Annette Mori's Blog, page 37

Lesbian Interior Decorations

The challenge was thrown out and I accepted that gauche gauntlet because let’s face it…I have no class and can’t resist a challenge. I’ll just set this up for you…the picture below was posted on Facebook and authors were challenged to write a scene.

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Without further ado…here is the scene I wrote:

Virginia sat on the stool and cajoled the bartender into serving just one more drink. When she shut one eye the woman looked look pretty damn cute and there was only one of her, so she figured one more drink wouldn’t kill her. She’d already had two above her limit, but who was counting. Besides, wasn’t that what a person was supposed to do when your lover of ten years decided to move out and take every last piece of furniture with her. It didn’t matter that she’d paid for half. What Cynthia wanted, she got.

Desperate times called for desperate measures, so she’d begged her best friend to move in with her. The timing couldn’t be more perfect for either of them. Hillary had just been kicked to the curb by her lover. The reason seemed a bit shallow to Virginia, but she had her own shit to deal with, so she’d simply offered a solution to a problem. Who dumps their girlfriend because she has a terrible fashion sense and questionable home decorating skills.

Hillary needed a place to live and she had furniture to offer. It was a done deal. Virginia wanted to be out of the way when the moving van arrived from Chicago, so she decided to kill a few hours at the bar not far from her house. Hillary had decided to stay back and supervise. She would have plenty of time to catch up with her best friend now that she’d made the big move to Washington. Besides, alcohol would take the edge off and tenderize her in preparation for the inevitable cryfest with her friend. Hillary needed as much a shoulder to cry on as Virginia. They would start their own wet t-shirt contest with the tears they both still needed to shed.

“Thanks,” she slurred when the cute bartender set the drink in front of her.

“Hey, you’re not planning on driving, anywhere are you?”

Virginia started to shake her head until she realized that was a bad idea. “Walking,” she managed to answer.

“Okay, but no more batting those beautiful green eyes of yours for another drink. This one’s the last you’re getting. Can I call someone to walk you home? I’d do it myself, but my shift doesn’t end for another two hours.”

“Oh, that’s nice of you.” When she reached for her drink, she sloshed liquid all over the bar. “Shit, I think I’m a wee bit tipsy. Better head home. At least, I’ll have a bed now.”

After throwing a twenty on the bar, Virginia wobbled to her feet and zig-zagged her way to the door. Stumbling the two blocks home she barely registered the moving truck backing out of her driveway. Carefully navigating the two steps leading to her front door, Virginia poked her key at the lock and on the fourth try, managed to force it in. Before she had a chance to turn the key, the door opened and Hillary raised her eyebrow. At least that’s what Virginia thought she saw happen.

“Well, thank goodness the movers set everything up. I can see you’re about ready to pass out,” Hillary said. “I guess drowning our sorrows in a tub of ice cream is out. That’s my drug of choice. Clearly, yours is alcohol.”

Virginia stepped into the living room and took one look at the couch and blurted out, “Holy shit why are there seven vaginas looking at me? Damn, I am drunk. I understand double vision, but there’s a whole lot more than two. Is that like a practice couch? I don’t know whether to lick them or fuck them.”

Hillary cocked her head to the side. “Wow, I never really noticed that before. No wonder she said it was butt ugly. Although, as a lesbian, don’t you think it has a certain feng shui. You know like those red doors that are supposed to bring good luck. Do you think it’ll help us get laid?”

Victoria sort of shuffled over and touched one of the vagina patterns, poking her finger in the center. She was rapidly sobering up. “Damn, I was hoping there was like a built-in crack or maybe a hole or something in the cushion. Do you think the designers knew what this would look like?”

“God, Virginia, no wonder your girlfriend left. Quit poking at it. You’re using your finger like a guy uses his dick, no finesse at all.”

“Are you fucking serious? You brought this pussy couch cross country and you want me to stroke it? I can’t believe you never noticed the design.”

“I didn’t have my glasses on. The couch was the last straw for Darcy. When they delivered it, she gave me my walking papers.”

“So, this is new?”

Hillary nodded. “Uh huh. Hey, let’s call it the Coochie Couch.”

“One, two, three, four, five. Yup, definitely orgy territory with the five vaginas in the middle. Oh, and the ends kinda look like a pair of nice asses.” Virginia tilted her head. “Well, sorta, if I close one eye and imagine them in a Picasso painting. But you know, I like the idea that each end resembles someone’s butt. It makes sense in a weird way.”

“So, we can keep Coochie Couch?”

“Sure, why not. It’s probably the only pussy I’ll get for a while. Can we get matching recliners to look like a pair of boobs?”

“I’m on it.” Hillary grabbed her iPad off the table shaped like a tongue.

Virginia looked down at the wood coffee table. “Oh my god, that looks like a big tongue. Surely you noticed that!”

