Harper Bliss's Blog, page 20

PODCAST: Harper Bliss & Her Mrs – Episode 24: Harper Can’t Stop Talking About Clare Lydon

On this week’s episode, we’ve barely recovered from our night out on Saturday. Harper talks about how Clare Lydon inspired her current writing experiment and helped her make a big decision. Caroline, on the other hand, is not so pleased with Clare.

Tune in again next week for a new episode of Harper Bliss & Her Mrs.

Get in touch with us with your questions, comments or suggested topics at harperblissandhermrs@gmail.com

Harper Bliss Books In Order

2019 isn’t about writing an insane amount of words for me, it’s more about taking stock and seeing how I can improve and write the most satisfactory books in the future.

I’ve started this process with an in-depth look at my current backlist. I have to say, when I listed all the books I’ve written and published in the past six and a half years, I went slightly dizzy.

Webshop-Only Deals

[image error]You might have noticed a new menu item at the top of my website, namely: ‘SHOP‘!

As I blogged about before, this year is (amongst other things) all about distributing my books through as many retailers as possible. One of those ‘retailers’ is my very own webshop!

Buying one of my ebooks directly from me has the advantage that I don’t have to split any royalties with the retailer, which is (as you can imagine) a big plus. I’ve chosen Payhip to sell my books direct, because they’re easy to use for me as well as for potential shoppers.

To celebrate that almost all my books (*) are now available from my very own webshop, I’m running a webshop-only promotion for No Greater Love Than Mine. I hope to extend the series somewhat this year and although this is only a novella, it packs a real (sexy) punch and it was one of the highlights of my writing year in 2018.

Here’s the blurb:

Twenty years ago, Angela Hill and Jackie Smith shared a forbidden night of passion, leaving Angela heartbroken after Jackie returned to her husband.

When Angela is forced into counselling after a workplace injury, her path unexpectedly crosses Jackie’s again. Their circumstances may have changed, but has time healed the wounds of the past? And can Angela and Jackie open themselves up to a second chance at love?

Find out in this scorching hot novella full of emotion from best-selling lesbian romance author Harper Bliss

Word count: 18.000 words

Get No Greater Love Than Mine for $0.99 instead of $2.99 only via my webshop >>

I’ll be doing webshop-only price promotions like this every other week. I’ll post them here and I will send them out via my bi-weekly newsletter as well.

Enjoy!

(*) The rest of the Pink Bean series and A Swing at Love will be available everywhere in February.

NEW RELEASE: At the Water’s Edge – Audiobook

[image error]I usually don’t make such a fanfare about one of my books coming out in audio, but this one feels special to me.

At the Water’s Edge is the first real full-length novel I wrote (in 2014) and it is deeply personal.

Additionally, for the first time, we didn’t sell the audio rights and have someone else produce the audio version, but we did it the ‘indie way’ and produced it ourselves. (Don’t worry, this doesn’t mean I narrated it myself in my wonky Belgian accent!)

Why the Pink Bean Series is no longer in Kindle Unlimited

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Finally, my long overdue blog post about why I’ve decided to remove the Pink Bean series from Kindle Unlimited, Amazon’s ebook subscription program.

I guess the reason it took me so long to write this down is that it was something I felt that I should do in my gut more than anything.

There are the obvious (and often-repeated) reasons, like no longer being comfortable with Amazon exclusivity and making much more on a sale than on a KU borrow. Anyone who asks me will get these reasons as a reply, but there’s actually more to it, which I will try to explain below.

My #1 long-term goal is Amazon independence

This ties in with no longer wanting any books to be exclusive on Amazon, but it’s much more than that.

Amazon Independence has been a buzzword in our house for a while now. By this, I don’t just mean leaving KU, but no longer relying on Amazon alone to provide the bulk of my income, which is very much the case now.

I’ve always managed to ignore that niggling voice at the back of my brain because, well… to be perfectly honest: because of money.

If it weren’t for Amazon, I wouldn’t be typing this blog post today. Because if it weren’t for Amazon, I wouldn’t be making a living with my writing.

7 years

My first book was published in February 2012 so I’ve been doing this for almost 7 years now and I believe it’s time to look ahead, change strategies, and do things differently in the future.

The numbers are very clear: 2018 will have been our best year yet financially. I could just keep doing what I’ve been doing for the past couple of years: write like crazy, publish like crazy, put everything in KU, and think: goodness me, no matter what anyone says, writing lesbian fiction can be rather lucrative.

But that’s not what I want any more.

Because I can

Additionally, and no less important, I’m leaving KU because I can. Just like I left Facebook in May 2018 because I could. And I happen to think the two are inextricably linked. Leaving Facebook (and all social media) made me realise that I don’t need it. I don’t need it to sell books, to ‘cultivate my brand’, and I certainly don’t need it for personal happiness.

Leaving Facebook was a very personal decision, of course, that had nothing to do with business, but I did make the very conscious choice to no longer interact with a business like Facebook—or should I say a ruthless data-acquiring and money-grabbing machine like Facebook?

It seems like every day there’s an article in the newspaper about Facebook’s disgusting practices—and every day I’m so relieved I no longer associate with them. I also no longer use Facebook Advertising for that reason. In short, Facebook’s no longer getting my data or my money. That’s a very reassuring thought in this day and age.

Who’s got the power?

But this is a blog post about KU… although not really. It’s about Amazon and all it stands for. And about my financial dependence on them when it comes to my income. A not-so-reassuring thought if ever there was one. I’m not specifically talking about all the recent glitches and the slow disappearance of the Also-Boughts, which has already resulted in a significant drop in organic income.

I have the biggest issue with being at Amazon’s mercy. Yes, I make a lot of money through Amazon—to give you an example: only the other day I was pleasantly surprised when I noticed that the KU payout for November had gone up to 0.0052 per page. Which was all very nice, but it doesn’t change the issue at heart. Just like Facebook, Amazon is a behemoth of a corporation that wants to make a lot of money and, ultimately, couldn’t care less about me as an indie author.

