is swimming in cash. But you should never write pseudo-incest, because it creeps people out, and no one will carry your book.

(You know the drill.)

I’ll stop, although I could go on FOREVER. The whole thing reminds me of that guy who finally wrote the manual on understanding women- it was blank. Here’s the thing- everyone is different, and you can’t please everyone.

I frequent a writer’s forum that is a wonderful mix of authors, in many different genres, all helping, learning from and fighting with each other. It’s awesome 99% of the time, although people do get testy. But even that is fun to watch.

Anyway, the other day someone asked one of those, ‘how do you get out of a slump when nothing is going right, and you can’t even give your book away for free because life sucks?’ kind of questions. I tried to help, by giving her my way of looking at things, but I think it just made her day worse. She responded to everyone else’s answer except mine. Oops. :)

I knew it was a risk to answer her the way I did, and I struggled with hitting ‘post,’ cause I am a people-pleaser at heart. But I truly wanted to help.

So here it is: (the word fuck wasn’t in the original post, because of their censors, but this version is how I really felt)

“Just know you are in good company. Everyone gets that way. And, this is either going to be very freeing or very harsh, but NOBODY GIVES A FUCK.

Telling myself those words breaks me out of my slumps.

I mean it in the very freeing way, not the harsh way. I don’t do harsh, I am the least harsh person on the planet. So, if there are two ways to take anything I say, take it the well-meaning way. I learned this early, thank God. I’m trying to teach it to my teen as well. NOBODY GIVES A FUCK.

That huge zit you fixate on when you look in the mirror, not seeing how awesome the rest of you is? No one else cares. They are just grateful they don’t have one. They probably don’t even see it. They see you, not the zit. Or they think, wow, sucky zit, and then they move the fuck on. You are not the center of anyone’s universe.

When your hair does that weird thing? Pull it back, no one else gives a shit, honest.

My favorite author waited five years, FIVE YEARS, to release a new book. Guess what? I don’t care. I’ll read it.

If this is my last post ever, and ya’ll never hear from me again, guess what? You won’t even notice. Nope, not suicidal. Nothing scary here, I promise. Just odd  :) Just a ‘we are all ants on this tiny little planet’ observation.

What the writer next to you does, doesn’t effect you! Their 250,000th sale, doesn’t effect you. Wait, is that effect or affect? Guess what, beyond the 2.2 seconds someone thinks ‘it should be the other one,’ no one gives a fuck.

Everyone cares about themselves. And that can either hurt, or open the entire universe up to your fingertips. (I choose the second one)

My kiddo heads off to face her day, depressed that her face is redder than normal. I tell her, you guessed it, no one cares. They are your friends, or your enemies, but no one cares if your face is redder than normal. They love you or hate you as is, regardless. Your red face won’t change anyone’s opinion.

Write what you want, revel in the sadness when you need to, revel in the joy when you can. Some will love you, some won’t. The ups and downs are inevitable.

Rant and commiserate. We do care. We feel your pain, not cause it’s happening to you, specifically. Hell, we don’t even know ‘you’. But cause we get it, we understand, cause it happens to us. No one looks closer at your successes or failures than you do. No one looks closer at my successes or failures than I do, cause guess what? Yep, you don’t care.

Run with that. Don’t write if you don’t want. Take a day off, take a year off. No one cares but you. Do what makes you happy. Write what and when you want to. Those that love you will find you. But not if you aren’t out there.

I write porn for God’s sake. No one cares if I ever put out another book. I will never be a bestseller, I will never change the world, I will never win an award, but I am happy, writing what makes me happy. If I stop being happy writing porn, you won’t care. If I go get a job at McDonald’s, you won’t notice. The world will rotate just fine, no matter what I do.

And guess what? Everything will be fine, no matter how it turns out!

Ten years from now you won’t remember what today felt like. You’ll either have ten years of work published, or you won’t.

That is so freeing to me. If I don’t hit ‘post’ you’ll never know I wrote this. If I do, some will take it the way I intended- as freeing and awesome, and some will think I’m an ass. But I can’t control that. So I carry on, making me happy.

