Liz Everly's Blog, page 79

How I Drool Over Your Tattoo

By Elizabeth Shore

Remember those 80s romance novel covers? Of COURSE you do. Bare chested, long-haired, totally hot, ripped guys, arms wrapped possessively around the doe-eyed adoring heroine. To wit:

 

 

Then in the 90s there was some drastic backpeddling, with dully innocuous covers which were neither tantalizing nor told much about the content within becoming common fare. Check out Judith McNaught’s Paradise, for example. Pearls and petals don’t tell you much, but readers also didn’t feel the burn of shame by reading these books in public as some had with the bare-chested Fabio covers screaming ROMANCE NOVEL! SEXY STUFF WITHIN!

So now we’re in the … two-thousand teens? Is that what how we’re referring to the present time? In any case, jumping to present day, we’ve got ereaders, people. Yea! Now we can really really disguise whatever we’re reading. And with this newfound freedom, I see the covers reverting back to those of yesteryear – meaning the 80s – but with a significant difference. For one thing, we’re not always getting a woman on the cover standing aside our requisite stud. No siree. We’re keeping him all to ourselves. There are lots and lots and lots of covers with just a smokin’ hot guy posing solo without any pesky woman draped all over him. And there’s something else that stands out on many of today’s covers:  the male cover models are frequently tattooed. Oooh my. Is it hot in here?

I’ll say straight up – I’m a huge fan of tattoos. There’s something so sexy about them. Despite the fact that even cool grannies are sporting ink these days, there remains a bad boy element to a guy with tats. Like maybe he’s done some time. Or belongs to a motorcycle gang. I also like the permanence to them. It’s a commitment to get a tattoo, because unless you want to sit through painful electrolysis to get it removed, that tat’s staying put. It’s also not for the faint hearted. Having a couple of them myself, I can say with authority that getting a tattoo hurts, at least some of the time and in certain places on the bod. But yet … but yet. When I see a guy sporting tattoos, my interest meter definitely amps.

There’s a whole thing with tattoos in Kit Rocha’s dystopian erotic romance Beyond series. Our own Kirsten Hallie Krum, Madeline Iva, and I are all fans of the series (check out Kristen’s blog on it here, and Madeline’s here), and tattooing is featured in it. Once someone is finally allowed into the main clan of the series and becomes a part of it, they “take ink,” and get tattooed to show their permanent allegiance. I like that. I also like that tattoos tell a story about the wearer. Not to say there aren’t people who just walk into a tattoo shop and decide to get a butterfly slapped on their ankle with no real affinity for butterflies other than they’re pretty. But more often than not the tattoo is chosen carefully and has meaning behind it. Those with tattoos frequently come up with the idea on their own and the artist’s design stems from that idea. So learning about why someone has a particular tattoo, why something is so meaningful to them that they made the decision to immortalize it on their bodies, is interesting, fascinating, and definitely downright sexy.

So, sexies, I leave you with tattooed heros to get you through your day. You’re welcome. :-)

Fear the Walking Dead: Is This the Way the World Ends?

I know, Alicia. I’m bored, too.

By Alexa Day

I’ve spent two weeks trying to figure out why I can’t get into Fear the Walking Dead.

I mean, I love the original TWD all to pieces. I’ve hung up on people when their phone calls threaten to overlap with those precious first few minutes of the show. I treasure my Twitter time with the rest of the viewership. My iPod is jammed with music from the show and the promos.

I worship Richonne and I do it proudly.

TWD has moved me (“It’s for you”), shocked me (“Look at the flowers”), cracked me up (“Motherdick“), and generally filled me with hope for the future of television.

So I really wanted to enjoy Fear the Walking Dead. For one thing, it was going to get me through the long, long summer hiatus until Season Six of TWD starts in October.

Looks like it’s going to be a long six weeks.

On the bright side, I’ve figured out what the trouble is. I guess there are going to be spoilers, if that matters to you.

