C.L. Donley's Blog, page 2

1st Annual Virtual Book Tour May 9th!

[image error]

I’m excited to let you know that I’ll be taking part in a free LIVE! Virtual Book Tour event hosted by L. Loren and featuring some of the most popular multicultural/interracial romance authors in the genre!

This event will be hosted on Zoom and will begin at 11am this Saturday May 9th, until 9pm. Check me out at the 11:30am slot! You’ll have to sign up to attend, so click the link and RSVP: https://llorenwriter.wordpress.com/live-virtual-book-event-sign-up/

There’ll be giveaways and prizes, including free e-books from all the participants, signed copies, etc. Hope to see you guys there!

The post 1st Annual Virtual Book Tour May 9th! appeared first on C. L. Donley Books.

Halcyon Part 3: Return of the Jedi

So, for those of you who are even reading this blog, you know that my latest release suffered a bit of a snafu. It was one book, then it was two, then it was one again… and most of that after release day.

It was a mess, but it had to be done. Because I couldn’t let the sub-par version of the book continue to go out two weeks after launch. The only problem was, the day I had this “two shall become one” epiphany was exactly one day after I’d created the official pre-order for the second part.

Of course, that put me in major trouble. Because you can’t go back on a pre-order with Amazon. They’re like the mafia. Especially since I already had a handful of people who’d signed up to get part 2. So, I hurriedly put another book in its place. And I figured my problem was solved. The improved book would go out, I’d release my alternate universe novella like I’d planned to do anyway (though it was going to be perma-free, but small price to pay), everything’s fine, right? Wrong.

Turns out, Amazon does not automatically update books with significant changes made to them. Instead, you have to contact them, explain to them what you want to change, preferably with “examples,” so that they can determine whether the changes are enough for the technical team to go through with updating the file for previous customers. And that’s the process I’ve been going through for nearly a week now.

But this morning, I had an epiphany.

What if… I updated the pre-order as the updated version of the whole book? And make the old version into the novella?

It won’t be out until the 31st, but I still think it’d be faster than Amazon dragging their feet about updating the file. Anyone who purchased the first part were waiting for part 2 anyway. And let’s face it, most people aren’t even really aware of what went down with it. I mean, the reviews would be a little confused (and I love all of you for leaving them and I won’t ask anything else of you) but there’s only 11 of them. The novella will tank on Amazon now in place of the old book, but that’s okay. It’s essentially a dummy release, to make up for the erroneous pre-order I created. I’ve got another month’s worth of launch lined up for Halcyon anyway, it would just be a matter of emailing a few people, changing a few links.

Goodreads will be a little wonky, but if I can somehow convince them that it was their fault, it might be alright :p. I don’t know if this will make the Zon go, “what the what?” but I’m hoping the giant will stay asleep while I perform this switcheroo that somehow just occurred to me today. Fingers crossed, people! Updates are still in review at the time of me posting this, but here’s the new link, just for posterity. I gotta get used to using it. Wish me luck! https://www.amazon.com/dp/B083ZKL81P

P.S. Update: forgot that I can’t change a book once it’s published so I took the old version down completely. Which is actually better! No more confusion, and I get to put up my novella for free later like a planned. Thanks, Life!

The post Halcyon Part 3: Return of the Jedi appeared first on C. L. Donley Books.

I’m Totes Obsessed With Adam Driverz

He’s so not your average leading man that it’s intimidating. Former military, the muse of the best directors of our generation. He is tall. Thoughtful. Articulate. Hilarious?!?!?!! No one fucking expected that. Is he 20 years old? 40 years old? No one knows. He could pretty much tell you anything, couldn’t he? Adam Driver is never in life going to approach us for sex, and that is a reality that we as women are all going to have to face. Because he is married. In a private way that says, “Don’t even think about fucking with this thing that is mine.” It is equal parts hot and deflating. I got a family too Adam Driver. How can you be my free pass, Adam Driver, if you’re so focused on your wife? How? How??? That woman deserves exactly one high five, every day.

Adam Driver is that kid in high school that you were unabashedly mean to, because you were 100% sure that wasn’t ever gonna come back to bite you. And then you resolve with contrition to be a better person when you realize how wrong you were, and wonder how many other things in your life you were THIS WRONG about.

Adam Driver is also that guy in college that’s a few years older than you, has a completely different major, with classes in a completely different building, a girlfriend that looks nothing like you, and is clearly just on a completely different life trajectory that doesn’t involve you. But it doesn’t stop you from finding out whatever strangers can tell you about him, making extra long trips through campus, and on that magical day you are rewarded with his presence in the library at the same time as you, you don’t fucking approach him and talk to him (are you fucking crazy?), you hide behind a shelf at the library and quietly observe him, confident that it’s all a sign from God.

He’s the guy at the bar, that you have to sneak looks at, because you can’t quite tell if he’s hot, because his hotness is on some sort of weird time-release system that also depends on context, and that makes him rare, and that makes you want him. Because if he’s an asshole at all, then he’s not hot. Unless he’s an artist. Then he is. Unless we’re talking like… a rapper or something, then he’s not. Unless he like… raps for old people at a nursing home or something else really eccentric and unpretentious, then he’s hot again. Of course, you can’t tell all that with just a few glances at the bar, which is why you have to pretend to go to the bathroom, sneak behind a wall and observe him undisturbed and gather intel, after which you conclude… fuck. He is hot. Because he’s eating alone and wearing a fucking watch in 2020. (If you can’t tell, I did a lot of stalking in my 20’s)

As you may well know, Adam was the visual inspiration for my latest release, Halcyon, and later became character inspiration, the more research that I did. And once the research began, so, of course, did the obsession. I remember seeing him in Star Wars the first time back in the day and being all like, “Who is this weird looking emo dude that I’ve never seen?” But in the back of my mind, I was like, “Yo, do we need to bring back the tunic?”

I put on Adam Driver movies while I wrote (Paterson was a good one for this), I watched Girls (only the clips because… I can’t with this whole show), I watched Marriage Story– thrice— and the projects informed a lot of the narrative ultimately, and what I wanted to say with this novel.