So make you happy. People will buy your work, or they won’t. You can not control the sales numbers, you can only do what you can do. So let it go.

I know people hate the cliche, but it is what it is. You can not control the world, your sales, what others think about you, or damn near anything.

So be you. Write you. Be depressed when you feel depressed. Cry at weddings, laugh at funerals. Drink too much, be bitter when you must. What is that other cliche? You can only be you- every one else is taken.  But revel in it, cause there will never be another you, not ever.

So write what you want, what makes you happy, cause no one else can. This knowledge gets me out of the slumps. I hope I just made your day better, not worse. I promise, better was my intent.”

That is what I’ve learned about self-publishing. It is a lot like life- no one gives a fuck about you, but you. I mean that on the grander scale, of course. I love my child, I do. Very much. But do I give a shit if she grows up to become a doctor or a bar tender? Nope, don’t give a fuck. I’ll love her and be there for her either way. It’s her life, not mine.

I’ve found that there are two kinds of people that emerge once they realize that in the grand scheme of things, they don’t really matter- those who find that terrifying, and those who find it freeing.

I find it freeing. Cemeteries are full of people who lived, loved, cried, laughed, tried to make a mark on the world, lost children, lost jobs, were happy, were miserable, were human. But do we, now, really give a shit? Nope, we care about us, now.

Free on Amazon, today only June 24!

Free on Amazon, today only June 24!

One hundred, five hundred, a million years from now, no one will give a shit if I wrote a book. Or not. Or even know my name. And I love that! It gets rid of the self-imposed microscope we think we live under, allowing me to do whatever I want, knowing that whatever I choose- no one else gives a fuck, but me.

So live your life, for you, cause you guessed it- I don’t give a fuck.

Oh, and Shared 3- Our Anniversary is out now, if you care. And today only, Occupied! Is free!

My Foot in Your Ball

cinderellaclub (200x300)

I love soccer.

This is my excuse as to why I missed my post on Saturday.  Watching sexy-sexies running, jumping, passing, kicking, etc.  The only thing better would be if it was all in slow-mo like Baywatch for women or something.  USA is playing now.  Winning but not winning.  They made their one shot on goal but Ghana has had so many shots and it is very annoying.

Also annoying, these long shorts they wear.  Nice shirts tight across lean chests and knee high socks that emphasize calf muscles, but nary a thigh in sight.  Someone should really correct that!

One of the reasons I still haven’t started doing any writing is because I would have to expand my character base to include someone other than a sexy male artist/soccer player.  I mean, Thomas Roslyn from Cinderella Club is pretty much my perfect man.  Don’t really know where to go from him.

I looked myself up on Google and came across a review of my book.  Someone said it was the best book he’d (she’d?) ever read.  Wow.  Rather, wow-ie,  because it was on a pirate site or whatever you call it where they are giving it away for free.  I don’t understand how I’m supposed to enforce that shit.  It is really devastating that I can’t cut a break.

And pretty stupid of me to announce it on here, as though I endorse such thingys.  Oh well.  At least it was high praise.

Mother fucker – Ghana just scored. I feel like soccer has come a long way in this country, but it can only get better if they make some magic happen.

Universe, are you listening?

OMG – They scored – they scored – they scored – they scored!  Go USA!  Yeah times infinity!

 

“I Am So Tired Of Fluffing. I Want A Damn Hard Dick.”

My family is very open, and kind of weird, about sex. Well, let me rephrase that. The females in my family are very open, and kind of weird, about sex. The men just roll their eyes and put up with us.

My kid is probably the most informed teen ever, in regards to sex, because I answer anything and everything she asks. And I tell it like it is, the good, the bad, and the ugly, as age appropriately as I can, and I always have.

She told me a story recently about the few minutes after dance class, changing in the locker room at school, where someone asked something about tampons. She pitched in an answer. One thing led to another, and before she knew it she had the entire dance class enthralled as she taught an impromptu sex-ed class, dispelling myths, clearing up rumors, and teaching a few biological things they don’t cover in the ‘your body will go through changes’ type crap they teach in school right now.