In theory, Fear the Walking Dead should work the way Titanic worked.

I know. Bear with me.

We all went to see Titanic despite the fact that we know how the story ends. Right? I think we did that for two reasons. Either we wanted to see what James Cameron did with such a large-scale disaster from an artistic perspective, or we wondered what would become of the characters we’d come to care about. Or both. Both is another option.

Fear TWD should have similar appeal. We already know that Fear TWD‘s civil unrest and confusion will end with the zombie apocalypse. I know I started watching in the hope that the folks who brought us TWD would bring the same artistic firepower to the beginning of the end. But I also know that the only way to keep folks watching is to give us characters we care about.

Sadly, Fear TWD is falling short on both counts.

I was under the impression that Fear TWD would show us how the apocalypse started, but it’s pretty clear that the infection has taken a pretty solid hold of society before the first episode starts. We are now two episodes in, and we still don’t know what actually caused the zombie apocalypse. (My guess, though, is something to do with the flu shot.) We have no Patient Zero. We just have fewer zombies. If you spend any time on Twitter during TWD, you know that fewer zombies is not the way to hook fans.

The larger problem, though, is these characters.

TWD works so brilliantly because it’s a story about the sort of people who would never have met each other in the pre-apocalypse, each of whom has become a completely different sort of person in the aftermath of destruction. Add in the larger questions of how far people will go when faced with the collapse of their civilization. What you get is something deep and powerful — characters asking themselves and each other who they were and who they are with none of the distracting nonsense of 21st century society.

And then, of course, we get plenty of zombie-related violence on top of that. You know, just to keep things moving.

Fear TWD has given us a blended family drama. That’s right. We’re going to face the zombie apocalypse with teen angst, angry exes, and a harried mom trying to hold it all together. If someone made TWD into a Lifetime movie, this would be the result. Two hours of “Stop it! Don’t you say that to him! Because I’m your mother! Get down from there! Don’t touch him! That’s not what the custody agreement says! He’s not answering my phone calls! Just because! I hate you! You promised!”

It’s enough to make a person cheer for zombies. Yes, they are relentless undead killing machines who will cheerfully tear you into bite-sized pieces with their hands before cramming you into their decaying gullets. But they aren’t whiny, pouty bundles of high-voltage family resentment.

The worst part is that better choices are available.

During Sunday’s episode, two of our super-troubled teens are trapped indoors (Nick is going through withdrawal and his sister Alicia is in the role of Responsible Sibling/Caretaker). A moment before, we hear that the family across the street has planned a birthday party for a nine-year-old girl. We know that the little girl’s parents don’t expect anyone to come because everyone seems to be sick lately. We also know that another neighbor is looking very unwell.

What happens at the party? We don’t know.

How long did that unwell neighbor hold out before this mystery illness finally finished him? We don’t know.

How did he get into the house across the street? We don’t know.

Did the birthday girl make it? We don’t know.

Here’s what we got instead. “I don’t care! You let Mom do it! I’m going anyway! I hate you! We all know what you need!” We get to spend this part of the episode watching Nick sweat, vomit, and complain his way through withdrawal instead of actually watching the genesis of the zombie apocalypse. His sister isn’t even interested; why should the rest of us be?

Fear the walking dead? We haven’t really seen the walking dead. We did get to see a genuine L.A. police riot, but (forgive my cynicism) haven’t we kind of seen those before?

Anyway, if the next episode isn’t much more engaging, I’m going to have to find another way to wait out the summer hiatus. I didn’t sign on for a weekly dose of Anxious Moms Yelling and the Teens Who Love to Hate Them. I came to see the world shuffle slowly to a stop.

Is anyone else barely hanging on to Fear TWD at this point? Join the rant in the comments.

And follow Lady Smut for all the stuff and thangs.

Fire Me Up: A Review

by Kiersten Hallie Krum

Fire Me Up by Rachael Johns is the second book in Loveswept’s The Deacons of Bourbon Street MC erotic romance series featuring authors Megan Crane, Rachael Johns, Jackie Ashenden, and Maisey Yates.