“Oh yeah, I actually had that custom made. I must have some subliminal thing happening and that’s why I picked the couch. Sex on the brain or something.”

Virginia leaned down and stuck her nose in one of the vaginas. “I don’t know if it’s a good or bad thing that it doesn’t smell like pussy. If either of us gets lucky, maybe we can change that.” She grinned.

“Damn, bad news. There aren’t any boob chairs, will titty throw pillows work?” Hillary asked.

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Virginia laughed. “Absolutely they will be the perfect accessory for the couch. I like your style, Hillary, don’t let anyone change a single thing about your fashion sense or your ability to pick perfectly good living room furniture.”

So that’s my scene. We’ll have a bit of fun with this at GCLS and all the authors who are good sports will read their scenes during our Facebook live sessions.  More to come on that.

Quick marketing plug coming up…if you want to read more of my demented sense of humor, click the links below!

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Freedom of Speech

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I got to thinking about this concept that is such a deeply ingrained value for America and I began wondering if we’ve gone so far away from its original intent that the end result is this deep divide in our nation, sprinkled with a liberal amount of hate. At what point does Freedom of Speech stop being a good thing.

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We’ve all heard about where Freedom of Speech ends and the example of crying “fire” in a crowded theater always comes up.  According to the 1919 Supreme Court decision in Schenck v. United States the First Amendment protects freedom of expression but does not protect dangerous speech. The Supreme Court interprets constitutional law, which is subject to the opinions of nine human beings. Nine very flawed human beings, because let’s face it, every human being is flawed.

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A recent unanimous ruling solidified the previous understanding that “hate speech” while it may be offensive to some is protected by the First Amendment. The court held that an Asian band could call themselves The Slants. Maybe an earlier case hit closer to home when the Supreme Court ruled that the Westboro Baptist Church could hold up signs at a funeral for a gay soldier that said, Thank God for dead soldiers, but come on people…don’t you think enough is enough. We are one step away from some crazy ass person who thinks that gives them the license to shoot and kill all gay and lesbian soldiers.

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Most “hate speech” is not considered “dangerous speech” or its cousin, “fighting words.” This is a very fine line, because we know from all the stories floating around in the press, that “hate speech” most assuredly is the spark to a crowd bathed in gasoline and can incite violence and encourage individuals to move into territory that would not be protected by the First Amendment. Individuals who rally people to act are protected by their hateful words. In fact, they are elected to the most powerful office(s).

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This got me to thinking about the power of words from people we admire and respect. Politicians, entertainers and yes writers fall into that category.  Crap. Now I have to be responsible when I weave my stories. I admit it. I hate child molesters, slave traders, and rapists and I might have suggested (more than once in my stories) that violence against these individuals or groups is justified. I suppose that could be considered “hate speech”.

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I guess I have “yes but” rules. Hate speech against my community (lesbian+ not listing all the letters because I’ll probably miss some), persons with disabilities, people of color, etc not ok in my humble opinion and should be reigned in, but hate speech against those who harm others…I’m okay with that! I suppose I’m just like those religious fanatics who seem to pick and choose the rules to live by. And yet it does give me pause at times to consider how strong is my prose and does it begin to dance heavily on that fine line?

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Nah…in the immortal words of one of my favorite characters in Asset Management and the new book coming out titled, The Organization, “Perfect. I’d love to spill a little blood. Can we shoot him now?” Ronda asked. I’m not planning to change a thing.

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If you want to see how I play fast and loose with Freedom of Speech in my books…you know the drill, click on one of the links below.

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A Squeries…

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I decided to make up a new word. Why? Well…why not? I’m a crazy author, we do shit like that. I’ve written before on how my books tend to be mash-ups, which I’ve defined as a combination of romance with…take your pick: mystery, intrigue, action, sci-fi, fantasy, dystopian, paranormal. You name it and I’ve combined it with romance. With the exception of historical or pure humor. Even though I’ve been told my books are funny, at least some of them, I could never write a classic comedy.

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So…what is a squeries? It is a mash-up of a sequel and a series.  Although I suppose the new book titled, The Organization, that I wrote with Erin O’Reilly is being marketed as the sequel to Asset Management, I wondered if it would be considered part of a series as well. Don’t get too excited, I have not decided to continue to write more books in the series. A Thanksgiving short may appear, but that’s it.

I did some research (of course I did) and looked up the definition of both. A sequel is defined as “a published, broadcast, or recorded work that continues the story or develops the theme of an earlier one.”  A series is defined as “a set of books, articles, etc., that involve the same group of characters or the same subject.” I thought both of these definitions could be applied to The Organization. The same characters from Asset Management show up and play a prominent role, but there are new characters and we’ve highlighted one very minor character in Asset Management. I couldn’t decide which definition was more accurate, so I made up a new word!