They can change the rules whenever they want. They can change the royalty rate or the KU terms and conditions without giving any of us prior notice. For instance, only a few weeks ago, a bunch of indie authors reported that their books were no longer for sale for non-US customers on Amazon.com. But this isn’t about specifics. It’s about the power Amazon has over me, my business, and my livelihood.

I’ll always be there…

Don’t get me wrong: my books will always be available on Amazon. While I’m being frank, I might as well say that the other retailers like Kobo and Apple simply don’t offer a comparable shopping experience. And try to get your book into a Lesbian Romance category! (Although Kobo has just made these available from the back end.)

I’m well aware that Apple is just as big a corporate behemoth as Amazon, but at least they don’t require exclusivity in return for a bigger piece of the pie. Sure, I will miss the KU money, but I strongly feel like I’m getting something else instead. More peace of mind—something that money can’t buy.

I’ll be publishing in a way that is much closer to truly being independent. Because how indie are you when 95% of your income is made on Amazon?

Direct, direct, direct

As I said before, I’m leaving KU because I can. And because my long-term strategy is to sell much more direct.

For years now, I’ve been chasing higher and higher Amazon ranks, writing book after book to dodge the 30-day cliff or the 90-day cliff or whatever’s-next cliff. I’ve made a comfortable living doing so, which, admittedly, doesn’t make this an easy thing to walk away from.

Side note: Ironically, Life in Bits (the book I co-wrote with T.B. Markinson) is currently sitting at the top of the lesfic chart, enjoying a very high rank, thanks to KU. And I won’t lie, it feels wonderful. Just like getting ‘likes’ on Facebook used to give me a dopamine rush, there’s something addictively satisfying about seeing one of my books go to #1 in the charts. But, in the end, it’s just another kind of false validation.

The fragile writer ego

I’ll have to live with it that my non-KU books will no longer shoot to #1 (I think my fragile ego will be able to cope), but again, I’ll be getting something else instead: a long-term strategy to sell more and more books directly to my readers, and as time progresses, to become less and less reliant on Amazon. For me, that’s the only way forward.

All of this also ties in with my decision to write fewer books in 2019. All too frequently in the past year I have found myself simultaneously writing the first draft of book 1, processing edits of book 2, revising book 3, all while gearing up to launch another. For a while, it’s been a good way to make a living, but it’s not sustainable and it’s not what I want anymore. Most of all, because my writing has suffered.

Room to breathe

More than anything, writing is what gives my life meaning. I’m lucky that it also pays the bills. But while paying the bills, I’ve lost track of all the good things writing does for me. More than once in 2018, I simply ran out of time on a book because the next deadline was looming. I won’t name titles, but there are a couple of books that I’ve released in 2018 that I wasn’t 100% happy with—not even 80% happy, to be perfectly honest. And that’s not how I want things to be.

The Harper Bliss Book Factory

The kind of books I write—deeply emotional and often on the edge of controversy—require a lot from me. They take time and thoughtfulness and, most of all, unbridled passion, and I haven’t been able to give that to all of my books. That’s not the kind of writer I want to be.

Just like I feel in my bones that I want more independence, I also feel that it’s time to take it up a level. I want to give you longer, better, more heartfelt books with truly authentic emotion—as opposed to churning out book after book in what I’ve come to call The Harper Bliss Book Factory.

I know this has consequences for you, the reader. But for a while now, I’ve had most of my non-Pink Bean books available on other retailers. If you’re a KU subscriber and only borrow books, then I’m very sorry. If Amazon ever decides to no longer demand exclusivity, I might enrol again. I’m also not completely turning my back on KU. I can’t really say anything about it yet, but in 2019 I will do a different kind of collaboration and the fruits of that might end up in KU (as I’m not the only deciding party.)

Everything will be okay

For the first time in 7 seven years, I’ve also planned to write fewer books next year. But instead of a new release almost every month, I hope to give you longer, more thoughtful books that are ‘quintessentially me’ (to put it in a slightly poncy way). For this reason, I can’t give you a publication date yet for my next book. I’m not even sure yet what my next book will be! I’ve decided to take a writing break until mid-January, and tackle all the tasks that have piled up while I was working in my book factory. Not having my next book in the pipeline is a feeling I need to get used to, but I know that in the end, everything will be okay. It always is.

As I said before, all my books will always be available on Amazon, but also on a bunch of other retailers.

You can find my books on these stores via the links below:

– Direct from me (via PayHip)

– Bella Books

– Apple Books

– Kobo

– Google Play

I hope you understand.

Thanks for reading & Merry Christmas!

NEW RELEASE: Life in Bits (A Lesbian Christmas Romance)

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Life in Bits: A Lesbian Christmas Romance is OUT NOW!

Here’s the blurb:

Can a Christmas romance mend a life that’s broken to pieces?

Eileen Makenna is a Pulitzer Prize winning photographer who has traveled the world for over two decades, chasing the next big story. She returns home for the holidays shattered by a life-altering event and facing the terrifying prospect she’ll never be able to work again.

When Eileen meets Naomi Weaver, a small-town girl who dedicates her free time to helping those in need, Eileen is entranced by Naomi’s zest for life. Can Eileen overcome her inner demons and troubled family relationships to let Naomi in?

Best-selling lesbian romance authors Harper Bliss & T.B. Markinson have teamed up to bring this touching age-gap love story to life.

—

Life in Bits has everything you’d want in a lesbian Christmas romance (if I may say so myself ;-0): an age gap, tons of emotions, snow, plenty of hot scenes, rather tense family dinners… and a happy ending, of course!

You can buy the book here:

– Amazon US

– Amazon UK

– Amazon CA

– Amazon AUS

– Amazon DE

– Other Amazon Stores

Enjoy!

PREVIEW: Life in Bits (co-written with T.B. Markinson!)

Life in Bits, the novel I co-wrote with T.B. Markinson will be out next week. Here’s a preview. Enjoy!