Now she is still a young teen, and has never had sex, but the questions were basic, like ‘if you use tampons, are you no longer a virgin?’ and ‘if inserting a tampon doesn’t feel either good or bad, then how is sex, which is kinda similar on the insertion issue, supposed to feel good?’ Both questions we had already covered, because she felt confident enough to ask me.

I was proud, but scared at the same time. The last thing I need right now is a phone call from her principal, especially in today’s sue-happy, zero tolerance times where little boys get suspended for saying pew-pew with their finger guns.

At the other end of the age swing- my mom was married to my dad for decades. She married him at 17, and he was her only partner, until he died. She is now in her 60′s, and for a few years now she has been living life kind of backwards. Her wild 20′s and college-age experiments are occurring now, in her 60′s, since she was married during her actual 20′s.

I honestly feel like I’m mothering both of them, talking to them both about men, sex and dating, only my mother’s conversations are way more graphic, as she is most definitely trying to make up for lost time.

So, it was a conversation with my mom that actually brings me to this blog post. She was venting to me about the dating scene as a woman in her 60′s (who has, since dad’s passing, dated men ranging from younger than me [oh God, so very creepy] to those in her own age group.)

I’ll spare you the graphic details, but her general gist was- do it as much as possible while you still can, because even with Viagra, sex after a certain age is hard. Well, I guess I should say- sex after a certain age is difficult, because it seems that not hard is the problem.

She made me laugh when she said, “I am so tired of fluffing. I want a damn hard dick.”

She said that even after taking the pills, and “fluffing and blowing to some semblance of hardness,” they still usually can’t finish. Which led her rant towards “I no longer care if people think whoever I’m with is my kid because of the age difference, I’m going back to the young ones. At least they are eager, willing and can actually fuck.”

Then she lamented that as women find their groove, no longer worrying about pregnancy, they get the kids moved out and wanna get down to dirty business, men slow down and can’t keep up. She closed the rant with “Sex is so wasted on the young, impatient and unknowledgeable.”

But, having the young, impatient and unknowledgeable in my life as well, in the form of the a fore mentioned teen, and personally remembering those days, as well as also being in a loving, happy marital situation myself, and seeing the full range of sexual phases spread out all around me- I told her my thoughts.

Sex is a cruel joke.

Very generalized- in your teens and twenties, when the hormones and the need are the strongest, you have to worry about your parents finding out, inexperience and not ‘doing it right’, not knowing your body, possibly not knowing how to orgasm as a female, learning to please yourself and the other partner, getting pregnant too young, being seen as a good girl or a slut, diseases that not only can grind your reproductive system to a halt, forever, but can also kill you.

Then, between say your thirties to your sixties, ish, generally- you are either married, having faithful, boring married sex, or trying to bring the spark back, while raising time-and-energy-sucks called children. Gone is the rush (and thankfully also the stress) of the first kiss, the first time, the first naked, the learning each other, the ‘of course I’m up for anything, baby.’

Or in this same time period, you are never-married singles, or newly divorced, trying to navigate the dating world, where everyone has baggage- exes, kids, etc., to work around. The bar scene sucks, internet dating sucks, it’s Sex In The City for real, heartbreak, confusion, highs and lows, but still with the ever present sex-can-kill-you threat always looming.

Want to do the hot UPS guy? Probably not a good idea in real life, damn it. Wanna try that threesome-swinger’s bar-orgy you see in porn? Also probably not a great idea. Diseases, stalkers, ‘oh fuck’ moments are way too possible.

And then in your 60′s and on, well mom’s words said it all, “I want a hard dick, damn it.”

Sex is a cruel, minefield strewn, game of Russian Roulette, at every age. The highest possible erotic, pleasurable highs, matched by the equally possible and opposite- the most devastating, life-changing emotional and physical lows imaginable.

Which I think is one reason computer porn sites and erotic books are so very popular. Granted the high highs aren’t quite as high as if you experienced the video/story yourself, but neither are the lowest lows.

Somehow this whole thought process made me remember that one scene in Demolition Man, with Sylvester Stallone and Sandra Bullock. Remember that? It was set in the future, where procreation was relegated to the lab, and sex was had with virtual helmets?