So, in conclusion, I hope you’re reading Halcyon with Adam Driver in place as the hero, because if you aren’t you’re reading it wrong. I don’t wanna hear about how he’s “unredeemable” just because you can’t follow directions.

[image error]

MARRY HIM IN YOUR MIND AS I DO.

Also, read Halcyon. It sucked a little at first, but then I fixed it. There’s sex in the back of a Nissan Versa. You’re welcome. http://www.amazon.com/dp/B082Z5C3KD

The post I’m Totes Obsessed With Adam Driverz appeared first on C. L. Donley Books.

Soo… About that New Release…

So… ‘member when Halcyon came out and I promised there would be two books?

Well, I didn’t know it then, but I was lying.

The good news is, I’ll be updating the current manuscript to a revised version that will combine the two books into a full novel, rather than two novellas.

The bad news is, if you pre-ordered “Luke and Lyric,” you will not, in fact, be getting Luke and Lyric, because it no longer exists in the world as we know it.

You will, instead, be getting a novella that I’ve been wanting to release as part of the Billionaire’s Club Series, which was once a serial from my newsletter. And now I have the perfect excuse to do so. So that’s what I’m doing.

Why? Basically, because I couldn’t cancel the pre-order. Well, I could, but if I did, I would be barred from using the pre-order feature on Amazon for a year. Which would suck.

Do I deserve that? Probably. It just so happened that ONE DAY after I decide to be proactive and force myself to set a firm date on book 2, I have this epiphany about my original idea and how far I landed from it.

The second bad news is, I’m still working on the final manuscript as of this weekend, so the revised version isn’t available as of yet. If you’ve already purchased the original release, the updates should automatically download. I’ve had problems with that whole deal in the past so let me know via email or social media if you can’t get the updated copy once it’s released (fingers crossed!) by the 24th.

The better news is, Halcyon will be a better reading experience, once the two books are integrated. Hopefully, I guess. Who the hell knows. And my apologies for any mix-up, confusion, discombobulation, etc. It’s ten times worse on this side, trust me! Shoot me in the face!

The post Soo… About that New Release… appeared first on C. L. Donley Books.

Halcyon: Now Available for Pre-Order!

So, I’ma keep it 100 with you guys, b/c that’s really the only way I know how to keep it. Sometimes books hit you like lightning bolts of inspiration, and you stay up all night to write in a rush, only to wake up the next morning with an insatiable need to finish the story. And sometimes… that doesn’t happen. Like… at all.

This book is like a baby born breech. And I am both mother and doctor. In both roles, I am sweating, puzzled and slowly freaking out. It started out smooth and routine and then slowly became this grueling battle of the will and a lesson in self-discovery. This book wrestled some part of me, I don’t know if it was my ego, my better judgment, my procrastination, or what. But we did not get along.

At some point, I did have the helpful realization that I seem to be writing two stories, which is why this book will essentially have a part 1 and part 2, released within weeks of each other (fingers crossed). But even after that, I was constantly torn between making something truly compelling or just finishing the damn thing. And both the mother in me and the doctor in me are exhausted. The only thing I can really say about this book is that it’s here. And… we did it!

[image error]

This book is about a couple that uses an expensive and unorthodox matchmaking agency called Halcyon that has a 100% matchmaking success rate– until these two. They are paired using a blend of technology that they are expected to trust, but they struggle because the heroine Bria is overweight and Cliff is sort of a hot mess incel. This particular book takes place years after they’ve left the program.

In my mind, I’ve had these two cast for a while. I found this plus-size model Precious Lee a while ago and I’d been looking for the best project to use her for. For the hero, I needed someone who wasn’t conventionally attractive, who could believably be relying on a program to find a romantic partner but also had hotness potential. Adam Driver came to my mind almost immediately, but I kept shopping around. Finally, I did some more research on him and decided I liked him.

[image error]Luke & Lyric

Besides Leftovers, this is the first book that I’ve released that’s based on an original idea. Meaning, this is an idea that I developed myself rather than deriving from other tropes in the genre that I’ve already read. Which is not to say no one’s ever done a story like this. The Black Mirror episode entitled Hang the DJ is probably my favorite interpretation of the dating agency trope. I just mean this book wasn’t inspired by anything else besides whatever mishmash of creative perspective is swirling around in my own brain.

Do I hate the book? No, I don’t hate it. And overall, I’m excited to be releasing it, just not for the reasons that I usually am. Mostly, I’m interested to know if there’s any real correlation between how much I care about my book to how much YOU care about my book. I’ve heard of this phenomenon, maybe even experienced it. But never as the author. So regardless of how I feel about it now or later, this is still an important release for me and it’s still very much me. It’s not muddled by outside feedback or anything like that. I put my all into it, if not more, and I’m genuinely eager to see what new fans it garners.

New Release Halcyon: Sneak Peek

The Halcyon program has only grown in respect and mystique over their now fifteen years of matchmaking. When I went through it six years ago, they were still boasting 100% success of all the participants. Single, usually hopeless, candidates leave the program as part of a couple. The foolproof methods Halcyon uses to guarantee a soulmate comes from a blend of technology, biology, psychology, and, of course, sex. Naturally, with its high price tag, extensive, invasive testing, and painstaking process, only serious participants make it through, and everyone found success. Until us.

Bria

This is it. I’ve officially hit rock bottom. I’ve let myself go, with no signs of letting up. So you’d think I wouldn’t be surprised when the day comes.

Ever since I got back from Halcyon, I haven’t been able to eat my feelings fast enough. I went back to school, finished my degree at USC and drowned myself in fried cheese. I can’t bear to look at a scale, but I’ve been up and down enough that I’m practically an honorary dietician.

I know I’m 300 lbs now, at least. I just know that. And all I’ve done about it up to now is worry. I can’t bear to leave the house anymore for the shame. I sure as shit can’t go out networking and applying for jobs. I was trying to move on, or at least I somehow convinced myself that’s what I was doing. Anyone could look at me and see I was stuck.

And now? Now I’m literally stuck. For real. After flailing and wheezing and panting from trying to sit up it’s finally happened. I can’t get out of the bed.

