My fingertips tingle with the urge to touch you.
You make me want to sin.
Goosebumps on my skin. The idea of you makes me shiver.
Thoughts of you consume and like a moth to your flame I’m captivated. You’re poison to my soul I shouldn’t drink you down, but I can’t swallow fast enough.
There’s a place inside me where my demons live they corrode me and yet when you’re here they are silent. A blissful reprieve from the harshness of reality and like a drug I could fall into an addiction to you.
It’s the worst. Let me say it again THE WORST.
Picture a brick wall every time you try to put words on paper. My characters aren’t even talking to each other never mind talking to me. Someone said just write. Put your hands on the keyboard and just write, and I’ve tried oh man have I tried.
Let me tell you it isn’t for lack of ideas. I have one character ready to submit to her alpha and another ready for adventures in the sex club.
I’ve tried everything I can think of meditation, relaxation, writing on a schedule word association and nothing.
Now that’s not to say that I can’t write a provocative sex scene but how do you get to happily ever after when your focused on breathing and survival\?
How do you beat the brick wall?
Hey, it’s been an exciting weekend. I’m currently exploring publishing on Amazon and some print on demand options.
It’s been exciting to see the books take shape on different platforms. So now we wait the required 72 hours to determine if they are acceptable for publishing.
Still no word on my new work that I submitted at the end of February, but it could take several weeks to hear back on that front.
Well, February was a month filled with a ton of fun and excitement for me, and I say that while being only slightly sarcastic. It was certainly a busy month filled with a lot of personal and professional struggles.
The month started off with a bang, picture me in the hospital sporting four brand new holes in my abdomen. Recovering from emergency surgery. So not how I planned to end January and start February.
What followed was a very subdued birthday celebration. I can honestly say I don’t feel older or wiser.
I am happy to announce that I ended my very long very dry writing spell. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again it’s very difficult to writer happily ever afters when your personal life is going through turmoil and upheaval.
February ends with a new book proposal submission. Something I worked very hard on and am proud to submit for consideration. Cross your fingers and your toes and anything else that will cross.
Stay tuned I’ll provide an update when I can.
She kneels, waiting for him. Waiting to give herself over to his desire. She longs for the way he’ll take charge. She craves the way he’ll touch her.
She doesn’t speak of what goes on behind closed doors. She knows if you saw her on her knees eager to please him you wouldn’t understand the peace it brings her. You would see the slut, the whore anxious to be used, but there is beauty in her submission a quiet strength.
Her will doesn’t cease to exist when she steps into this space. She merely yields it to him and trusts that he will keep it safe.
Her submission is a gift she has granted. It is hers and hers alone to give.
You can’t see the grace with which she kneels there and so, you will never understand the strength it takes to bend her will to his, to wait in patience, silence and anticipation. You will never know the joy that sings though her nerve endings at first contact when they begin.
Do we live in a world of excess? Most would say yes. So what’s enough? is it a fixed amount or is it a sliding scale that varies from person to person.
What’s enough pain?
Do you sacrifice to avoid hurting someone else when you’ve reached your limit? Do you willingly put on blinders and shove what you’re feeling deep down inside where it never sees the light again?
And if you do when is that enough?
What do you do when you’re stuck between loving the potential of what could have been and the reality of what will never be?
I remember the taste of your lips on mine and the bite of your hold on me as I lay here in the dark.
You shaped me then. Did you know you’d left your mark? The way you tangled your hand in my hair and tugged is seared into my memory and years later I struggle to forget.
I still crave your touch like a fever in my blood, your tongue licking the salt of perspiration from my skin. I ache for the way you owned my body and made me burn.
I knew when I bought the train ticket that you would cancel.
Knew it in my bones, but it’s hard not to hope for something that consumes me.
You don’t belong to me, you never did but as I gasp and cry out your name that hardly seems to matter.