Travis “Cash” Sinclair values only two things from his days with the Deacons of Bourbon Street: his prized Harley Davidson and the man who gave it to him. But now Priest Lombard is gone, and Cash has inherited the Deacons’ clubhouse—not to mentions its unexpected tenant. She’s exactly the type of woman he tries to avoid: all incense and art, with a sharp tongue that promises trouble. So why does Cash want to push aside those flowing skirts and lose himself between her legs?

 

Billie Taylor fled a bad marriage to start a new life among the grit and glamour of the French Quarter. She refuses to let another man distract her from her dreams, especially an outlaw biker with nothing to offer except hot sex and an eviction notice. Cash is dangerous, with an untamed streak he tries desperately to conceal. He drives Billie wild, sending her too close to the edge for her own good. And she won’t fall under his spell—or into his bed—without a fight.

Click image to buy.

Cash is the first of the once-exiled Deacons to not want to be back in New Orleans. Called back by Ajax in Make You Burn, he only plans to stay long enough to honor his dead MC president, Priest, and then scoot right back to his life in Florida as a security analyst. His plans go awry when Priest’s will names him as one of four heirs. Now Cash is stuck in New Orleans indefinitely until the inherited properties can be sold, including the offensive bohemian art gallery that now lives in what was once the Deacons’ prized clubhouse.

Billie barely survived an abusive, domineering ex-husband. Her art gallery in New Orleans is her second chance: a new life for a new Billie. Now that sanctuary is threatened by Cash’s plans, especially after he decides to move back into the former clubhouse and be her roommate for as long as he’s there. Billie doesn’t like feeling powerless again but increasingly finds it difficult to set boundaries with Cash when the longer he’s there, the more she wants for him to stay.

Cash and Billie are sharp contrast to the high-octane Ajax and Sophie who debuted the Deacons of Bourbon Street in Make You Burn, though they are no less intense. Billie is the first outsider to this MC world and it’s not an easy adaptation for her, especially given the abuses of her former marriage. She’s afraid to object for fear of pushing Cash and the Deacons to a decision she doesn’t want, but can’t give up her gallery, her home, without a fight. Cash is dealing with some serious emo issues and fighting it every step of the way. Cash is pretty much pissed at everyone and his trust issues are a mile wide–which makes them a few yards shorter than Billie’s. He made a life away from the Deacon’s out of necessity, one he’s come to value quite a bit, but the old pull of what was once the most important thing in his life, the club, once again has its claws in him. His relationship with Billie makes him confront his past too and particularly the deed (and the person) that set him on the path to the Deacons in the first place. Billie is sweet and has a slow burn to find her feet but with a great payoff. She’s necessary too, a needed palliative to all the MC attitude swinging going on around her. Cash’s presence and the uncertainty that the changes happening in the Deacons MC brings to her door shakes up the comfort zone she’s been hiding in since arriving from Australia. The sexual tension between her and Cash and the shades of similar and different between him and her ex force Billie to figure out who she wants to be in this new life of hers and just what she does, or doesn’t, need from the man who’s dramatically become a focus in it.

Fire Me Up is available on September 1st. Click on the cover image above to buy. Check out the Lady Smut review of Make You Burn and see out The Deacons of Bourbon Street series began. And be sure to listen in to the podcast interview with all four Bitches of Bourbon Street, authors Megan Crane, Rachael Johns, Jackie Ashenden, and Maisey Yates.

Follow Lady Smut. We’ll keep you fired up.

 

Spent from Blushing, Ready for Tuesday!

Nothing refreshes like a long weekend of handling implements. *sigh*

By Alexa Day

I have been in the nation’s capital this weekend, where I presented a workshop on Writer’s Self-Confidence at the Passionate Pen conference, hosted by Blushing Books. What a party! Is there anything better than hanging out with the sort of folks who discuss the Oxford comma, the mysteries of Amazon and its algorithms, and the relative merits of floggers and canes?