Rock bottom. I woke up every day in fear of it. But I never expected it to be this… literal. I just lay on my bed weeping. Fuck! My sister Skye is on speaker with the phone next to me on the pillow. She just sits and listens to me being the most pitiful human being that’s ever lived. And I know it’s a lot to put on her. It’s a lot to put on anyone. But I literally can’t hold in another thing.

“Just move to Houston, Bria. With me,” Skye says sympathetically. Hardly any real solution, but that isn’t surprising. Skye’s solution to every problem was always, “just come with me to this thing.”

I sigh. “I don’t know, Skye. What would be the point?”

“Well, for one you wouldn’t be alone. For two, you’ll be far away from Mom, which we all need. You said you wanted to get from out of the Forrester shadow. And to do that you gotta leave L.A. The music scene is jumping in Houston. 4D Acres is building their next satellite office here.”

“That means getting on a plane…”

“Not right away. Just get yourself back down to your pre-Halcyon weight for now. I know you can do that in a pinch. What’ll that take, a month?”

The inner me was screaming in agony but I was done listening to that bitch. She’s insane. Look at me!

Skye was the only one brave enough to talk about my weight ballooning as a matter of practicality. Unless you count the paparazzi.

“’In a pinch.’ Because it’s so easy, Skye.”

“No, it isn’t. That’s why you should start now.”

The very thought of trying to scrape up enough willpower to get to the fires of weight loss Mordor is exhausting. It’s exhausting when I’m optimistic. Now there’s no relief in sight.

“No, Skye. I know when I’m not ready, and I’m just not. I’m just too beat up.”

“That’s your own doing, Bri.”

My heartbeat instantly doubles defensively. Not Skye too.

“How can you say that? After what’s happened? After what they posted?”

I showed up in the tabloids not that long ago. A slow day in tabloid history, for sure. But still.

“They’re just saying what you’ve already said to yourself a million times, Bria. You gonna get surprised when TMZ repeats it?? Do you believe yourself or don’t you?”

Damn.

A single tear falls across my nose down to my pillow as my sister continues to massage my raw, stiff soul. The pain makes it hard to see the point.

“You should’ve been building yourself back up all this time. What good is it, trying to beat people to the punchline if you’re just gonna get upset about how they respond anyway?”

“I barely made it through last semester. Mom wanted a big ass graduation party and all this…”

“Stop worrying about what Mom wants. I’m not gonna sit here and say I know what it’s like to go through a program like Halcyon and come back with nothing. But you picked up and went back to school like nothing happened.”

“And now I’m in hell.”

“You can dig yourself out.”

“I can’t.”

“You can. And you’re going to.”

I break down in tears, gasping for air.

“I need help!”

Skye didn’t answer for a long time. The struggle is both real and old for me, and Skye was always the first one to rescue me. She’s probably looking for a red-eye right now, getting her former trainer on the phone—

“Okay. Then get yourself some help.”

Oh. I guess it’s tough love time. Fair enough. I’ve done this to her enough times. She’s allowed to be tired. I feel a lump in my throat.

“So you’re done helping me?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“I don’t want Mom to know anything.”

“Well, that’s gonna be hard, but I think we can do it. I’ll make some phone calls, but you gotta be 100% transparent Bri. If you slip, don’t do it alone. If you’re not fine, don’t say that you are. Promise me, okay?”

“Okay.”

“I’m proud of you. I’m so fucking proud of you, Bria. You know that?”

“Yes.” I wipe my tears.

We decide it’s best to call mom’s assistant Tyra to confidentially come in and remove my extensive snack stash and replace it all with fresh food. So I did. Best way to do it is no last hoorahs. Rip the band-aid off. Have someone else do it if you can.

The next day Aunt Pat comes over, my mom’s long time hair and makeup stylist. She is not my mom’s or anyone’s sister, but I know if Aunt Pat’s at my door it means that Mom found out about what I was doing, even though I don’t know how. But Forresters leak like a sieve. And also, maybe the disgusting paps followed Tyra leaving the reclusive sea beast’s lair with four grocery bags full of Ding-Dongs.

Pat gives my hair her patented conditioning treatment. It involves Saran wrap and it’s the last thing I need to be worried about. But dammit, if I don’t feel like I’m gonna knock this thing out once I see my shiny and voluptuous hair in the bathroom mirror that’s just past my shoulders when it’s straight. I owe it to the world to chip away this gorgeous slab of marble.

Cooking for myself’s gonna be a bitch. Not because it’s hard, but because it reminds me of Halcyon. When Luke and I would cook on the weekends. Meals were like magic— follow the directions and they came out tasting exceptional every time. I wish I could remember some of those recipes. The night we had the chimichurri chicken was the night he asked me if I loved him. I admitted I did. I ruined the salsa verde enchiladas and they were still delicious.

Everything was of the highest quality. I even lost a few pounds without trying, and despite eating as much as I wanted while I was there. They really spared no expense. I was 80 pounds lighter then— still heavy, still constantly stalked by shame. I’d kill someone to snap my fingers right now and be back there.

By the end of day three, I already want to quit. It’s a hell sandwich. I go to sleep in my reclining chair instead of the bed and cry my eyes out. Hungry. And on top of it, the Halcyon nightmare is back.

It starts out well enough, with Luke’s hands on my hips. Luke moving underneath me hard and intimate. And then I hear laughing. It merely distracts me in the dream.

I’m not self-conscious at all until the dream changes and suddenly we’re not in the suite we shared for six months, we’re in the fucking dining hall. Or should I say, we’re fucking in the dining hall. On top of one of the shiny metal picnic-style tables. Somehow I knew it was an audition. The person wasn’t laughing at me, they weren’t even paying attention. Suddenly the dining hall is more full than it’s ever been. For some reason I’m too embarrassed to simply pry my naked body from his and run out. I have to pretend that I meant to fuck him in the dining hall. I have to keep going. Luke is obnoxiously indifferent, as usual. The way he was when we weren’t lying down.

I wake up with a dull ache in my chest, not to mention between my legs. Note to self: next time that dream rolls around, get over yourself and ride him for all he’s worth.