Life in Bits

© Harper Bliss & T.B. Markinson



CHAPTER ONE

Eileen attempted to raise her shoulder to secure the battered army-green bag, which was slipping down a little with each step. At the same time, she kept her left hand on the handle of the massive rolling luggage, which was jam-packed with the necessary pieces of her life. The rest of her belongings still resided in her London apartment, which Eileen hadn’t decided what to do with: keep or sublet.

This thought, along with the thousands of others racing through her mind, wrenched a deep sigh from Eileen. For forty-nine years she’d been a woman of action, but lately, she’d been immobilized by… what? Fear? Exhaustion? Betrayal? All three, perhaps.

Despite Eileen’s best efforts, the bag continued to slide precariously off her shoulder. Ever since the event and subsequent hospital stay, simple tasks had become arduous, much to her dismay and frustration.

“Eileen!” Julia, her younger sister by four years, smiled and waved as soon as Eileen cleared the final door of the soul-sucking customs area of Boston’s international airport. “Here, let me take your bag.” Julia reached for the shoulder bag, but Eileen pulled back.

“I got it, thanks.” Eileen ignored the bead of perspiration snaking its way down her face.

Julia’s gaze fell briefly to Eileen’s stiff right arm cradled right under her chest. A silent wave of anger surged through Eileen. Pity was one emotion she couldn’t stomach.

Wrapping one arm around her sister’s right shoulder, Julia took the opportunity to nudge the bag back into place on the good one. “How was your flight?”

“Delayed, cramped, and customs took over two hours due to the complete incompetence of allowing four international flights to land at once.” Despite Julia’s efforts, the bag slipped off Eileen’s shoulder completely. Eileen crooked her elbow to stop it from plummeting to the floor, but she couldn’t hoist it back into place without the use of both arms.

The rigid right arm remained in the same spot, where it’d rested the past three weeks.

Without saying a word, Julia eased the bag off Eileen’s arm and tossed it effortlessly over her right shoulder.

“I need a shower,” was all Eileen said. She was grateful to be relieved of the bag, but too strong-willed to say thank you out loud.

Julia nodded, seeming to understand. “The car’s this way.” She led her sister to the parking garage without talking, much to Eileen’s relief.

After stowing the bags in the back of the SUV, Julia settled behind the steering wheel. “Let’s head to my place since you don’t have keys to your apartment yet. I’ve arranged for the key exchange on Monday morning at nine. You can shower at my place and have time for a nap before heading to dinner with the parents.”

Eileen groaned, shoving her head into the padding of the seat.

“It’s not high on my list of things I wanted to do on a snowy Saturday night either, so don’t even start.” Julia cranked the heat on. “It’ll take a minute to warm up.”

“I don’t know if I’m ready… for mother.” Eileen looked out her side window at the BMW parked next to Julia’s vehicle. It was much like the type her mother drove. Her dad, a New Englander to the core, abhorred drawing attention to his wealth and more than likely still had his beat-up Ford with only three hubcaps.

“You’ve never known how to handle her.” She paused and took a deep breath. “I’ve learned—to the point where we have a semi-decent relationship.” Julia, with one hand on the back of Eileen’s headrest, checked to see if it was all clear before backing out of the spot and heading for the exit ramp.

“Semi-decent,” Eileen mocked. “Mom has always been hard on me, blaming me for everything that’s gone wrong in her life.” Her mom had never been shy about reminding Eileen at every possible chance that she’d given up her dreams when she fell pregnant with Eileen.

“Please.” Julia’s knuckles whitened on the steering wheel as she guided the smoke-gray Range Rover around the tight curve of the parking garage ramp, the tires squealing on the cement despite the low speed. “She’s just as hard on me. Even more so when you weren’t around.”

“You didn’t have to stay, you know,” Eileen said, her jaw tightening, becoming acutely aware of her sweaty back from carrying one bag that didn’t compare to the weight of her camera equipment when on assignment.

Julia, seemingly unperturbed by Eileen’s tone, pressed on. “It’s not that simple. Mom and Dad are getting older. I have to remind them to take their medication. Mom can’t drive at night. Now that Dad’s retired, he doesn’t know how to entertain himself without driving Mom bonkers. I feel like a referee half the time. I have my hands full. I’m glad you’re home and can help some.”

Eileen rubbed her right hand with her left. “And you think that’s possible? I struggle to open any bottles and I can’t drive. Not just because my driver’s license expired two years ago.” Eileen sensed Julia’s quickly glancing at her immobile arm before returning her gaze to the road.

“Those aren’t the only tasks I need help with. You’re not useless, Ellie. Besides, I’ve missed my older sister. You have a niece and nephew who look up to you, but they don’t actually know you. It took… this for you to come home for the first time in five years. And I’ve lost count how many years it was before this visit.”

“Are you going to lecture me the entire drive to Derby?” Eileen yawned, setting the side of her head against the seat, fatigue settling in.

“Close your eyes. You must be exhausted.” Vivaldi was playing and Julia fiddled with the stereo volume to turn it down. “It’s nice to have you home. Really, it is.”

Eileen opened one eye and appraised her sister whose hair had grown grayer than her natural mousy brown since their last meeting. It must rankle their fastidious mother. That was one quality Eileen actually shared with her mom. Although, she’d hadn’t highlighted her own hair to cover the gray since the hospital. “I never meant to stay away for so long this time. The days just slipped by. How are Isabelle and Michael?”

“Nearly grown. Michael’s graduating high school this spring. Belle the following. It’ll be weird when they’re gone, although, I hardly ever see them now. Teenagers have little time for their mothers, apparently.”

“I remember those days,” Eileen’s voice was soft, infused with sleep. “And James?”

“He hasn’t changed one bit. Still works too much, but he does his best to be a great father.”

“Your children are lucky to have him. And you.” Her exhaustion made the words sound much more perfunctory than Eileen intended.

Julia nudged the volume up a notch, indicating conversation could wait for when Eileen wasn’t half-dead to the world. Ironic, considering, just twenty-one days ago, Eileen had thought for sure she was a goner. And since surviving, a part of her wished she hadn’t. Not in this current state.