I can’t think of anything. Not just now.

While I’m recovering from my trip, why don’t you enjoy clicking through some of my favorite posts from the last few months? Don’t worry. I’ll be back to provoke your thoughts in just two short days — I will be sliding over onto Tuesday starting this very week!

See you there.

In the dust-up over “female Viagra,” I think we lost sight of the “male Pill.”

I really hope the whole dadbod thing is over by now.

How do *you* feel about your Number?

And I think I’m still a little put out about this guy who was outed.

Get to clicking! And follow LadySmut. We know how to party around here.

Sexy Saturday Round Up

Hey beach bunnies!

Happy Saturday — anyone out there wiggling your toes in the hot sand? If you’re trapped inside with the A/C instead, here are the Lady Smut authors with some sexy, smexy, interesting links for you to peruse at your leisure.

From Madeline:

Is it ever okay to ASK FOR IT? Romance for Feminists blog looks at Lilah Pace’s rape fantasy novel.

Boys Tell All at WeWomen: What they think of women who put out on the first date.

Famous singer dedicates love song to her vibrator.  Really.

Bitch magazine posted a hilarious comic about a couple’s first time at a swinger’s party.

NPR hops on the romance bandwagon w/ 100 Swoon worthy Summer Romances–including erotic romance!

 

LAWYER UP: I Fought The Law n Then We Had Kinky Sex

Lawyer Up (Meeting Men)

You know you want it. Click to buy!

by Madeline Iva

What are you doing this weekend?  I think I might be rolling around with a juicy little book called Lawyer Up (Meeting Men)LAWYER UP by Kate Allure.  Three stories, three steamy erotic romance encounters with smart men in suits.

I don’t know about you, but there’s just something about a guy in a tie that gets me all hot n bothered.

Love the cover, love the reviews that it got–going to see if Kate will stop by the blog some time.

Meanwhile, Lawyer Up (Meeting Men)buy it kittens!

“This trio of hot and steamy tales is escapism of the richest, most decadent variety.”-RT Book Reviews

“Readers will cheer on these strong women as they take the initiative, seeking (and finding) both sexual satisfaction and emotional fulfillment.”-Publisher’s Weekly

50’s Spankity-Spank-Spank: Guest Post by Cara Bristol

by Cara Bristol

“Educating His Bride” from CORRECTING THE COEDS

Never much interested in her studies, Margaret Atwater attends college hoping to graduate with an Mrs. degree instead of a bachelor’s. When she catches the eye of English Professor Henry Thurston, she’s thrilled to marry him, drop out of school, and begin a new life as a married woman and faculty wife. However, Henry is a kinky man who has much to teach his eager young bride—in and out of the bedroom. As Mrs. Henry Thurston, Margaret’s education has just begun.

When I set out to write an erotic spanking romance set on a college campus in the 1950s, I wanted it to be historically accurate. I didn’t want to slap a poodle skirt and a pair of saddle shoes on my heroine and then put her in an otherwise modern scenario. I wanted the story to be true to the values and culture of the time.

But how do you write a kinky sex story set in a decade that epitomized wholesomeness? The 1950s seems as clean-cut as a starched white shirt. Even “I Love Lucy” would have you believe married couples slept in separate beds. The emphasis was on family and conformity. Girls were not supposed to have sex before marriage and a girl who did quickly earned herself a bad reputation as a “loose” or “fast” woman. This was the time before birth control pills (the first oral contraceptive wasn’t approved in the US until 1960), so with sex came the problem of unwanted pregnancy.

Couples in the US married at a younger age than at any other time in US history. In 1950 and 1960, the average age of first marriage was 20.3 years for women and 22.8 years for men, compared to 2010 when it was 26.1 for women and 28.2 for men, or 1890 when it was 22.0 for women and 26.1 for men. But sex, it was a happenin’. What people professed to do, and what they actually did behind closed doors were two vastly different things.