I buy a calendar. Prep my meals. Fast intermittently. Cross off the x’s until Houston. I don’t go near a scale. It doesn’t matter, not anymore. This can’t be temporary. Not if I can’t map out a new way to live and stick with it. If I haven’t lost enough weight this month, I simply have to keep going until I do.

Cliff

I’m awake. In a strange room I don’t recognize. I’m waiting for something to attack me. Something black and oozing from the wall. I hold my breath. Someone walks past the window and my heart leaps from my chest. But nothing happens. I want to say that it’s normal, but normal feels like it was only a dream. It feels inconsequential. And the dreams are what I’ve considered real for what seems like eternity. Unbearably frightening. But colorful. With only the illusion of separateness.

Another person walks by without incident. A landline phone rings. I want to feel relief but I’m afraid to hope. Maybe I only see them but they don’t see me.

I need to test it out but I’m terrified. Don’t say anything don’t say anything don’t say anything…

“Hello?”

At first, nothing happens. Then, a quiet-looking woman in scrubs.

Is this a hospital?

“Sir, do you know where you are?”

“No.”

“Do you know your name?”

“Cliff.”

“Your whole name, Cliff.”

“Cliff Novak.”

“Your parent’s names?”

“Nadia and Cliff Sr. Am I in the hospital?”

“Yes. What year is it?”

“…I don’t know.”

“Try to guess.”

“2014?”

“Good.”

“What’s wrong with me?”

“…There was an accident. You’ve been in a coma awhile. In and out of consciousness for a few days. What’s the last thing you remember?”

“I was… in a hell.”

“You were in hell?”

“In one of them, yes.”

“Okay,” she patiently replies, “Do you remember having an accident?”

“What kind of accident.”

“A… bus accident.”

I search my memory. The last woman I was with. She kicked me out. A conversation with a cop. On the side of the highway. Shit, that must’ve not been a dream.

“Is everyone okay?” I ask.

“Sorry, is who okay?”

“Was anyone else hurt?”

“…No, everyone else is fine.”

“What about the cop?”

“Which cop?”

“There was a cop. That talked to me.”

“Officer Rainier? He’s been visiting since you were airlifted here.”

I gulp. Damn, I should remember an accident bad enough to warrant a helicopter flight to the hospital.

“Am I… is anything broken?”

“Mr. Novak, just about everything is broken. Or was. Your surgeries went well, but it will take time to rehabilitate.”

“I want to see.”

The nurse takes a diplomatic breath and musters her most authoritative tone.

“There’s no way I’m having this conversation again. Get some rest now, Mr. Novak. We’ll brief you fully tomorrow.”

I get the sense that I should do what she says, which is easy because I’m exhausted. I’m afraid because I might wake up again to a fresh place. My sleep is dreamless, or maybe I am still awake, but the conversation outside my door bleeds into my consciousness and forces images to emerge, images that are probably a re-creation of the room that I’m in. A long window with a set of blinds. Twinkling moonlight that’s too bright to be from the moon. My bed on a hilltop.

“Any change?” I hear a male voice.

“Well, he didn’t try to yank out his catheter with his one good arm today. Also, he knows what year it is. And mentioned the cop.”

“Should be any day now, then. Did you get a hold of the parents?”

“I did. They were pretty shocked, said that they haven’t heard from him in over a year.”

“Are they coming here?”

“They were in Granada last I heard. Had to cut their vacation short.”

“Long as the check clears.”

“Also, he’s having nightmares. Clonidine?”

“Ask me again tomorrow.”

Maybe it’s the next day. Days feel more like scenes. It’s been a few scenes since the nurse told me to lie down. Another nurse came and told me there was an accident. I asked if everyone was okay and she said “You’ll see.” Then my parents were here. They talk about me like I’m not here, like they usually do. They’re talking about a thing called Halcyon, which my brain knows. I was on my way there. It was something good and something bad. Sex and boot camp. Disneyland and college.

My parents are gone and another person enters the scene. I don’t recognize him, but he’s a cop. And a cop is one of the last things I remember. He must be that cop.

“How ya feel, Hank?” he says. He calls me Hank, which isn’t my name, I know that for sure. Nice guy. Interested in me for some reason, like we did something together. We didn’t just meet and become friends, I know that. He’s not like anyone who I would ever befriend or vice versa. A nurse comes and takes me and bathes me since I can’t do anything. I hope I can get out of here soon but I’m not sure why yet.

“We recommend moving your son back to Napierville where his rehabilitation will be much more cost-effective for both of you. I’ve contacted Dr. Krueger out of Lawrence Medical. A colleague of mine. He’ll be expecting you.”

My parents are back again in their recurring roles. I woke up yesterday knowing where I was, and why I was there. And the cop. But not much else. Meanwhile a nurse has my right leg in her arms.

“How long until he regains his memory, Doctor?”

“His long term memory appears to be intact and his short term memory shows signs of recovery. He’s missing what happened the night of the accident. The officer maintains that it was a suicide attempt.”

“Impossible. My son would never do anything like that.”

“Didn’t I tell you? Didn’t I say this would happen if you cut him off?” my mother scolds dramatically.

“Cliff still doesn’t have a memory of that night and honestly it would be a lot to expect of him.”

“He didn’t come home after leaving Halcyon. We couldn’t even get his discharge information from them. They wouldn’t give us anything. Now, he doesn’t even remember ever being there?”

Shit, that wasn’t a dream either. I was there? I feel anxious when I think about it, like it’s about to happen. I’m about to be taken there and left alone.

“My suspicion is that whatever happened there is related to his accident.”

“My son did not try to kill himself,” my dad says, like he’s in a movie. I don’t remember if I did or not, but I probably did, based on the context of my charmed life, that which I do remember. And the strength of my father’s telltale denial. I do remember my fiancee… dropping out of college… that I remember quite well. That was real. I was hurt, but I was getting over it. I wouldn’t have tried to kill myself over her. Not all at once. It didn’t do anything but solidify my bad opinion of women. How do I remember that and not Halcyon?

“Be that as it may, if the two incidents are linked, it may contribute to his inability to retrieve that information.”