Eileen, with eyes closed and seconds from nodding off, feared she’d made a mistake coming home. Would she become yet another burden to her only sibling, who’d been left keeping the family together when Eileen absconded at the age of twenty-two, so many years ago?

***

Her parents’ house hadn’t changed much since Eileen’s childhood. Still massive, with a curved, carpeted staircase to the right upon entering the house. Mahogany antique furniture, oriental vases, bronze sculptures of Greek gods and goddesses occupied every nook and cranny, making the house more museum-like.

“We’re here,” Julia called, stepping into the house right on Eileen’s heels.

Eileen’s gaze traveled the expanse of the black and white tiled foyer. A crystal chandelier shone overhead. In the center of the space was a round table with a flower arrangement and statue of Nike, the Greek goddess of victory. What stood out the most was the absence of dust. The spotless, but cold space made Eileen long for her cozy apartment in London, overlooking a private garden. The home suited Trudy Callahan’s personality, however: beautiful on the outside, cold and empty on the inside.

“There you are. I was expecting you two twenty minutes ago.” Her mom’s perfectly colored hair, in contrast with Julia’s, once again reminded Eileen to make an appointment at a salon sooner rather than later.  Eileen took in her mother’s gray duster-length cardigan with a matching turtleneck underneath and black trousers. A necklace fashioned with tortoise disc beads dangled past her plentiful bosom, the opposite of Eileen’s. Her mom drifted across the tile, her arms out, pulling the much taller Eileen into an awkward embrace. “How lovely of you to visit.”

Julia met Eileen’s eyes as if persuading her not to point out the obvious. Not within minutes of her arrival at least. Her parents were fully aware of the reason for Eileen’s return.

Their father, Bruce, a dead ringer for James Garner, shuffled into the entryway in his dark brown leather deck shoes, Vineyard Vine plaid button-up, and chinos—his go-to outfit no matter the season.

Eileen smiled, tickled this aspect of her father hadn’t changed over the years, despite her mother’s harping he should dress in suits or whatnot, even for a family meal in his ancestral home. “Hello, Dad.”

His heartfelt hug comforted her for the first time since…

“It’s good to have you home,” his voice had a wisp of old man to it.

Eileen, stunned by how much he’d aged since their last meeting, leaned into him briefly and then pulled back, cognizant that her mother stood two feet away. “It’s good to see you.” She hastily added, “Both of you.”

“Would you like a drink before we sit down for dinner?” Her mom picked some lint off Eileen’s right shoulder.

Eileen turned her body slightly, protecting her right flank.

Her mother continued, “It’s so nice just to have the two of you over for dinner. The four of us, back together again.”

Julia, biting her bottom lip as if trying to curtail a brusque remark, said, “I’d like sparkling water. Sound good to you, Ellie?”

“Sure. Thanks.” A headache formed behind her eyes, and Eileen chalked it up to not drinking enough water.

Their father cheerfully dittoed, rolling back onto his heels, digging his hands into his pockets.

Her mother, with a wounded look, said, “But I decanted a 2001 bottle of Vietti Barolo Villero Riserva for this special occasion.”

“I’m driving tonight,” Julia countered in a tone that closed the matter. “And, we should have dinner sooner rather than later. I need to get to bed early.” Her stare fell on Eileen.

Eileen worried the fatigue from her travels would make it impossible to mask her mounting frustration dealing with her mom and a simple reminder, such as not drinking, only highlighted how much her life had drastically changed, piling on to her irritation. The doctors had been clear alcohol should be avoided, especially during the first few weeks of her recovery. Julia, who’d flown to London the moment she’d heard, knew all the do’s and don’ts for Eileen firsthand. Granted, a few weeks had already passed, but knowing the ever-cautious Julia, having a glass of wine to ease the tension wouldn’t be permissible. Clearly, their mother, not surprisingly, opted to ignore medical opinion and Julia’s disapproving glare. Or had her mom blocked out the knowledge of Eileen’s medical issue, since that would acknowledge weakness?

Their father feigned a yawn. “This old man prefers early bird specials for a reason.”

“Besides their being early, you mean? They’re cheap.” Julia said, laughing, patting his cheek. “How much is Maggie charging for tonight’s feast?”

He guffawed over the joke. It wasn’t the first time Julia had cracked it.

“Fine. I didn’t know I was surrounded by old fogies.” Their mom gestured they might as well retire to the dining room. “I’ll let Maggie know we’re ready for dinner, tout de suite. It’s not even six.” She tutted. “Such an uncivilized time for dinner. In Europe—”

“Hey, girls.” Their father cut off his wife. “If you’re American in the living room what are you in the bathroom?”

Both Eileen and Julia playfully groaned, responding in unison, “European.”

“Or Russian.” Her father laughed. Standing on Eileen’s left, he crooked his arm for his eldest daughter to thread her good arm through, and then proffered his other elbow to Julia. “It’s not often I’m flanked by two beauties.”

The French oak table with its parquet top had all the leaves removed, so it sat four comfortably. Usually, when the whole family gathered there were double the attendees or more if the far-flung members came.

This piece had always been one of Eileen’s favorite items in the home and secretly she hoped she’d inherit it simply for the parquet top. Although now, her mother’s crocheted tablecloth covered the surface. The lacy masterpiece had taken her half a decade to make and it only saw the light of day for special occasions. Eileen suspected Maggie had set the table, not her mom.

Each took their seat, Julia sitting to Eileen’s right and her father on her left.

Maggie, significantly grayer since Eileen had last seen her, and slightly stooped, served everyone a grapefruit, walnut, and feta cheese salad. She placed Eileen’s plate last, saying, “I made this just for you.”

Eileen smiled. “Thanks, Maggie. I haven’t had one since the last time you made it for me.”

Maggie departed and the Callahans tucked into their salads, no one talking. She returned briefly to pour wine, but her mom was the only one who assented with a curt nod. Maggie left once again.