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I still haven’t figured out what motivated me to bend to the reader pressure to write a squeries, but I have vowed this will be the last one. And yet, I often write short stories using the same characters in my previous books. Does that make those stories squeries?

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Personally, as a reader, I have a love/hate relationship with series books or sequels.  I used to love them because when I came upon a series or an author I enjoyed reading, I was instantly provided with reading material for several weeks. Back in the 80’s, 90’s and until relatively recently (within maybe the last 5-7 years), there wasn’t as much to choose from. When I came upon a new series, I was in lesbian heaven. Now I almost hate them, because when I start the series and get invested in the characters, I feel compelled to complete the whole series. This is a bad thing when that new shiny book with all the great reviews comes out and I can’t get to it until after the 7 book series is done.  My reading rules have changed. Now…gasp…I don’t always buy the next book unless it is so outstanding I can’t help myself.

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One of the first things my publisher said was that with each new book in a series, readership goes down. However, that’s not the rationale for my adamant opposal to writing them. I think I get bored too easily. I want to create new stories and new characters in new genres because I have a touch of ADHD. I also hate to weave in the background with a data dump (that coincidentally readers hate) so I can make the book a standalone, as well as part of the squeries.

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As a compromise to revisiting those beloved characters, I’ve woven them into new books or subtly referenced previous books within a new book. I wonder what that might be called, maybe a serken…series and token mashed together. I like this definition of token… “a memento; souvenir; keepsake.” I like the idea of leaving tiny souvenir’s inside of my books or short stories. The first time I did this was with the short story that is part of an anthology, available for purchase to raise funds for the GCLS titled, Conference Call. Readers probably won’t realize I did that unless they purchase the book vaguely referenced that is coming out in February, called Unconventional Lovers. I did it again with my most recent manuscript, called The Book Addict, that is currently under review.

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If you want to familiarize yourself with the characters in The Organization, feel free to pick up Asset Management or any other book I’ve written. You know the drill…click one of the links below. The support is always appreciated!

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Loyalty

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I’ve been binge watching CNN and this whole concept of “loyalty” got me to thinking about a number of things and some of those are actually related to writing (in a round about way).

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First, let me say that I believe loyalty is a good thing. I was recently asked to come up with a trait I share with my most badass character. After several days of ruminating over this and trying to think of anything that might fit, the only word that came to mind was loyalty. I really had to dig for that, because I am nothing like the butt kicking lead in the book coming out in July titled, The Organization,  which contains my most badass character. She’s uber cool. I am not.

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Just for grins here is a clip from that book to show her badassery (I think that’s a word):

Val strode confidently to the front door and pushed the doorbell. Big surprise when two burly men ushered her inside and attempted to frisk her. In less than fifteen seconds, she broke one bodyguard’s nose, wrenched the gun from the other, and pointed the muzzle in his face. She hadn’t done anything particularly fancy—one head butt and a wrenched wrist had done the trick. Val was quick—she was very, very quick.

The bodyguard with the broken nose hadn’t learned his lesson and lunged for her. Without breaking a sweat, Val roundhouse-kicked him and sent him flailing to the ground.

“Oomf.”

Obviously thinking she might be distracted, the other bodyguard attempted to retrieve his gun, and Val rewarded him with an elbow to the face and the second broken nose of the day. She then shot his leg for having the audacity to try to get his gun back.

Rich baritone laughter filled the foyer, and Val got her first look at Leonid. She was surprised to see the handsome, chiseled face surrounding cold, gray eyes, and her body had an immediate reaction to his laughter. Something about his laugh was familiar, and for a split second, the dungeon from her past flashed before her eyes. Stuffing the fear deep inside, she met his steely gaze with her own penetrating stare.

Val set the gun on the marble pedestal. She removed her backpack, set it on the floor, and proceeded to strip. She noted the bodyguards warily watching as they looked back and forth between their boss and her.

Standing completely naked before Leonid, she stated, “I do not like to be touched. The next time I will kill them. As you can see, I am not wearing a wire, nor do I currently have a weapon.” Val glanced at the pedestal with the stolen gun and smirked.

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I was born in August, so I am a Leo. One of the prominent traits of that astrological sign is loyalty. Again, I believe in general, loyalty is a positive thing, but at what point does loyalty become something destructive or negative. The breaking news today regarding Trump’s insistence on loyalty, caused me to question some of my past loyalties.

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It is considered appropriate leadership to show a united front when the senior leadership team makes a decision, regardless of whether you believe it is the right course of action or not. All concerns should be vocalized behind closed doors. However, let’s face it, the boss often strongly influences those decisions and at times dictates them regardless of common sense. I can remember being asked to negotiate something in a collective bargaining agreement that I thought was wrong, a bad deal for those who were the lowest paid employees in the organization. I got the deal done, but it left such a bad taste in my mouth that I exited the organization shortly after. I could not continue to sacrifice my personal values as a testament to my loyalty to my boss and the rest of the senior leadership team. At what point does loyalty become a step on the pavement to hell.