“Who’s going to put my son back together?”

“We’ll do our best. We can nurse his body back to health. But ultimately the rest is up to him.”

Felix

Even though he’s now an hour out of the way, I’m still visiting this kid faithfully on weekends at the St. Lawrence Rehabilitation Center.

I’m starting to look forward to our visits. In any other universe the two of us would probably never like each other. He’s a trust fund kid, although I think technically to be considered that you have to leave your parents’ house, which he apparently only did when forced. Me, I’m the kind of guy that knows how to talk to everyone. I always liked helping people. Always liked being the life of the party. Police work mellowed me out a bit, but otherwise my wisecracking and jovial nature goes a long way with a lot of perps who end up going to jail anyway. But they’re always in a good mood when they go.

Cliff’s parents are loaded. The father’s in natural resources. Fairly old money. Clean coal, whatever the fuck that is. From what I’ve had to glean, Cliff’s the only child. Spoiled. Basically they raised a loser who leeched off of them. They would never use those words, of course. But I would. And I’m not leaving them off the hook either. Even with his memory still fuzzy, Cliff’s a bit of a blank slate. No direction, no ambition, no real passion. Not even for the girl that drove him to the ledge where I found him that night, the girl he can’t remember anymore.

But I’m working on changing that. I got a chance to really imprint something on this guy that could have a lasting effect. Cliff was a crazed, sobbing mess of a man when we briefly met. Now he’s doing physical therapy, learning to walk, simply because he can’t think of what else he’d previously planned to be doing. I hope, for his sake, the memories never come back.

I get to the hospital and check in only a few paces from Cliff’s room. I can see Cliff’s room door’s already open so I confidently walk toward it, seeing Cliff in his familiar catatonic looking state on the edge of the bed while two nurses help put back on his trousers. Either he’s gone to the bathroom or been given a bath. Lucky bastard.

“Hank!” I greet him. Cliff’s big dark eyes are blank a moment longer before the delay of a wide smile registers the familiarity between us.

“Hey Felix,” Cliff says. It’s the friendly tone of a man that has an unexpectedly persistent visitor, not of someone who remembered once trying to jump off a ledge and was stopped by a highway patrolman.

“Your move, Hank.”

“Why do you call me that?”

“What, Hank? It’s from Regarding Henry. It’s the ultimate amnesia movie, bro.”

“Did he also have a zany friend that came to visit him?”

“Zany physical therapist.”

“Ah.”

“You’re awfully quiet today.”

“I’m feeling contemplative.”

It’s warm enough that September afternoon to play chess on the balcony during my visit. Dr. Krueger thinks it’d be good for his amnesia to play games, particularly games he still remembered well enough to teach someone else.

“So, you given any thought to what you want to do once you get outta here?”

“I have, actually.”

“And?”

“…I think I wanna be a cop,” Cliff announces.

“Really?” I say, amused. Suprised, really. And I think I’ve earned the right to be flattered.

“Yeah.”

“You’re not doing that on account of me are you?”

“Sort of.”

“Hank, I’m touched.”

“You saved my life. You cared about me. Without knowing who I was.”

“Anyone would do what I did in my position.”

“I don’t think so. You help people.”

“There’s tons of other ways to help people, you know. Ways that are a lot less… thankless. Sure you wanna take the oath?”

“Why not? I’ve been a dickhead my entire life.”

“And now you want to help put dickheads away?”

“…Sort of. They need a sympathetic ear. After Harvard, I think I can survive anything.”

“Harvard, huh? Well. We’ll see.”

“Also, she told me once she had a thing for civil servants.”

I stop in my tracks. She??

Surely he’s not talking about the broad who started all of this. Like he suddenly gained his entire memory back.

Cliff sometimes says jumbled shit. Dr. Krueger says to ignore it, unless he doesn’t.

“Well, you know I’ll help you any way I can,” I reply.

“I know. Still got a lotta work to do.”

“I’m not worried. Doctor says you’re killing your physical therapy.”

“No, it’s definitely killing me.”

“Well, you’re recovering in record time. Everyone’s amazed, no bullshit.”

“How do you know?”

“I’m a cop, people tell me things.”

“Well once I’m well enough to walk on my own, they’re gonna boot me outta this place. I’m looking at at least another year.”

“There’s no rush.”

“For you, maybe.”

“I wouldn’t worry. It’s not like your parents wouldn’t let you—”

“I’m not going back there.”

I stop again, looking at the chess board like I’m planning my next move, but really I’m stunned to silence.

I’m not going back there. It’s the same thing he said that night on the highway bridge.

“You remember,” is all I said. “Everything?”

“I think so.”

“How long?”

“Not long.”

“At my last visit?”

“No.”

“Well… that’s great,” I reason. “I take it I’m the only one who knows.”

“For right now.”

“Gonna enlighten anyone else?”

“Maybe Dr. Payton. If I can trust him.”

“Dr. Payton?”

“He’s the neurologist here.”

“Not your parents?”

“It’s just better that they don’t treat me the way they treated their son. If that makes any sense.”

“It makes perfect sense.”

We play a few chess moves in silence as if afraid of the place being bugged.

“We had a therapist. At Halcyon,” Cliff moves his knight. “Met with us every week and stuff. His name was Dr. Payton too. It was weird for the first few weeks here. Like a phantom limb. I kept wanting to scratch this itch. Kept wanting to sit down with my doctor ever week and it wouldn’t go away. It just sort of… pushed through.”

“And you remember the girl too?”

He ignores me, and for a minute I think he hasn’t heard me. I look up at him and I can tell that he did hear me. But he won’t say her name. Almost like he’s not ready to. But I remember it, because it was a pretty unique name. Lyric. He hesitates before moving his bishop.

“’Course I remember… ‘the girl,’” he says. “I remember what you said about her.”

“What did I say?”

“You said, ‘before you jump, maybe you should talk to her first.’”

“And you thought that was a terrible idea.”

“Not terrible. Just impossible.”

“And what do you think now?”

“I think… one day at a time,” Cliff says.

“Here here.”