Eileen grasped a salad fork with her left hand, awkwardly piercing a grapefruit slice and piece of butter lettuce.

“That’s new,” her mom’s gaze zeroed in on Eileen’s use of her left hand. “Living in Europe all these years has added sophistication to your etiquette. Maybe you can teach your sister. It’s never too late to better ourselves.”

Julia glugged her water.

“Have you been following the Pats?” her father asked.

“Not this season. Is Brady still their quarterback?” Eileen managed to get a walnut onto the tines of the fork, but fumbled it at the last second, only ending up with lettuce in her mouth.

He nodded, chewing.

“You know what you should take up while on vacation? Knitting or crocheting.” Her mother tapped the tablecloth. “I made this when I sat around waiting for your dance lessons or soccer practices to end. It helped pass the time and look at the final outcome—something I can hand down to one of you.”

Eileen blinked, and Julia blanched.

Her father cleared his throat. “I have an extra ticket to next Sunday’s Pats game if you want to go, Eileen. Julia still has zero interest in football and James said he has to work.” He placed his fork in the five o’clock position indicating he was done, although he’d only eaten a third of the salad. Unusual for the rotund man. Or had his eating habits changed over the years?

“Maybe. I’ll check my schedule.” Eileen, like her sister, loathed football, but appreciated her father’s diversionary attempt.

“It’s so hard supporting the sport now with all the documentation about brain damage.” Her mom sipped her red wine. “So many of them end up as vegetables. I always thought, Eileen, you would have made an excellent brain surgeon. Steady hands and wicked smart. Instead you chose to gallivant around the globe from one war zone to another. Running has always been your thing, which is ironic since I was the one who dropped out of college and gave up my dreams of medical school to have you.”

Peeved, Eileen had to marvel at how her mom had seamlessly worked this into the evening in record time.

“Where’s Maggie? I’m ready for the next course.” Her father patted his belly, eyeing the door.

Never too far away, Maggie appeared. She quietly cleared the salad plates and returned with the main course.

“Another favorite of yours, Eileen,” her mother said. “Garlic parmesan chicken with brussels sprouts.”

Julia’s thinning lips indicated to Eileen her sister had requested the meal.

Unlike the other plates, Maggie had cut Eileen’s chicken breast into bite-size pieces, much to Eileen’s relief. Julia nodded her appreciation, leading Eileen again to believe her sister had made a great effort to arrange everything this evening for Eileen’s homecoming. The wine kerfuffle probably ruffled Julia’s mother-hen ways.

“And in case anyone wants more brussels sprouts, here’s a dish.” Maggie placed it at Julia’s side.

After Maggie had left via the service door, her mom asked, “What are your plans while you’re home, Eileen?”

“Can you pass the brussels sprouts?” Her father asked.

Julia handed the dish toward Eileen, her face paling when she realized her mistake at the last second.

Eileen had reached across her chest to grasp the dish with her left hand, but bobbled it when Julia released her hand, spilling three sprouts, one rolling to the center of the table, leaving a grease stained path.

“Look at what you’ve done to my tablecloth. You’ve ruined it!” Her mom’s lips drew back into a snarl.

“I’m sure Maggie can get the grease out.” Her father dabbed the mark with his blood-red linen napkin.

“Stop that, Bruce! You’ll make it worse.” Turning her attention to Eileen, she said, “You did that on purpose.”

“W—what?” Eileen spluttered.

“It was my fault, mother. I let go of the dish too soon.” Julia plucked the sprouts from the tablecloth, putting them onto her own plate. “I’ll have it professionally cleaned.”

“Stop covering for Eileen. She’s had it out for me since the day she was born.”

“Jesus, Mother! You know Eileen isn’t home for vacation. She had a stroke and can’t use her right arm and you want her to crochet and berate her for fumbling a dish!” Julia’s chest heaved up and down.

Eileen, tight-lipped, looked to her father, then to Julia, and finally rested her gaze on her mother. Fighting back tears, she rose from the table, her napkin slipping onto the floor, and walked out of the dining room toward the exit.

 

CHAPTER TWO

Naomi held the hospital door open for Kelly, then closed it behind them. The cold November air whipped her in the face. Naomi reveled in its iciness. She was used to it. Whereas most people loathed the heavy gray clouds hanging in the air this time of year, she loved them, because it meant that the holidays were soon approaching.

She grabbed her friend’s arm. “Let’s do something special for the kids this Thanksgiving. For just one day, let’s try to make them forget where they are and why they’re in hospital.”

“There’s time,” Kelly said.

“Not that much,” Naomi insisted.

Kelly stopped in her tracks. “You do know you say the exact same thing every year.” She grinned at Naomi.

“Because I want it to be special for them every year,” Naomi replied.

“Are you sure that this year in particular you’re not overcompensating?” Kelly turned toward her.

“Oh, please.” Naomi rolled her eyes.

“I just want you to know that I’m here for you if you want to talk. Whenever you need to. Okay?” Kelly put a hand on Naomi’s upper arm.

“How many times do I need to repeat myself?” Naomi said. “I’m fine.”

“Jane cheated on you.” Kelly squeezed Naomi’s arm now. “You don’t have to pretend you’re fine when you’re with me.”

Naomi shook her head. “How did we go from Thanksgiving plans to this?” She pretended to shiver and dug her hands deep into her coat pockets.

“I’m just trying to be a good friend.” Kelly’s gaze found Naomi’s.

“I appreciate that, but you bringing it up all the time isn’t really helping. I’m just getting on with my life. Spending time with the kids in there.” She nodded her head in the direction of the hospital. “Trying to replace all the negative vibes of a break-up with some positive ones.”

“Maybe I’m the one who’s still angry at Jane,” Kelly said. “For the way she treated you.” She shook her head. “And I must admit I’m a little baffled at your lack of utter rage.”