His reaction was WTF? Where is the hands-on? The old fashioned doing the dirty? And her reaction was Oh gross! Exchanging bodily fluids?

Now I’m a big believer in the sweatier the better. If you aren’t sore, exhausted, hot and sweaty, with just fucked bed-head hair and a glowing sheen to your panting bodies, collapsed on each other recovering in a pile- you aren’t doing it right.

But I’m also very married, with kids. So I got to thinking- if that machine existed now, and you all know it is just a matter of time before it does, would I buy one?

Yep, I’d one-click-buy that baby in a second! Not the dual one in the movie, where you both sit near each other and have virtual sex with each other, no I’d still want the hubby for that one, all up close and personal like.

But a single unit? Where instead of, or in addition to, watching internet porn, or reading about some horny slut getting it on with hot twin brothers, you could actually be virtually in that situation? Oh yeah, bring it on.

A way to experience any fantasy you had, be it being pulled over by that hot cop and handcuffed to his light bar, (I wrote that one- Please Officer, I’ll Do Anything :)) to well…anything? Without the possibility of pregnancy, disease, cheating, guilt, reputation or consequences? No fluffing, Viagra, or dating someone people think is your son? (Happy Mother’s Day, Mom!)

Of course, nothing is perfect, right?

There is a saying, “If men could lick themselves like dogs can, we’d never see most of them again.” People would be even more tied to their devices and never go outside. But honestly, if some people never left their house again, I’d be good with that. :)

And if it’s good enough for the goose, right? That means you’d have to be OK with your significant other using it as well. Maybe experiencing things you never even knew they thought about? Without you? But you could also link them together, right? Explore things together that maybe you wouldn’t really do in real life?

Maybe it would keep the sicko child molesters or rapists leashed to their machines? Or would it instead release a need for the real thing?

I don’t know. Any thoughts? If a virtual sex machine was readily available, like an erotic Xbox or something, would you get one? Pick your poison, your characters, your scenarios, plug it in, put on the helmet, brain stimulator, etc and experience everything you’ve ever watched, read about, fantasied?

Ok- quick plug: If you enjoyed Shared On My Husband’s Birthday,

Click to get the freebie on Amazon

Click to get the freebie on Amazon

I wrote a quick little follow up, Shared 2-On My Birthday. It’s available now, and free on Amazon, through today, Tuesday June 10. Go get a freebie, on me!

 

 

 

 

 

 

Big One

My books haven’t been selling, even at the throw away 99 cent price.  But I’m not surprised.  Even after four years of being a published author, I’m basically a nobody in this world.  It’s really to do with marketing and I’m just not good at it.  I know what to do, what other self-published authors say to do, but…meh.

I know I was the one touting Twitter and for a while there I was right on it – retweeting the hell out of people.  I had about 2,500 followers.  I haven’t tweeted in a month, I think, and I checked today - my follower count dropped to 2,200 or something.  If you don’t use it, you lose it, I guess.  It never increased visibility or sales because this is kind of a crap shoot.

There are more people on the internet trying to sell you something than customers looking to buy.  Most people are talking at you and certainly not listening.  And here I am, just another one of them. I’m disappointed with the whole ball of wax but it’s not the end of the world.  I will eventually reinvent myself or at least reinvent Mia Natasha.

In the mean time, please get your copy of Jake Malden’s new book, Erica’s Big Day.  I’ve always been in love with Jake’s Gavin character.  He’s bigger than life -cockwise, yes, and of course handsome, confident, and smart enough to convince women to give it all up whether they want to or not.  Oh, they want to.

In real life, women are tempted to cheat all the time.  I think it is probably easier for women.  Men don’t normally suspect because they were the cads at one time who landed a super sweetheart.  But you know, women usually don’t cheat.  They feel guilty or most likely, they simply have too much integrity. Jake’s specialty is taking a good girl into naughty territory via some form of blackmail.  It’s a sexy checkmate that you don’t always see coming.  God, I love a big cocky cock.