It wasn’t all the time that going the extra mile got me a big win. In fact, most times it never did. There’s not a whole lotta years between us, but to see this young man in his right mind, taking back control of his life is like watching a tap dancing duck. It’s a sight to see, and it feels even better.

“I think I saw her on television, but I still have a little trouble understanding what’s real.”

“Wait, what now?”

“Never mind. It’s crazy.”

“Not necessarily.”

“Checkmate.”

I look down at the board. “No fuckin’ way.”

“You’re terrible at this game dude.”

“I practiced online. I downloaded a fuckin’ book.”

“Felix.”

“What, buddy.”

“Thanks, man. For my life.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Halcyon is now available for pre-order exclusively on Amazon. Also in Kindle Unlimited!

The post Halcyon: Now Available for Pre-Order! appeared first on C. L. Donley Books.

I’m Totes Obsessed with Tom Hollandz

In that way, fam. Is it borderline inappropriate? I’ll be the first to admit it: yes. He’s fourteen years younger than me, twice the number of my current cougar powers. One year shy of the threshold when these types of relationships are borderline gross to many– and that’s when the genders are flipped. But from GQ photoshoots, being all of us while spoiling expensive-ass movies, dance moves and holding babies and puppies, to sick professionalism, natural charm and delightfulness, famous friends, spot-on accents and dubious Illuminati ritual shit, not to mention being the best Spiderman to date (according to both my dad and Kevin Smith who have a million combined hours of comic book expertise), this dude is bonafide celebrity crush catnip.

Is it sudden? Or has it been brewing for nearly two years? All very important questions.

Looking back I probably never had a chance. It was January 2018 when I was starting my second novel. I needed visual inspiration for one of my minor characters Dale Abernathy who was getting his own book and Tom was one of the first people I thought of. “That new Spiderman kid,” thought I. Had him his little brown girlfriend in the movie, and I was here for it.

But then I thought, “wait, isn’t he like a teenager?”

I looked up his age and I wasn’t far off. He was legal and all, but it was my second book, and I didn’t know how I felt about having to envision a baby have sex lol. Even though he was playing 34 in my mind. I tried to “re-cast” him as Joe Keery (Steve Harrington) from Stranger Things, which lasted about a week or two before I switched back to Tom, b/c visually speaking, he’s Dale to me and that’s just the end of it. I remember laughing at myself for looking up his birthday again after that two weeks, in hopes that his age had budged at all in that short time, lol.

Cut to: May 2018. Book 2 isn’t out yet, but I’m on to book three and over my hangups. Going to see Avengers, because movies. I have no idea the plot, haven’t seen a trailer, don’t need to. I didn’t know if My Tom Holland was in it, but I also didn’t know there was supposed to be two movies, soooo…. when they killed My Tom Holland at the end of it, against the will of all people– well. My heart was in a deep pit of despair. I flipped over tables, knocked over drinks and hollered out “this some BULLshit!” You might be asking yourself, “you flipped over tables in the movie theater?” to which I reply, “yes. I live in Texas, honey. They got tables and leather lazy boy recliners and some mo’.”

That damn death scene almost got me to lactating. Did they just kill My Tom Hollandz in front of my face like that??? While he begged for his life?? I still wasn’t obsessed by this point, but it was about 60/40 inappropriate, with appropriateness still in the majority. Whenever I saw My Tom Holland, it was mostly kind of a motherly energy. Like the matriarch in the community telling the younger girls, “You need to snatch up that little Tom Holland, he’s a cutie!” Another reason that I was trying to keep it at appropriate levels was that he reminds me of my son a bit. Which is weird b/c my son is mixed and only 6 years old. But they both do this face thing– fans call it the “frog in the mouth” face (a detail which proves that I’m telling the truth about being obsessed with him b/c I have no business knowing that, grown as I am). My son also does the face, and so sometimes for a split second it would be like looking at a grown version of my son, which made my brain do a laptop reboot thing like, “aannnd restart. All unsaved data cannot be restored. Your tabs are gone.”

I don’t know if it’s a personality trait or what, but my son does make the face. I thought it would be cool if it’s some genetic thing, like if they both have Irish in them or something, because my husband is Irish. Conversations like these helped me keep this alll above board, so willing was I for it to not be weird. I just wanted to pinch his cute lil’ face, make him cheese eggs in the morning, and that’s it. Sure, maybe the possessives were a little much, maybe I was pinning Pinterest pictures of him long after the book was published, and maybe I had a little too much to say about his jawline… that’s the 40% percent I was talking about. It was totally under control, people.

It doesn’t help that when you spend so much time visualizing these characters, seeing them walk and talk in real life adds to their association in your mind with what you’ve created. I did that on purpose, to give myself an innocent amusement in my otherwise boring life. Dale’s not English and doesn’t share Tom’s personality, so all these things are great ways to stave off obsession. Not that it even matters– I didn’t think I would ever need to STAVE OFF OBSESSION.

And then that damn Far From Home came out.

Y’all… it’s one thing for the movie to throw the brown girls a bone. It is a whole… ‘nother… level… to establish… a pattern. What Kevin Feige is tryna tell me… is not just that Peter Parker is from a diverse place and that the casting is therefore plausible and realistic… he’s tryna tell me… that Peter Parker has a type… and that type is somewhere between toffee and cinnamon. And literally, the entire world is here for it.

Has this ever happened in the history of ever? With any white hero? This is the MAIN mainstream, so I’m completely shook daddy by this point. I still remember how book lovers went off about Rue being black in the Hunger Games movie, and all she did was die. She wasn’t fucking kissing Spiderman!

Lemme just stop here and say, that I am so glad that I am not a 16-year-old girl in these times. I was already a wreck, and Instagram would not have improved upon that state. I grew up in suburbia where white guys were not an option at 16, and that was a shared perspective. There was an odd freedom in not being “in the running” at this age. It provided a momentary reprieve in an otherwise tumultuous time period and enabled me to have friendships with guys and vice versa without the sexual pressures [mostly]. I can’t imagine having even more of a reason to be self-conscious at that age. I would just… explode.