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Here’s my conclusion on loyalty. Loyalty is good, blind loyalty is not. When someone you are loyal to asks you to do something that crosses the line, at that point integrity should gobble up loyalty. Saying no to something illegal or immoral does not demonstrate a lack of loyalty, but rather proves the strength of character. I hope I remember that in the future and leave an organization well before following a suggestion or directive I believe is wrong.

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Now of course…forget everything I’ve said about blind loyalty if you are one of my loyal followers…y’all can keep buying my books no matter what! Just kidding. Feel free to keep me honest and let me know if I have hit or missed the mark for you! However, in order for you to do that, you’ll have to become a loyal follower…to do that simply click on the links below….

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Sanitizing Lesfic

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Warning: This blog may contain sarcasm, oh and profanity…don’t read it if you are easily offended.

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Everyone knows I often add to the debate in the various Facebook groups and find the discussions fascinating. This past week there was a lively examination of profanity in lesfic. Rather than regurgitate the various perspectives in this blog, I’ve decided to respond to the suggestion to write a scene that might normally contain profanity and sanitize it.

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However, before I do that I thought it would be fun to post a few blurbs of my past books to get a flavor for how I’ve incorporated profanity and in some ways poked fun at it, demonstrating the vast differences in characters (those who love to swear like sailors and those who shy away from it). The very first character I wrote, Nicky, was someone who freely let swear words fly, much to the chagrin of her mentor.

From Love Forever, Live Forever

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“Well, this building has a certain amount of old world charm,” my dad, the eternal optimist, remarks.

“You gotta be shitting me. This is the oldest dorm on campus and it’s not some historical landmark, Dad, it’s just old and worn down.”

I can’t help being a little snarky. Remember I want to travel the world, not live in some old musty building with a bunch of silly freshman girls who are looking to find some hot guy to shack up with.

“For such an intelligent young woman, you sure find it hard to resist using profanity. Really, Nicky, I thought we taught you better than that.” My mom seems to forget her colorful language when she’s pissed at my dad. 

***

I grab Cass and pull her into a grateful hug. She is stiff at first but then hugs me back. I think Vic is having a good influence on her.

“Oh, my God, Cass, that is the best fucking news I’ve heard all day.”

“Nicole, you know how I feel about profanity. I have relaxed my stance when you are angry or frustrated, but must you also use profanity when you are happy?”

“Sorry. Old habits….”

Same characters from Nicky’s Christmas Miracle X3

I sit up and look at Dr. Stewart. I want answers. How could this possibly happen? I’m barely ready for one baby, but three is clearly beyond my capabilities.

She’s grinning so wide that I’m afraid she’ll split her lip. “You two are so lucky—usually the pack only has twins. Jacy must have some pretty hardly little swimmers.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I squeak.

“Language, Nicky, language. They can hear you through the womb and you do not want to teach your children your common gutter rat vernacular,” Cass chides.

“Hon, you were doing so well. Remember our little incentive plan?” Annie smiles in that adorable way.

I’ve been working on my swearing lately in preparation for our little bundle of joy because I know kids are like sponges. Putting a quarter in a jar doesn’t get the necessary results since money is not an issue for us, but the prospect of having Annie do wonderful things to my body with her tongue definitely works. Every day I go without swearing, I get Annie’s special incentive.

Later in the story…

Bang, bang, bang.

Annie jumps and I’m startled from my position kneeling in front of her.

“What the fu…fudgesickle?” I grin at Annie. “I’m trying out replacement words. What do you think?”

Annie crinkles her nose in that adorable way of hers. “Um, are there other options maybe?”

Bang, bang, bang.

“Ok, so fudgesickle is out. I better open the blankety blank door before whatever rude a-hole breaks it down.”

Here’s the thing, my family was highly educated and every damn one of them liberally sprinkled profanity in their everyday language. That’s just who they were. Dinner discussion included talking about Viktor Frankl, Kafka, existentialism, Freud, politics and many other topics, and the profanity was never censored.

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Here’s another passage from another short I wrote because I guess I like to explore the whole complicated relationship people have with profanity and how different everyone feels about it.

Two tow-headed boys barreled into the living room and collided with Char. Glasses of punch flew in all directions, soaking Char and the wood floors in a manner of seconds.

“God dammit. Brendon, Jacob, I told you not to run in the house. Look what you’ve done to Aunt Char.”

Char smiled when Tracy referred to her as Aunt Char. The boys were a handful, but she loved interacting with them. They were typical energetic kids.

“Sorry,” the twin ten-year-olds said in stereo.

“March your asses into the kitchen and get some towels from your grandmother,” Tracy directed.

“You owe fifty cents, you owe fifty cents,” Brendon chanted.

Char laughed. “Twenty-five cents for every swear word?”