For instance, the term “sex symbol” came into usage in the 1950s, the decade that produced sexual icons Marilyn Monroe, Jayne Mansfield, Brigitte Bardot, Raquel Welch, and Elvis “the Pelvis” Presley. Founded by Hugh Hefner, Playboy magazine debuted in 1953 with Marilyn Monroe as its first nude centerfold.

Biologist and sexologist Alfred Kinsey got people “all shook up” with his reports Sexual Behavior in the Human Male (1948) and Sexual Behavior in the Human Female (1953), which discussed taboo subjects like homosexuality and BDSM. According to Kinsey’s reports, heterosexuality was not as “exclusive” as people believed it was.

That great scene in Masters of Sex where he has to spank her–if only for the sake of science.

While Kinsey relied on surveys and self-reports for his data, William Masters and Virginia Johnson observed people having sex in their studies, which began in 1957. In the laboratory, they watched couples having sexual intercourse and masturbating, their research debunking some commonly accepted “facts” about female sexuality and revolutionizing sex therapy.

Against this backdrop, I wrote my story, “Educating His Bride” for CORRECTING THE COEDS a spanking romance collection, which includes stories by Sue Lyndon, Celeste Jones, and Renee Rose. This story is about a young woman’s blossoming sexuality and introduction to kink under the tutelage of her much more experienced husband. It’s hot, erotic, kinky—and as historically accurate as I could make it. ;>

Multi-published, Cara Bristol is the author of more than 20 erotic romance titles. She writes spanking romance, contemporary romance, paranormal, and science fiction romance. No matter what the subgenre, one thing remains constant: her emphasis on character-driven seriously hot erotic stories with sizzling chemistry between the hero and heroine.

Buy Cara’s latest work, CORRECTING THE COEDS, a 1950s spanking romance collection here:

Amazon US – http://www.amazon.com/Correcting-Coeds-Spanking-Romance-Collection-ebook/dp/B0140347QK/
Amazon UK – http://www.amazon.co.uk/Correcting-Coeds-Spanking-Romance-Collection-ebook/dp/B0140347QK/
Amazon CA – http://www.amazon.ca/Correcting-Coeds-Spanking-Romance-Collection-ebook/dp/B0140347QK/
Amazon AU – http://www.amazon.com.au/Correcting-Coeds-Spanking-Romance-Collection-ebook/dp/B0140347QK/

Click on her name to go to her website — Cara Bristol

Look for her book coming Sept. 22 – STRANDED WITH THE CYBORG, a science fiction romance.

Get notified when this books releases! Sign up for Cara’s New Release Newsletter

Those Cheatin’ Hearts and the Ashley Madison Hack Attack

By Elizabeth Shore

It’s been a victorious few weeks for those in the public shaming biz. Ever since extramarital affairs hookup site AshleyMadison.com was breached by hackers, we’ve seen an outpouring of articles, news feeds, and blogs about how many people had signed up on the site (numbers range anywhere from 32 to 40 million) and how many prominent or well-known folks are among those numbers. Government employees, some with sensitive congressional jobs, have been ID’d. And reality TV star Josh Duggar, upon being outed, has hung his head in shame for being, in his words, “the biggest hypocrite ever.”

We’re good with this. Right? They were cheaters, after all. Lowest of the low. They violated marital vows and the trust of those to whom they’d supposedly commited unwavering fidelity. Good thing well-meaning hackers were able to bust into the site and expose those loathesome creatures so that the rest of us pillars of moral rectitude can point fingers of shame. And having the world connected on the net makes it so easy. It’s virtual stocks and pillories to make certain those cheaters are properly called out. If only we could spit on them and throw rotten vegetables in their faces for good measure.