“Whereas I wish you’d have started this conversation while we were still inside,” Naomi said, even though it wasn’t the cold bothering her. “Obviously things weren’t meant to be between Jane and me. She wasn’t the one for me. That’s how I’m choosing to look at it.” She took a deep breath. “No one, not even my ex who cheated on me, is going to mess with my holiday cheer.” She shot Kelly a wide grin, hoping to lay this conversation to rest. Not that Naomi had anywhere pressing to be, or anyone waiting for her at home. She just didn’t want to talk about Jane any longer.

“Don’t I know it.” Kelly injected some lightness into her voice. “Naomi Weaver will have an outstanding Thanksgiving and the merriest of Christmases no matter what.”

“Thank you. Now am I allowed to get into my car?”

“Yes. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Kelly didn’t move. “And call me if you need anything.”

“Will do.” Naomi gave her friend a quick wave and hurried to her car, a hand-me-down from her brother. Every time she got in and it started from the first go, she considered it a small miracle.

On the way home, Naomi wondered if she hadn’t been too hard on Kelly who was, after all, only trying to help—even though she could be a bit subtler about it.

It was only a ten-minute drive from the hospital to her apartment and, instead of ruminating more about what Kelly had said, Naomi turned to Spotify, found the song she was looking for and put it on repeat. “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger,” she sang along loudly, tapping the steering wheel with her gloved fingers, all the way home.

***

Naomi was still humming the Kelly Clarkson tune when she turned the key in the lock of her front door. It snapped open after one turn. Had she forgotten to double lock the door again? It surely wouldn’t be the first time. In fact, most days, Naomi simply let the door fall shut behind her, much to Jane’s chagrin when they were still living together.

“You don’t have to make it easy for burglars to get in,” Jane would repeat endlessly.  These days, Naomi could leave her front door unlocked guilt-free, without having to deal with some harsh words from her partner. Because she didn’t have a partner anymore.

When she swung the door open, Naomi noticed she must have left the lights on as well—oh, the things Jane would have to say about that. She quickly closed the door only to find, when she turned around, that Jane was standing right in front of her.

“What the—” Naomi tried to regroup quickly. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to see you,” Jane said. “I miss you.” She painted a soft smile on her lips.

“You can’t just be here when I come home.” Naomi held out her hand. “I’d like your key, please.”

“Will you sit with me for a minute?” Jane pleaded. “So we can talk?”

“There’s nothing to talk about. It’s over.” Naomi took a step back. She had no intention of sitting as long as her ex was in her apartment.

“Come on, babe,” Jane pleaded. “This doesn’t have to be the end of us.”

“It very much does.” Naomi brought her hands to her hips. “Now, I’d like you to leave and give me your key.”

“I’m so incredibly sorry for what happened,” Jane said. “You must know that. I’ve told you about a million times by now.”

“It’s not about how sorry you are.” While it was distressing to find Jane in her home unannounced, Naomi had no trouble at all playing this cool. “In fact, you cheating on me was the best thing that could have happened. For both of us. If anything, it showed us that we’re not right for each other.”

Jane scoffed. “You’re such an annoying glass half-full person.” She inched closer toward Naomi. “I know I hurt you and you have every right to be upset. But we were together for almost three years. Don’t you think because of that alone we deserve another chance?”

“I clearly don’t,” Naomi said coldly.

“I came clean to you. I explained why I did what I did. You know I never meant to hurt you. The whole thing didn’t even have that much to do with you.”

“You didn’t hurt me as much as you made me see that you’re not the person I want to spend the rest of my life with. Something I’m really glad to know.”

“Christ, Naomi. Can you be any harsher?”

“Can you be any more delusional?” Naomi took a step closer to her ex. “I made it very clear what I wanted from this relationship. I distinctly remember using the words monogamy and marriage. Quite often, actually. And what was your response? Falling into bed with the first woman you came across, and for what? To simply prove that you could?”

“I’m not the marrying kind, Naomi. I never, ever made a secret of that.” Jane shrugged. “What’s marriage, other than a silly piece of paper, anyway?”

“Which is exactly why you and I shouldn’t be together anymore.” Naomi stepped to the side. She spotted Jane’s coat hanging over a chair. She reached for it and handed it to her. “Please, give me the key and find someone else to string along. I’m sure there are plenty of women out there who don’t want to be married. Maybe… what’s her name? Petra, was it? Maybe she’ll be up for that sort of thing.”

“What I don’t understand,” Jane pulled her coat from Naomi’s hands, “is how, when we were together, you could even bring up marrying me when us breaking up doesn’t seem to bother you all that much?”

“That’s easy.” Naomi finally shrugged off her own jacket. She was beginning to sweat in the heat of the apartment. “I’m glad for what it has taught me. I know exactly what I want and, for a minute, I was fooled into thinking I wanted it with you. But now I know you’re not the one for me. You made that very clear.”

“You know Petra meant nothing to me. It was one night. We can’t throw away three years because of one night. We’d be so foolish to do so.”

“I see things very differently.” Naomi tossed her coat onto an antique armchair. “From my point of view, it was the best thing that could have happened to us. We weren’t happy anymore. Not like we used to be.” Naomi scanned Jane’s deflated face. She was starting to feel sorry for her. “We were just going through the motions. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have cheated. People in happy, fulfilled relationships don’t do things like that behind each other’s back, Jane. I think we both know that.”

“I disagree.” Jane’s bottom lip started trembling.

“We’ve been over this so many times now. You can’t keep rehashing what happened. As I said, and as we both know very well, it’s over.” It was hard to get the next words past the growing lump in her throat. “You need to understand that. We’re not getting back together. Not only because of what you did, but because we don’t belong together. The sooner you realize that, the sooner you can move on.” Naomi scooted closer to Jane again. They’d only broken up a few weeks ago. Jane admitting to sleeping with someone else hadn’t instantly dissolved all the feelings Naomi had for her. She fought the urge to take her ex into her arms and tell her everything would be all right—because, for them, it never would be.

“We can still be friends, though?” Jane mumbled.

“Of course we can.” Naomi tried to find Jane’s gaze, but it kept skittering away.