Tracy nodded. “Little bastards never miss a thing when I swear, but when their father lets loose…”

“That’s another twenty-five cents, Mom,” Jacob added.

“Get, right now or I swear I’m dropping you off at the gypsy wagon.”

I was going to write a brand-new scene that would normally call for profanity and sanitize it to see how it worked, but instead, I decided to use something I’ve already written and see how this tastes to you. Just roll it around on your tongue and let me know if it’s bland or delicious?

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Re-write of The Ultimate Betrayal

As Lara’s hand made its way back up her calf and inner thigh, Sophia cried out. “Please, touch me where I need you.”

“Where would that be, love? You have to be more specific.”

“Oh, God, Lara. Stop teasing me,” Sophia begged.

“You have to tell me and I’ll walk out the door if you use overly clinical terms, my prim and proper professor. I’ll give you a hint. It starts with a P.”

Sophia could hear the smirk in Lara’s words.

“My flowering petal (formerly pussy), please, touch my flowering petal (formerly pussy),” Sophia cried out.

***

Lara threw her head back and moaned. “Ooh. So good. So fudging (formerly fucking) good. Remind me to ensure that tongue of yours.” When her orgasm finally crested, the pulsations and quivers that ran up and down her body created an out of body experience.

***

Lara chuckled. “Unfortunately, I don’t have time. I have to be in the office by seven thirty this morning. Besides, don’t you need to get up and get going?”

“Nope, I told my staff that I would be making love to (formerly fucking) you long into the night and wouldn’t be in until later this morning. They completely understood,” Rachel joked.

“You did not, you big liar.”

Re-write of Asset Management

Toni couldn’t believe she was about to stop herself from fingering (formerly fucking) the redhead in the bathroom stall—but something seemed totally wrong about the situation. Heather was way too classy for a cheap one-night stand.

***

“What the tarnation (formerly hell) is going on? How did you get into my suite? Security,” Byron screamed.

Sophie rushed to Kim’s side and pulled her away from the man’s grip. “What the blazes (formerly fuck) did you give her, you slimy person (formerly bastard)?”

Finally, from a current WIP…should I change it?

I kept running my fingers lightly over her body and saw the goosebumps erupt. “Good, hard and fast isn’t something I’m very fond of either. Honestly, I never could understand the notion of putting something inside (formerly being fucked) so hard it was uncomfortable the next day. Maybe uncomfortable because of muscles being used that haven’t been exercised in a while. That will be the case with me, but hurting you know…inside…not really my cup of tea.”

Maya placed her finger on my lips. “I think you might be stalling now, or is this your idea of teasing me mercilessly until I beg for relief?”

I don’t know, it’s just my humble opinion, but sometimes a sanitized version just doesn’t work! Thus profanity is sometimes described as “colorful”. I like color…

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I know everyone likes to learn something new from my blogs, so here is today’s lesson based on some Google research. Cursing, profanity, cussing and swearing all have their roots in the Christian Church. A curse was an expression of a wish of misfortune, evil, or doom to befall a person, group, etc.  Profanity was considered an early form of taking the Lord’s name in vain and was considered blasphemous.  Cussing was an American alteration of cursing and was first recorded in 1815. Swearing is rooted in Christianity as well. The meaning began with an oath to God and evolved into a simultaneous meaning of taking God’s name in vain or speaking of acts that were considered sinful. Gasp….and that’s where I believe “fuck” came into play…that unspeakable act!

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One final thing I want to say about this…I believe warning labels have a purpose, especially with something that could trigger a reader’s PTSD, but at some point, are we taking the suggestion of warning labels too far? Profanity is everywhere, I don’t think that justifies a warning label.

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So, if you don’t want to read something that has profanity, cursing, cussing, swearing, blasphemy,  or a bit of color, best to skip the links below, but if it doesn’t bother you, well then…you know the drill…Some books have more profanity than others, but none are color free.

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Let’s Talk About Sex Baby….

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I often get sidetracked by the threads in the various Facebook groups I belong to (yeah I know big surprise to no-one). I peruse the sites usually after reaching my daily writing goal (okay maybe sometimes I sneak on Facebook in the middle of writing).

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This past week I came upon a thread that was particularly interesting to me and my normally curious nature was definitely piqued. The thread was about lesfic sex scenes. Now, who wouldn’t want to read about that!

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An observation was made about the increasing number of lesfic sex scenes that have heterosexual overtones. A few of the examples really jumped out at me like: female ejaculation; referring to the lady bits as d&%$s or other such male member names; and one that prompted an immediate response from me…asking to be f%$&ed harder from behind with fingers, noting that it would likely cause bruising.

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I asked questions because I like learning about lesbian sex. I  wanted to know how fingers could cause bruising. I revealed my vanilla tendencies by stating I, too, had a hard time understanding the appeal of giving a rubber dildo a blowjob. The female ejaculation part caused me to jump on my computer. I’d vaguely remembered reading about female ejaculation. However, the final example of spreading a seed or something like that, I stayed clear of.