To be clear, I don’t condone cheating. Committing to fidelity is just that – a commitment. A vow that you’re going to be loyal to one person and not go running around having sex on the sly with lots of others (or even one other). If you make the promise of fidelity to someone, you darn well ought to keep it. But here’s where I struggle with the Ashley Madison story. Breaking your commitment is a bad thing. It’s painful, it’s wrong, and you shouldn’t do it. But it’s not illegal. Hacking into a computer site and stealing protected data is. Yet for all the stories I’ve read about this, the focus is almost exclusively on the people registered on the site and not at all on the hackers who exposed them.

When hackers breached the Target Corp’s site back in 2013 and obtained the data from some 40 million credit cards, people were in an uproar. Their personal information, such as email addresses and phone numbers, were compromised. Target ended up paying out $10 million to settle a class action lawsuit by people upset over the data breach. The same is true in the Ashley Madison situation. But rather than hearing public outcry over the hackers who illegally broke into the site and compromised subscribers’ data – or outcry over Ashley Madison not keeping their damn data more secure! –  the condemnation has been over the subscribers themselves. They’re the ones receiving the criticism, the shaming, the virtual vegetables in the face. How we’ve been able to out these people seems not to matter, the focus is solely on what they’ve done. It’s a classic example of the ends justifying the means.

I have to admit, I find this unsettling. The hackers who went after Ashley Madison weren’t doing it to obtain financial data, as in the Target breach, but rather solely because they wanted to expose activity over which they objected. If a bunch of people broke into a bookstore, stole every last book of erotic romance they could find, and then built a public bonfire to burn away those books, would we be cool with that? After all, the activity would have eroded something that some people don’t like. For me, this isn’t OK. We all don’t like everything. I’m not a fan of hunting, but it’s not my place to bust into the homes of hunters and steal their rifles because I don’t like what they do with them. I equate this example with the cheaters. You don’t have to like what they do, but stealing their personal information and deciding to be judge and jury of their activity is not only illegal, it’s wrong.

One thing that’s not wrong is for you to voice your thoughts in the comments below. We love to hear from our readers. And follow us at Lady Smut. We’ll never steer you wrong.

 

 

 

Double Trouble: Confession of my Scattered Selves and Why I Need to Step Away

Photo by Dollen.

By Liz Everly

I confess: I should be writing something else right this very moment. In fact, I should be working on one of two projects for which I’m actually being paid to write. Fancy that.

Herein lies the dilemma I’ve had for months —and, ultimately, leading to my decision to step away from Lady Smut. I’ve been wrestling with this because I’ve been here from the start. Lady Smut sprang up from a discussion that Madeline Iva and I had a few years back. So, it’s been one of those projects that we figured out along the way and both have put a lot of our heart into. I’m very proud of this blog. And we have been very selective in who we ask to blog here. With that, and by remaining true to our voice, our “platform” if you will, we’ve created a wonderful community of intelligent, kick-ass bloggers, and incredible followers.

But my writing career has taken another path. It’s a path I’m very excited about, but it needs much more time and brain space than I have available right now to do it justice. I really, really, REALLY need to focus. I felt like I might be able to do that today, but, there was this blog post, ya see. It works like that. (Or does not work like that, however the case may be.) This push and pull and teetering on exhaustion is not good for me, my family, or my writing.

I am not a quitter—but sometimes, letting go is the only way to keep a certain measure of sanity. I feel a sense of needing to protect my creativity. When you are new to this business and have so much to say and to write, the universe will take it and won’t pay you a cent for it—in either dollars or energy. But after doing it for awhile, you see that sometimes the best way to continue to focus on writing is to simply say no to other things. I’m putting my energy into what matters. Right now.

Last year, between both of my names, I had seven books released (not including my Eight Lays series). I maintain 2 websites and blogs that are my own and blog on three different group blogs. Plus I handle two Facebook accounts, two Twitter accounts, and, well, you get the picture. Crazy, huh?