“And you’ll come to my photo exhibition?”

Naomi did put a hand on Jane’s arm now. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

Jane dug her hand into her jeans pocket. “Here’s the key. You won’t find me in your place unannounced anymore.”

“Thank you.” Naomi took the key from Jane and held her hand for a few seconds, just one last time.

“I am sorry,” Jane said.

“I know.” Naomi watched as Jane fumbled with her coat.

“I’m going now.” Jane finally looked her in the eye. It felt like a kind of very last resort. One last glance to see if all possibilities were truly exhausted.

“Bye,” Naomi said. She let Jane walk out on her own, then stood watching the door for a while after Jane had left. Break-ups were always painful because of the shared history and all the memories of better days resurfacing at the most inconvenient times. Yet a wave of relief washed over Naomi after Jane had closed the door of the apartment they used to share behind her, hopefully for the very last time.

In her heart of hearts, Naomi knew it was the best thing for them both.

<>

Life in Bits will be available on Thursday 13 December 2018

NEW RELEASE: More Than Words (Pink Bean 9)

[image error] More Than Words (Pink Bean 9) is OUT NOW!

When Pink Bean 8 came out, I assumed Pink Bean 9 would be the last book in the series.

I can now assure you that it’s not!

I’ve planned up to 12 books and, who knows, maybe the series will just keep on going forever?

Preview: More Than Words (Pink Bean 9)

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My new novel More Than Words (Pink Bean Series – Book 9) will be out next week. Here’s a preview. Enjoy!

More Than Words

© Harper Bliss



CHAPTER ONE


KAT

“This is the perfect location for a third Pink Bean,” Kristin says, standing in front of the large shop window. “I can just picture it already.” She turns around to face Rocco and me and reaches out her hand. “And I’m very happy to be in business with both of you.” I let Rocco shake her hand first.

Just as I’m touching my palm against Kristin’s, my phone starts vibrating in the back pocket of my jeans. I sigh because I can so easily guess who it’s going to be: Alana, trying to convince me, once again, to reconsider quitting The Lesbian Experience.

“This is a job perfectly suited for working part-time,” she said yesterday, when I was silly enough to pick up. “Even only one appointment per week would be good.”

“Do you have to get that?” Kristin asks and quickly lets go of my hand.

“Let me check.” I slip my phone out of my pocket. A picture of Liz appears on the screen. Relief washes over me and I pick up. Even though we used to be colleagues at the agency, I know she won’t try to convince me to take another client. She knows that once you’re done with being an escort, you’re done. The line has been re-drawn once and for all.

“Hi Lizzie,” I greet my friend. We’ve gotten much closer now that we’re no longer co-workers—although we never actually, in the true sense of the word, collaborated.

“I’m in my old ‘hood,” Liz says. “I thought I’d drop in.”

“Rocco and I are with Kristin at the venue for the new Pink Bean. Swing by here.” I give her the address. When I hang up, Rocco’s telling Kristin all about his interior design plans—again. His arm swoops through the air and his voice shines with enthusiasm. We’ve been talking about this for so long—although I’m not sure either one of us ever sincerely believed our dream would come true. Then we met Kristin and everything started going really fast.

“Liz is stopping by,” I say when a silence falls in their conversation.

Rocco checks his watch. “Auntie Hera should be here soon as well.”

We make our way into the empty shop.

“If only we had a working coffee machine already,” Kristin says, a smile on her face.

“My aunt will have the renovations done in no time. She’s not one of those builders who say yes to a deadline only to push it back time and time again. I’m also her favorite nephew and she can’t pull that shit with me.” He puts his hands on his hips.

“Family connections can work in your favor as well as against you,” Kristin says.

Ever since we started talking to her about a possible third Pink Bean branch, she’s been uttering words of advice like that. She doesn’t talk a mile a minute, but she’s been invaluable in helping us make our dream a reality. And as a silent partner she has invested enough money so that Rocco and I can devote all our energy to getting this off the ground as quickly as possible.

He waves her off. When they talk to each other, Rocco so flamboyant and Kristin so measured in her movements, the contrast always makes me smile. They’re so different, yet they seem to hit it off. Then again, Rocco is the kind of person who hits it off with almost everyone he meets. He wags a finger at her.

Kristin peers at it as though it’s not a gesture many people have ever had the balls to aim at her.

“Not when it comes to my aunt. Nu-uh,” he says. “She’s a woman of her word if ever there was one.”

“A woman after my own heart then.” Kristin gives him a small smile. I don’t think she’s capable of anything more generous, as though her genetics don’t allow her wide grins.

“After we’ve talked with Hera, we can set an opening date,” I say, my voice brimming with excitement.

When Jessica first introduced me to Kristin, I misjudged her as the kind of person who would take great offense at my then-profession. But looks can be deceiving—something I should know all about—and Kristin embraced the idea of the new coffee shop from the start. It helped that she already had a partnership going with two women who run a Pink Bean branch slash feminist book shop in Newtown.

“We’ll see,” Kristin says. “I know she’s your aunt, Rocco, but it will also depend on the budget.”

Rocco waves her off again. Kristin looks at his fluttering hand as though, if he waves it at her one more time, she might very well slap it away. “This is even better than mates’ rates, Kristin. This is family.”

Even I’m curious about meeting Rocco’s aunt. I’ve known him for a long time, but I’ve never met her. I do know all about her long-term partner Samantha suddenly dying of a cerebral hemorrhage last year. Rocco may have cried about it when he was with me but I’m sure he was a rock for his aunt. He’s that kind of guy. As camp as they come, with a heart of gold underneath. I love him to bits for both those elements of his personality.

A woman on a pale blue racing bicycle stops in front of the window, catching all of our attention. From her lanky form, I can tell it’s Liz. She takes off her helmet and straps it to the handlebar of her bike. She waves at us through the window.

“I can’t believe there’s going to be a Pink Bean in bloody Bondi,” she says as she steps inside. “Now that I no longer live here.”