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See…I couldn’t resist doing my own little bit of research because lesbian sex is my favorite thing to google. I just had to provide more information on female ejaculation because I was convinced it was a real thing even though I’m not really sure it’s ever happened to me. Drum roll….here’s what I learned.

One in three women report it happening to them at least once in their life.
Yeah, France…scientists there did a study and found that of the seven women who insisted they had ejaculated, fluid from five of them was mostly urine with a marginal amount of prostatic secretions, but the other two produced a fluid which contained a natural chemical called prostate-specific antigen (PSA).
Other research studies also found PSA in females who believed they had ejaculated.
Female ejaculation has been banned in UK porn…hmmm ejaculation envy?

Now, this sent me on a completely different tangent on what constitutes well written lesbian sex? There was a comment that a lot of lesbian sex scenes are on the decidedly vanilla side of the equation, which prompted a new question, where does vanilla end and hetero overtones begin? It kinda sounded liked the less vanilla the more it moved to the hetero spectrum.

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Personally, there aren’t too many lesfic sex scenes that take me out of the story because I’m an academic researcher when I read something new. I love to learn new stuff and if it sounds a little off, or I’ve never heard of it, I do some research.  Although I have very eclectic tastes in what I read in lesfic, I can’t claim to carry that into my field research. There are just some things that don’t appeal to me, but that doesn’t mean I’m not curious about them.

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There are probably just as many different opinions about what makes an appealing sex scene in lesfic as I imagine there are ways of pleasuring your lesbian partner. That’s what makes it so fun to read and learn from. One conclusion I’ve come to is that, from what I’ve read, I don’t really believe that the majority of lesbian fiction is vanilla. I think I’m qualified to make that bold statement as someone who falls squarely in the vanilla category and reads a lot of lesfic. I gotta say, I’m not even sure my old body would be able to get into the positions described in some of the sex scenes, much less enjoy half of the stuff.

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Now, of course, I’ve never had a mid-life crisis, yet…perhaps I’ll play that out by trying a few new things I’ve learned from the variety of sex scenes I’ve read. I do hope the writers will continue to be inventive and provide further education. I’m still an eager student!

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I’ve been told that I can’t claim to write mostly vanilla sex scenes anymore, but who knows if that is accurate since everyone seems to have a different perception about sex in lesfic and what constitutes vanilla. If you want to check it out for yourself and let me know your opinion, you know the drill…click the links below to read my books!

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Shame…A Cousin of Humiliation

Today I was summoned to go to our local Worksource center to orient and learn tricks and tips for obtaining a job. I realized as I was getting ready this morning that this is the first time in 42 years I’ve been unemployed. It was a sobering thought.

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As I drove to the center, I tried unsuccessfully to choke back my tears when the full force of the shame and humiliation hit me square in the gut. I’d been asked to be a presenter at that very center just two months earlier, a couple of days prior to leaving employment at the hospital. I used to teach people how to interview and create a resume and now I held my pride in my hand and walked through the doors prepared to listen to whatever pearls of wisdom they had to my current situation.

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Since I love research, I looked up the definition of shame. According to the top google listing, it is: “a painful feeling of humiliation or distress caused by the consciousness of wrong or foolish behavior.” The only part of the definition that I couldn’t quite make fit was engaging in wrong or foolish behavior. I hadn’t lost my job because I’d done something wrong or was foolish. I can be foolish in many avenues of my life, but in my professional life, I was never foolish. Unless a person counts giving an honest opinion when asked.  Nevertheless, shame is what I felt when I walked into Worksource today.

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I often look for silver linings and this is what I’ve come up with…When I do obtain my next job in Human Resources, I will be a better, more compassionate person as a result of my experience. Prior to this past month and a half, I could not claim I had true empathy for those that are laid off or terminated. Now I do. I will be able to pause and think about the action that I am about to take that will have a dramatic impact on that person’s life and I’ll truly be able to relate to their emotions.

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One of my favorite speakers and authors, Brene Brown, talks about the difference between sympathy and empathy.  I laughed when I saw the video where she distinguishes those who try to make others feel better with sympathy instead of crawling into that hole with them and experiencing the emotions first hand. I’ll never forget that empathy rarely begins with, “at least.”

Empathy Versus Sympathy Video Link

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Here are the “at leasts” in my current situation from well-meaning people. At least you get to write. At least you have a supportive wife. At least you were close to retirement. At least you still have a roof over your head, money to buy food, etc. At least you get to work on your tan (I’m so jealous). I would give up my tan in a nanosecond for a new job…please let me return to pastiness. You get the picture.

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What helps is that people are trying to make me feel better, and I take those “at leasts” in the spirit they are intended and love the people for that. Sympathy has its place, but the few individuals who could relate and sent messages to that effect….the ones that I sensed possessed deep empathy, those are the ones I treasure.