And of all of my books, my romances were the least successful. I don’t think it was because they were not good. I have my own theories about it—and I hope to purchase them back one day and release them on my own. But that’s another blog post. I find when I feel scattered and wounded and like my creative well needs protecting and tending, the thing to do is pull back and evaluate. What’s working? What’s not? What could I have done differently?

My immediate future plans include writing this biographic historical fiction and working on a new mystery series for which I’m contracted. I don’t plan to walk away from the romance genre forever. Just for the next year or so. I’m hoping to finish up the Eight Lays Series and write a novella, when I get the time and space. Maybe sometime over this next year. And I have a romance series idea that I’ll be pitching once the dust settles from everything else.

In the mean time, you can follow me at Lizeverly.com, where I will be posting very sporadically, and on Facebook and Twitter. I’ll be stopping by Lady Smut from time to time. Also, if you are a mystery reader or a historical fiction reader and want information about my other name and those projects, you can email me a lizeverly@rocketmail.com. I’ll be happy to divulge.

Rock on, Lady Smut bloggers and readers. Catch you later.

XO

Liz

Writing Through Depression

by Kiersten Hallie Krum

At the Romance Writers of America conference this year, I moderated a workshop entitled “Writing Through Depression”. This turned out to be the most moving writer’s workshop I have ever attend–and I’ve attended more than my fair share.

It was not anything like what I had expected. When I first read the workshop description, I anticipated a hands-on hour with applicable tips on writing through depression along the lines of “here’s how you can hit daily word count when you have zero desire to get out of bed.”

Fortunately, I was very wrong (though if anyone has tips on how to do that, I’m all ears). Instead, this was a startlingly vulnerable and frank discussion about depression between the five panelists and the packed audience. Attendees were asked not to tweet or make other social media posts about what was being discussed so that the room might remain a safe place. I have no intention of violating that implicit confidentiality now by detailing personal specifics shared in that workshop, only to share bit of how it influenced me.

What immediately struck me was how many people (mostly, if not exclusively, women) came to this workshop suggesting a high volume of writers suffering from depression. The mythology around writers is one of complex mental health, genius wrapped up in the scads of crazy. Step away from the stereotype and you find that writers are often simply wounded people with something to say and a compulsion to say it. (Though not exclusively; there are plenty of happy, well-adjusted writers. Somewhere.) Here in this workshop was a wealth of writers brave enough to join in this discussion.

I jotted a few things down for personal reference but the atmosphere was so intimate, I quickly felt creepy for doing it. Depression tells you that you’re alone. Depression tells you that no one else has these issues. Depression tells you that no one will every understand what and how you’re feeling. Depression tells you that you’re weak or less than others because you can’t do better or write more, because you’re afraid of failure but unmotivated to work and produce pages or submit proposals. Depression tells you that you will never, ever succeed.

Depression lies. That was the first tenant to resonate with me in the workshop. Depression lies. It tells me all those things and more and I believe them because I’m harder on myself than anyone else would ever think of being, a constant internal barrage over what I should’ve done when my greatest accomplishment for the day may have only been brushing my teeth. Once. “Don’t should all over yourself,” advised one panelist. “Learn to be your own friend,” advised another. “If you wouldn’t say such things to your friend, why are you beating yourself up with it?” You have to recognize, continued the panelist, when you’re having a day when nothing is going to get done. “Stop judging yourself for it. Give yourself a break. Be kind to yourself.” I don’t know about you, but this one is the most difficult for me to get past. Nobody’s harder on me than me.

We live in a comparison society where we’re always looking to see whose grass in greener and how our grass can beat it. “One hundred percent of what you see at conferences or on social media, etc., is perception. Looking at someone else who you perceive is doing better than you.” Guilty as charged–AGAIN.

Overall, I came away from the “Writing Through Depression” workshop deeply moved and with an overwhelming sense of one simple truth: you are not alone. Those women in the audience and the courageous women on the panel were all there to share their experiences, and to shine a light on what society deems taboo and say “Depression lies. We’ve been there too. You’re not alone.”

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