So anyway, back to My Tom Holland. I saw Far From Home with my hubby and we did not stay for the post-credit scene the first time I saw the movie, so my brain instantly started writing the next movie (a common occurrence) where… it cuts to quite a few years in the future, Peter’s at the Daily Bugle (dot net?), probably doing some indie online journalism realness, and MJ’s doing whatever she’s doing, but the relationship has happened off-screen and has already ended [or has it?] and the shit would be like…hot. Like, she hates him, we don’t know why. Probably has something to do with the amount of time being Spiderman takes up, you know, something to legit break up with My Tom Holland over.

How’s he holding up, you ask? Not good, you guys. Just goood and first-love-fucked-up over it. He’s borderline stalkery about it, like… I can’t even explain it properly. Well, okay lemme try…

So there’s a scene in my mind where… she’s like in a hotel or something for some work-related thing, I guess, but he shows up unannounced as Peter, and she’s like… in a bathrobe or a towel and feeling super uncomfortable and he’s like…. unfazed. Y’know what I’m sayin? Because he’s like… tapped that. So, so many times. Hawt! Oh, and also villains and fighting or whatever. She’s in danger, she needs to be saved, all that good shit.

I was trying to use my brainwaves to send this idea to the pertinent individuals with my mind, as per usual. But then I saw the post-credit scene and I realized they were gonna have Spiderman wearing a backpack for the next ten years. Which is cool too, I get it. He has the babyface to do that, and I think, the mental fortitude and/or enthusiasm [so far], so I’m down. Take my money, I’ll go see all ten of them shits. And then I was like, “hey, you write stories too, y’know” but taking that idea for myself means creating an entire separate superhero mythology, just to have hot sex scenes, like….. really? So basically it’s in the works, haha :p #summer2021

Anyway, the point of this long-ass post, is that I’m obsessed with Tom Holland. I just switched it from 60/40 majority inappropriate, to like 80/20 not appropriate, terrorist threat level orange (he’s not old enough to know that reference, guys). I bought Spiderman 1 & 2 on DVD folks. BRAND NEW. The last DVD I bought was Fun With Dick and Jane, at the Salvation Army, and I have no idea where it is (hilarious movie, btw).

I check his Instagram when I’m bored. I check it when I’m not bored and have tons of other shit to do. Whenever I’m done writing a passage that’s supposed to be a turning point or something impactful, and I wonder if it’s good enough, I imagine Tom Holland reading it. Publicly. And from there, I decide whether it’s good enough (I recommend any writer doing this btw. You don’t have to use My Tom Holland for it, but if you don’t and it doesn’t work, don’t come crying to me). If I’m at my computer and I get writer’s block I just go “whatever, I’m gonna go watch ‘Tom Holland being a dork for 12 minutes’ on YouTube.” If I’m feeling shitty, I go watch Tom Holland do press tours for two hours. I don’t mean to, but you know how YouTube is, it just keeps digging through the archives, finding me more obscure shit and recommending it. I legit cannot talk to my husband about it, he does not find it funny.

So it feels good to tell someone about it. I hope I’ve convinced you to be obsessed too [if you aren’t already], so we can be obsessed together! I can’t remember the last time I fangirled over anyone, and I think it’s keeping me young, so I’ll take it! It can be sort of fun if you’re halfway mentally healthy. I’m glad gorgeous men are still being born in all their varied forms. They’re like chicken noodle soup for the planet. I just made that up, but I think it’s true.

[image error]Come aaahhhhn!

The post I’m Totes Obsessed with Tom Hollandz appeared first on C. L. Donley Books.

September Romance Reads #Giveaways!

Fall is almost upon us, and with it, a new era of storytelling, which will be a return to form, the kind of real-life characters that made Leftovers so popular. Although, “the book that shall not be named” is probably going to rile more feathers than not.

But first things first, it’s time to gather together a newly recruited crop of romantic readers from all walks of life and all corners of the Earth. And to do that, I have to “give myself away” so to speak, shout out to Marvin Sapp. And God.

[image error]

So for the next month, practically my entire catalog will be in one giveaway or another at some point through the month of September. Exclusively on BookFunnel. If you’re a romance reader that doesn’t know about BookFunnel, it’s a great way for authors to get exposure from a large audience of readers, and readers who to get to try new authors, stories and genres practically risk-free. I say “practically” because, while “free” is easy on the wallet, there is an investment of time given. And there are some books out there that I, unfortunately, cannot un-read.

But I’m sure most of you know your limits by now. For those with the obsessive-compulsive need to finish a book you start, my thoughts and prayers are with you.

So here’s what the schedule looks like:

Rich Little Poor Girl– One Weekend Only!, ends tomorrow

Amara’s Calling– September Racy Reads Giveaway, 9/1-9/30

Love on a Lark– International Romance Giveaway, 9/1-9/30

Leftovers With Benefits– Fall Romance Reads, 9/10-10/31

Obviously we’re also talking hundreds of other free books to add to your TBR pile. I can’t say I’ve read even the majority of the authors in these giveaways with me, but I’ve come up with a few. And overall, I can see everyone getting better and stepping their game up, not just me. So you’re bound to discover another new favorite.

All of these giveaways are open to all genres and heat levels of romance, so read the descriptions and click wisely. And as always, happy reading!

*EDIT: Marvin Sapp is in no way associated with the song “I Give Myself Away” that I hear him singing in my head for some reason

The post September Romance Reads #Giveaways! appeared first on C. L. Donley Books.

Influences

I’m in the process of migrating my mailing list to a new provider, and consolidating all my subscribers to a single list (halle-freakin-lujah). Some of the mailing list extras are migrating to the blog to make room for the new stuff. This post is one such extra….

Spotlight: My Influences

When folks ask me what some of my inspiration is as a writer, they are surprised, because the things that influenced me over the years aren’t the things you’d expect, and they aren’t necessarily books. In fact, they’re almost exclusively movies/television. 

[image error]



Corrina, Corrina

I can’t really explain it to you on paper, but this movie is basically been in my DNA since I first saw it as a kid. So much of who I am as a storyteller is encompassed in this movie. The setting, the style, the music, the actors! The balanced way that race is addressed in the broader subject of the relationship, set in a time period where race was a central part of American life. A subtle, human, emotional central plot and story arc.