Buy Erica’s Big Day today.  It’s only $1.99 and I think Jake only gets 30 cents on every dollar so buy it in droves, please.  Because if anyone deserves success it’s him.  Jake Malden is an erotican’s erotican.  Trust me.

http://www.amazon.com/Ericas-Big-Day-Jake-Malden-ebook/dp/B00KLGZQWK/ref=sr_1_7?ie=UTF8&qid=1401560254&sr=8-7&keywords=jake+malden

 

Back to the Smut

After about two months as the milder-mannered Patience Hellsmith, wrapping up .001 Two Player Games, the second book in the planned Memoirs of a Vanilla with Sprinkles Trilogy, I needed a good dose of pure smut.

So over the past few days I’ve started another Jamie Klaire short- Claimed by the Cowboys. I’m about halfway done with it, and so far I like it. I think the back and forth of writing both the erotic romance and then just plain erotica makes it better.

My personal favorite short as Jamie Klaire so far, Shared on my Husband’s Birthday, image (which I just also released as a paperback) also came about after a long stretch writing as Patience Hellsmith. Shared is about 11-12K words, with a story, and three good, escalating sex scenes. But honestly, I kind of cheated writing it.

The very first book I ever wrote was the full novel, One Swinging Summer, as Patience. Then I invented Jamie, and went on a short story spree, but with Shared, I took my three favorite sex scenes from Swinging, linked them together, raunched it up, and had a great short. I did put in a disclaimer- something like, ‘parts of this short were taken from my milder, longer work, blah, blah, blah,’ just in case someone read both and said, wait, this seems a bit familiar. But they really are two very different titles.

It is also selling pretty well right now, which I like, because it is my personal fav, and I feel like it has been discovered somewhat.

Ok, back to the point of all this, I needed to write plain ole smut, so I started Claimed by the Cowboys, only something weird happened. The two months I’ve spent writing the milder stuff showed through. I didn’t seem to be able to pop off the 3-5K word, down and dirty little diddy I had planned. It had back story, and pacing, and might end up also having love. Go figure.

But I think it’s going to end up another favorite of mine- about 12K, with escalating sex scenes, a la my other fav, Shared. And I think I already have a sequel in mind for it. Another stand alone short that grows organically from the first one. I am very excited. I think I might be zeroing in on where I love to be. Down and dirty short meets romance and story.

I feel I’m finally finding my niche, at least for now. I enjoyed writing the novels as Patience, and I enjoyed writing the quick and dirty, as Jamie, but honestly- Jamie Klaire is all over the damn place right now.

Kitchen Capers is as far away from Shared as you can get, and both are somehow triangularly as far away as you can get from Taboo- Massaged and Shaved by my Stepbrother.

As a Texas analogy to sum it up, I feel like I’m just learning to shoot. At first the spread of bullets hit far and wide, some on target, some not, with a wide spread and wild grouping. But as you shoot more, and learn to control the gun better, the grouping gets tighter and smaller, zeroing in bit by bit on the bulls-eye.

I think I’m zeroing in on my personal bulls-eye, or at least tightening my grouping and learning to handle my erotica weapon a little better. I guess we shall see.

Umm, oddly enough, the two favs, Shared on my Husband’s Birthday and the soon to be out Claimed by the Cowboys, have another commonality between them- MMF menage with a group sex/swingers component. Interesting. Learning about myself every day :)

Also, on another side note- this one for my fellow writers out there- I found an awesome cover making website, and it is free! So far to make my covers, I buy a stock photo, and use either Createspace’s or KDP’s cover making tool to produce a cheap but good cover. (See the two covers above) But with the new website I found, I can now blend two photos, color wash, and do all kinds of neat stuff I see on custom covers that I’ve never been able to do because I don’t have photoshop, or well…skills.

It’s called www.ipiccy.com, and I found it from this tutorial: http://tirzahlaughs.hubpages.com/hub/Create-Your-Own-Book-Cover-Without-Photoshop

That website, paired with her tutorial, allowed me to blend two pictures, to play with what may be the cover for Claimed by the Cowboys. (See below)

Also, I’m finally dragging Jamie Klaire, kicking and screaming, into this century. So by the time you read this, you should be able to find me on facebook, and on my fledgling website jamieklaire.com. Come say hi!

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