At the time of writing this blog, I was contacted by a recruiter who mentioned they need an interim starting on Monday…I am crossing my fingers and hoping to lose that tan. This may slow down my works in progress, but there are still many to choose from. If you’d like to read my already published words…you know the drill…click the links below!

Affinity Author Page         Amazon Author Page

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Important Lessons From Mom

Every year since I’ve been blogging, the Friday before Mother’s Day, I write about my mother who passed away over five years ago (coming up on 6 in July). There are so many lessons my mother taught me and today I’m going to talk about one particularly important one.

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When I was nine years old, my mother roused all of us from bed on a Saturday morning to have a serious talk. My father stood to the side with a grim expression on his face. The horrible “D” word was uttered. They sat us down and explained that we would be going to live with my grandmother and grandfather in Baltimore. Dad would visit, but we all wouldn’t live together. She sent us back upstairs to get ready and I probably had the most tears in my eyes because I was dad’s fishing and hunting buddy.

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Sometimes we could hear my mother and father talk through the heating vent in my older sister’s room, but today none of us had the heart to try and listen. Besides, we never really heard clearly what they were saying. We only occasionally caught a few words.

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We didn’t end up going to Baltimore because my parents talked some more and mom decided to give dad another chance. Earlier that year, she had finally gotten her driver’s license after a good friend had continued to instill more confidence in my mom. it seems almost unreal that she wouldn’t have a driver’s license at the age of 30, but that is how it was back then. A lot of women stayed home and were completely dependent on their husbands in every way. With her license in hand, my mother started down the road to her own independence and personal development.

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She got into therapy soon after this life changing moment, finished her education, became a special education teacher, and turned into the strong independent woman I came to know in my teens and adulthood. She continually instilled that sense of independence into all of us. She’d learned a valuable lesson in the first 11+ years of marriage to my father. She would never, ever, feel trapped again. Once she had her own career, she could walk out that door and never look back. She could give him that ultimatum and stick to it. I’d like to think my father never stepped out on her again, but I suppose they will both take that truth to the grave. Neither one of my parents were particularly good at telling the truth 100% of the time. Little white lies to save your children from pain was a lesson they’d learned from their parents.

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While my mother attended Loyola University, I would travel to Chicago with her and on occasion quiz her during the trip.  Science was not a topic she enjoyed and I remember once standing quietly to the side while she debriefed with her college friends after an exam. They wondered if the answer they had selected was correct. At ten, I piped up and told them what the correct answer was. My mother smiled. I was a whiz in the sciences and I had been quizzing her on the drive in. It was easy for me to remember that particular fact.

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Now that I am all grown up and nearing full retirement, that lesson has served me well. I left home at 17 and never looked back. I’ve been independent all my life. It is ironic that at this late in my life, I feel a smidgeon of dependence on my wife. It is like an uncomfortable pair of shoes. It just doesn’t quite fit. Perhaps that is why I am not ready to fully retire and continue to look for that final job. That need for independence remains deeply ingrained.

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How can I possible tie in anything to my books now as I usually do…hmmm…how about if enough people buy my books, maybe I won’t feel dependent on my wife anymore…okay, that’s a joke! If you want to check out my books…you know the drill…click on the links below.

Affinity Author Page         Amazon Author Page

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The Domestic Goddess

I’ve been joking lately about becoming a domestic goddess while I wait for my next job opportunity to appear, so I thought I’d write about that today. Since I love google research, yup, guess what I did. I googled it. You know what? There is an actual definition. From the urban dictionary, a domestic goddess is: “A female who excels at baking, cooking, cleaning-housework of all sorts. She loves to please and enjoys hearing compliments about her awesomeness around the house/kitchen. She may sew, knit, have domestic hobbies that come out well. She doesn’t have to have children to be considered a domestic goddess.”

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I was disappointed that nothing, not one darn thing, was said about greeting your spouse at the door in saran wrap. So…I added to my search, lesbian. I wanted to see if there was a specific definition for a lesbian domestic goddess versus a heterosexual domestic goddess. I did not find a definition specifically of a lesbian domestic goddess, but I did find the anti-definition.

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You all are probably asking yourselves right now what is the anti-definition?  Well, here it is: “Pan scratching lesbian – she burns everything she cooks.” I thought that was flipping hilarious.

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The other thing I found on my search was an actual video of a day in the life of a lesbian domestic goddess. Unfortunately, it did not seem to fit my idea of what my day looks like, so I’ve decided to write my own definition.

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Here’s what I came up with: A woman who loves other women and excels at taking care of the house and her woman. The manner in which she takes care of her woman can come in many ways, here are some of them: keeps the house clean, greets her at the door with a kiss and an apron (only an apron), runs all the errands, empties the old herb planters (added this because I just did that this week), and finally, writes her little hiney (this is how it is spelled in the urban dictionary) off so that she doesn’t have to stay in the house, cooking, cleaning, etc. forever.