Pride and Prejudice



[image error]

You may have noticed a lot of references to Jane Austen in the series, and though that happened a bit by accident, there’s a reason for it. The pioneer!

Ever After



[image error]

A modern, charming re-telling of the Cinderella story with strong female leads and a hero to root for. One of the few hints I had in life that I might be a romantic. 

Quirky, flawed, singular, hot mess love worth preserving. Not sentimental, yet you still need tissues. What’s not to love?

Honorable Mentions: Good Will Hunting



[image error]



Ocean’s 11 Trilogy



[image error]

Gotta get my dudes from somewhere.

Tarantino



[image error]

Seems unrelated, I know, but this dude is a huge inspiration, storywise. The quirky dialog, the emphasis on musical score and nostalgia, stylized, both the devotion to history and the re-imagining of history, badass women beating up men and each other (or getting beaten), re-using actors and reviving careers, the unflinching, unapologetic realism, his body of work is immediately recognizable and I am always here for it. He loves the medium, and I love how much he lets it come through that he loves the medium. The love becomes part of the project, and even before I was writing regularly, it always inspired me to make my own love songs to storytelling. 

Did any of your faves make the list? If so, that’s probably why you get me. If you haven’t seen or even heard of some of these, consider this your recommendation. 

So anyway, that’s it! Thanks for reading. 

No book news to report just yet, but I’ll definitely keep you posted!

Much love, 

C. L. Donley

The post Influences appeared first on C. L. Donley Books.

Rich Little Poor Girl OUT NOW!

In case you didn’t know, the new release came out on the 19th, and is currently available at most major online retailers for the very market-friendly price of $0.99, so please feel free to take a chance on it!

During the process of working on every book that I write, it’s inevitable that my brain comes up with a movie trailer, complete with scene edits and music that I’ll never be allowed to use without shelling out some serious dollars. But there’s no law that says I can’t share the shit on my blog!

The song playing behind my brain trailer for this particular book is called Poor Little Rich Boy, by Regina Spektor. And if you noticed a resemblance between the title of that song and the book, it’s because the song was the direct inspiration for it. Initially, the title was going to be something focused on Ben, the hero, which is how the song came to me in the first place. ‘Cause you know, he’s the son of a rich dude and kind of angsty and what not. If you’ve heard the song before, you know there are a few key lines in it that mirror his situation rather well.

Eventually, it made sense to me to name the book something along those lines and somehow I came up with the idea of switching both the words and focus of the title. Which was only supposed to be a working title, but ultimately I warmed up to it.

The post Rich Little Poor Girl OUT NOW! appeared first on C. L. Donley Books.

Channeling Theodora Taylor

So, don’t make fun of me, but I recently discovered Theodora Taylor like, a week ago.

I’ve only been reading romance a little longer than I’ve been writing it, so I’m a newbie sailor on this Romancelandia ocean. I first saw her name popping up repeatedly on my mailing list survey results, where I ask my readers who their favorite authors are. And we all know how it is. We have to see a name once or twice in an unrelated context before we really SEE that name, you know what I mean. And it’s been no different with me.

So, I start with the first book in the Fairgood series and I’m hooked by the epilogue, and completely shook DADDY by chapter 1. I’m like, “okay, just found my main source of supply for like a good two years.” ‘Cause you know, when you’re writing all that romance, you sorta need to re-charge, it’s like a real need. Otherwise, you’re sitting in front of a manuscript, barely able to convincingly write a character across a room, much less professing love, or initiating a love scene, or whatever. Anything can re-charge you, anything creative, but there’s nothing like sitting back with a book, reading somebody doing it better than you, so you don’t have to worry about anything but being entertained and fed.

Well, don’t think I didn’t notice that the main character in the first book dyes her hair different colors. I have a book coming out next month (now on pre-order: go get it!) where the heroine does the same, in her 20’s. It’s a silly thing to trace back to just one story, but having been out only a year, I’ve had to get used to the author paranoia that someone is always lifting your stuff. Likewise, I never want to be accused of doing the same, although I don’t believe in changing a detail when you come across it somewhere else. And I don’t really believe in getting all in your feelings about “thought” plagiarism, because it’s so ephemoral. But it is really weird when you’re either the victim of it, or the subject.

So, a little bit further into the book, there’s a character named Josie, sometimes nicknamed “Jo Jo,” a name which plays a pretty big part in a future release later this year. Some of you who follow me on Facebook may have seen me reference “the book that must not be named,” about a black woman who falls for a former klansman. It still doesn’t have a name, but I’m narrowing it down. Well, the female character is named JoAnn, and that’s about all I want to say about it, just know that I was really taken aback to see that name in this book. I was like, “let me send out an early disclaimer, I legit have never read this book before today.”

So after I was done devouring that one, I move on to book 2, where the hero is this big blonde, blue-eyed country dude, the same profile as my hero for this future release. I’m thinkin’ that’s no big deal, that type of guy is everywhere, and this guy has amnesia, it’s not the same, it’s fine.

Guys… why does dude find out he’s a white supremacist???

Okay. Now, inwardly I know it’ll be fine, and if ever forced to defend my work, I know I could do it. I know that the similarities end with just those superficial character choices, and that that’s where the similarities end. The stories, tone, themes, and character arcs and are completely different.

But at this point, even I’m like, “yo, did I somehow lift this before reading it???” Like… what in the hell. I don’t know how I couldn’t blame anyone who reads both of us for thinking that I’m just sprinkling my stories with Theodora Taylor glitter in hopes that folks will like it. The obvious answer is that we are both probably drawing from a larger creative well of similar material subconsciously. I mean, I’m thrilled, of course, to be picking up similar wavelengths as Theodora fucking Taylor. And I don’t quite know what it means, because it’s weird out of all the authors I’ve ever read, to find that many similarities in just the first two books of one.

I’m just gonna assume that it means something really great. But right now, Ms. Taylor is legit my spirit animal.

The post Channeling Theodora Taylor appeared first on C. L. Donley Books.