“Sorry, darling,” Rocco says. “But this is where it’s happening. You shouldn’t have been such a lez and moved in with your girlfriend after two dates.”

The three lesbians surrounding him protest loudly, telling him off for his inane utterance of clichés. While Liz admires the space, I see a bright red flatbed truck pull up outside. The driver manages to maneuver it into a tight spot, impressing me with their parking skills.

Rocco claps his hands together. “Hera’s here.”

We all watch Hera as she descends from the truck. She stands looking at the building for a split second, just long enough for me to take her in. She’s tall with short cropped dark hair that is greying slightly at the temples. Her jeans are faded and marred with paint spots. The T-shirt she’s wearing is loose and shapeless, but from its sleeves, a pair of bulky biceps protrude. Hera pushes her tortoiseshell glasses up her nose and heads inside.

 

CHAPTER TWO
HERA

Rocco introduces me to Kristin, Liz, and Katherine. I’ve heard him talk about Katherine before. I know what she used to do for a living.

I’ve always had a soft spot for Rocco, as he’s my only nephew, but I was still hesitant to take on this project. Especially when he told me he would be ‘interior designing’ the coffee shop.

I glance around and conclude it’s a good space. It’s light and airy so it won’t feel cramped.

“The counter will go here,” Rocco says, not wasting any time. He’s like an overexcited puppy. It makes me want to pet him to calm him down a little bit, but I’d better not embarrass him in front of his business associates. I know he and Katherine will be running the show, with Katherine putting in most of the money—apparently being a hooker allows you to save up quite some cash.

Kristin will be lending her brand name and expertise, and is also investing a percentage of the money. What Rocco lacks in cash, he can sure make up for in sheer enthusiasm, I know that much. I’m secretly proud of him for doing this, for making his dream come true. Life can be so short, he’s right to make the most of it.

“Rocco has drawn up some plans,” Katherine says. “Which I’m sure he’ll share with you.”

I point at the backpack slung over my shoulders. “I’ve studied the plans already.” I lock my gaze on Katherine’s for an instant. Her eyes are dark and intense. I can see why a woman like her could hire out her… services. I quickly push the thought away. I’m here to help Rocco make his dream come true, not judge his business associate. He’s old enough to make his own judgments. I’m just the builder. I come in, do the work, and leave. “I’m here to get a feel for the place.” I glance away from Katherine. “What you’ve planned for it shouldn’t be a problem, from a builder’s point of view.” I have to admit that, though striking as she is, Katherine looks quite different than I pictured. She’s much more curvy than my idea of a high-class escort—but what do I know? She wears her curves well, however, and maybe that’s where the secret lies.

And if I’m going to do this job, I really need to get over Rocco’s friend’s profession—or former profession, so he has assured me.

“You’d best not tell your mother who you’re hanging out with,” I told him when he first told me about Katherine’s job. “She won’t understand.”

Rocco had shaken his head in that way he has, adding an exaggerated eye roll and hiss, and said, “Seems to me the one who doesn’t understand is sitting right across from me.”

When he offered me this job, I took it because I need it. Not so much from a monetary point of view—although at the time Australia wouldn’t let us legally marry, Samantha had made me the only beneficiary of her life insurance policy. She urged me to do the same, because you just never know. But now the beneficiary of my life insurance policy is dead. I guess it’ll all go to Rocco then.

No, I need this job for the distraction and as a way of getting back into it. I need to work, need to do something with my hands to chase the ever-growing cobwebs from my mind. If I have to work for an ex-prostitute, so be it. I’ve always considered myself an open-minded woman, but I have my limits. Trading sex for money is something that falls out of the boundaries of my comprehension.

“When can you start, Auntie?” Rocco asks. “And how long do you think it will take?”

Kristin steps forward. “We will also need a quote from you, Hera. On paper.”

“Of course.” I nod at her. I like her. She seems to know what she’s doing, unlike Rocco who’s been wagging his tail over this coffee shop for months now.

“You’re opening up a coffee shop called the Pink Bean?” I asked him, incredulously, when he first told me. “You’re not pulling my leg?”

He looked at me with his eyebrows all arched up. “Because we’re all gay, hence the coffee beans are supposedly pink,” he said, looking much more innocent than I knew him to be.

“Sure, dear,” I said. “If that’s what you want to believe.”

I’m glad Rocco and Katherine have Kristin on their side for this venture. It makes me feel as though I won’t be working on something that’s bound to go bust in a few months’ time.

“I’ll get you the quote, on paper, by the end of the week,” I say. “I can start as soon as all parties are agreed. I don’t have any other jobs going at the moment.” I don’t explain why. I’m sure Rocco has told them all about how his aunt has become a sad, grieving widow. “The job is pretty straightforward.” I give Rocco a quick pat on the biceps. “If we put all this vanity muscle to use, Rocco can be a great little helper if he wants to be. It should only take a few weeks. Let me have a proper think about it and I’ll give you a better idea of the time I’ll need when I send over the quote.”

“Sounds great,” Katherine says.

“This place is going to be amazing,” the lanky, toned woman whose name I’ve already forgotten, says.

“I’ll do my best,” I say.

Rocco puts his arm around me. “I know you will.” He cocks his head. “When Chris and I redid our apartment, Hera tore down the walls as if it was nothing.” He grins at me.

Katherine extends her hand. “I look forward to working with you.”

I have no choice but to shake her hand. We stand around chatting for a few more minutes, after which I do another run of the place, inspecting its nooks and crannies.

By the time I’m back in my truck, already doing calculations for the quote in my head, I’m glad for this opportunity. It’s time to get out of my house and start living in the real world again.

<>

More Than Words will be available on Thursday 15 November 2018

NEW RELEASE: In the Arms of a Woman

[image error]After the sweet romance outing I went on with my Mrs, I thought it was time to ramp the hotness All The Way Up again. And I don’t think I can go much higher on the hot-o-meter than in the stories in this collection. Or, to put it in the words of a member of my Launch Team: “Hold on to your panties, girls – this is pure knicker-ripping lust.”