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Okay, I admit it, I haven’t quite taken to the domestic goddess role like a duck to water. The other day I had one simple task to complete (empty the herb planters). The problem was that I wasn’t exactly listening too carefully and I thought my wife wanted me to empty the recycling. So…I dutifully went to the recycling center, emptied all the containers, and when my wife came home I proudly announced: “I completed my chore today. The recycling bins are empty.”

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My wife frowned and said, “That’s great honey, but I wanted you to empty the planters. You weren’t listening again, were you. I guess I need to make sure I see the whites of your eyes next time.”

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I hung my head and mumbled, “I’ll do it tomorrow.” I did and when she came home, I was wagging my tail like a puppy dog waiting for her to notice. She didn’t fast enough, so I pointed it out to her. (My wife reads this blog and sometimes comments on how much I embellish – but I swear this part is true).

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I haven’t tried meeting my wife at the door with only an apron. I have to buy the apron because I don’t have one, but one of these days, I’m going to do just that. I have to find creative ways to entertain myself and I think that would be oh so much fun.  Honey…beware of the next time you open the door!

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If you want to be entertained by reading any of my books, I hear a few of them are funny, you know the drill, click the links below…happy reading!

Affinity Author Page         Amazon Author Page

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New Routines

It’s funny how we are creatures of habit. I used to get up every morning at about 5:00. I’d stumble into the second bedroom of the condo, the one we turned into a work-out room, and jump on the bike while I was still half asleep and do my 60-minute workout. A quick shower and I motored out the door before 7:00 and was at my desk before 7:30.

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Sometimes I would stay late to get things done and usually on Friday I would leave by 4:00. Before early retirement, it was very busy so I often stayed late, even on Fridays. My routine changed three weeks ago when I came home very early on Friday. I’m still an early riser, but now I have coffee before my workout.

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I didn’t quite know what to do with myself that first week and I tried to establish a new routine. I set a goal for myself (write two thousand words), but that left me with a whole lot of free time. Time to get depressed, time to get in trouble, time to obsess over the ranking of my latest book, Captivated, and finally, time to hang out on Facebook.

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Here’s the interesting thing. Before I was semi-retired I spent more time on Facebook in the evenings. It was my guilty pleasure. I also would write 500-1000 words before dinner hit the table. Until the last few days, I struggled with that goal of 2,000 words. My wife asked me if I was depressed. I answered honestly that yes, I thought I was. I wasn’t making a very healthy adjustment into the land of leisure.

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I’ve lost my identity as an HR Professional and I want it back. I think I will get it back, but these things take time. In the meantime, I am missing a wonderful opportunity to write my little heart out. I only realized that in the last couple of days when the words started flowing and I’ve been able to write three times as much as my initial goal. I’ve also been able to accomplish everything on the honey-do list. My wife doesn’t put too many items on it, she knows this is a hard time for me.

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So, here’s my new routine. I get up at about 6:00 or 6:30. While drinking my coffee, I start on my daily word count.  I write a scene and then I bounce to Facebook or if a private message pops up, I take a break and answer it. When the words begin to trickle, I make my way into the workout room. After my workout, I hit the shower and depending on whether I have a honey-do item that requires me to leave the condo, I put on makeup and blow dry my hair. Otherwise, I take a shower and hang out on the couch in my robe, and return to my writing.

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I joke a lot on Facebook about being a domestic goddess or maybe taking up a new profession as a sex slave, but I hate not being a full-time professional. I thought I would enjoy retirement, but the truth is that it is not a lot of fun unless your spouse is retired too. Mostly I just have to fight the urge to turn into a couch potato and watch soaps all day, or the lifetime channel. I’ve specifically refused to turn on the TV, because the temptation would be far too great. I used to love the lifetime movies.

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Since I’m close to finishing this book, I have to decide whether to start a new one as wait for my next HR opportunity or obsess over the edits to the ones I already have in various stages of potential publication. I know an HR position is out there, I just hope I won’t get too comfortable in my new routine before it comes my way. I’ve finally developed a new groove and it’s starting to grow on me. If only I could make a living as a full-time author. My new routine would fit perfectly with that plan. I haven’t yet figured out if having plenty of time to write produces a better novel or not. I’ve done something totally out of the norm for me. This new book is pure romance…no mystery…no mash up with another sub-genre…just a simple romance. I know this is what my publisher has been begging for right from the start. I haven’t decided whether I like it or not yet, I’ll leave the judgment of this new work up to the betas who I hope will be honest.

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If you’re interested in reading any of my previous works, written while I was a full-time HR Professional, you know the drill….click the links below.

Link to Captivated

Affinity Author Page         Amazon Author Page

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