I. Am. Me. "It don't matter what my name is. I'm not famous and I don't hate it."
ENJOY MY LATEST TEASER
THORNE: Rose's Dark Secret
BUY LINK:
amzn.to/2d5eGsa
I wanted to share another teaser with you today from the second book in my Thorne series, Rose’s Dark Secret, really my favorite in the series so far. The first I loved—as it came out of another series I had published on literotica that was quite popular--but the second, for me, really starts to unravel the complexities of the characters, their psyches, their layers. Nothing is ever what it seems, is it? True. And neither am I.
Please don’t laugh at me. "I'm not famous...It don't matter what my name...and I don't hate it." But I have a confession to make. Okay. It’s not really a confession per se (but now that I have your attention), here it is: I’m kind of sort of just a little bit proud of myself. Yup. There. I said it. And I don't care how small my accomplishment is. I'm going to embrace for one moment.
Only a few short months ago last February I started my journey into self-publishing. I had absolutely no idea how to do any of it. Rewind a year before that. I signed with a small epublisher to share my story of Natalie with the world, and I was even a bit more clueless then. No Twitter. No Facebook. No website. I had to start all of that myself. Slowly but surely, things grew. Add in a newsletter, a blog, a writing support group known as the WPW, and now video teasers, I truly have come a very long way.
Some of it has been super rewarding. I’ve met great people and friends, have seen my audience and fans and sales grow, and have a safe outlet to explore my kinks, my fantasies, and my creativity. I look forward to creating teasers, writing posts and tweets and blogs, and working to write my next work or if I’m being honest, works.
Some of it hasn’t been. I’ve met some real louses. Some liars. Some narcissists. I’ve watched people come and go out of my life who were so-called friends. Won and as quickly lost in love. I’ve been betrayed. Stomped on. Crucified. Depicted unfairly. I’ve even suspected that a few “friends” have ripped off some of my writing almost verbatim (why they would want to is a mystery). See my former blog post about lying:
rbobrien.weebly.com/blog-posts/lying-cheating-deceitoh-my
And a friend I recently made told me to tread carefully, to always wear a mask, to be sure to never, for one second, let that mask drop. That RB is a character. Just like the characters in my fiction. She is? I asked. Yes, he said. She is.
But she isn’t. And maybe that’s where I get into trouble. Everything I feel, think, do, write, believe, share. It’s all versions of me. So what that it’s presented under the name RB?
My real name is not RB. But my hopes, my dreams, my love for romance and the erotic and Shakespeare and EE Cummings and Hemingway and Plath and Nin is me. My sense of loyalty to friends and commitment to supporting them is me. My love for dance and music and family is me. My penchant to question and fear the unknown and to ask too many questions and suffer from grave insecurities is me. My sexual appetite is me. And my ability to smile and love is, indeed, me. Regardless what name I am. I. Am. Me. For better. Or for worse.
And right now, the need to absorb happiness is me. I want to bask in this small, ephemeral moment--this feeling of pride. For that too is me, just as surely as I know that tomorrow the clouds may very well roll back in to steal this moment away as if it never existed at all. For I am a writer, a soul tortured by that inner, nagging voice that never sleeps. And that, too, is me. "It don't matter what my name is. I don't got one. I'm not famous.: ;)
THORNE: Rose's Dark Secret
BUY LINK:
amzn.to/2d5eGsa
I wanted to share another teaser with you today from the second book in my Thorne series, Rose’s Dark Secret, really my favorite in the series so far. The first I loved—as it came out of another series I had published on literotica that was quite popular--but the second, for me, really starts to unravel the complexities of the characters, their psyches, their layers. Nothing is ever what it seems, is it? True. And neither am I.Please don’t laugh at me. "I'm not famous...It don't matter what my name...and I don't hate it." But I have a confession to make. Okay. It’s not really a confession per se (but now that I have your attention), here it is: I’m kind of sort of just a little bit proud of myself. Yup. There. I said it. And I don't care how small my accomplishment is. I'm going to embrace for one moment.
Only a few short months ago last February I started my journey into self-publishing. I had absolutely no idea how to do any of it. Rewind a year before that. I signed with a small epublisher to share my story of Natalie with the world, and I was even a bit more clueless then. No Twitter. No Facebook. No website. I had to start all of that myself. Slowly but surely, things grew. Add in a newsletter, a blog, a writing support group known as the WPW, and now video teasers, I truly have come a very long way.
Some of it has been super rewarding. I’ve met great people and friends, have seen my audience and fans and sales grow, and have a safe outlet to explore my kinks, my fantasies, and my creativity. I look forward to creating teasers, writing posts and tweets and blogs, and working to write my next work or if I’m being honest, works.
Some of it hasn’t been. I’ve met some real louses. Some liars. Some narcissists. I’ve watched people come and go out of my life who were so-called friends. Won and as quickly lost in love. I’ve been betrayed. Stomped on. Crucified. Depicted unfairly. I’ve even suspected that a few “friends” have ripped off some of my writing almost verbatim (why they would want to is a mystery). See my former blog post about lying:
rbobrien.weebly.com/blog-posts/lying-cheating-deceitoh-my
And a friend I recently made told me to tread carefully, to always wear a mask, to be sure to never, for one second, let that mask drop. That RB is a character. Just like the characters in my fiction. She is? I asked. Yes, he said. She is.
But she isn’t. And maybe that’s where I get into trouble. Everything I feel, think, do, write, believe, share. It’s all versions of me. So what that it’s presented under the name RB?
My real name is not RB. But my hopes, my dreams, my love for romance and the erotic and Shakespeare and EE Cummings and Hemingway and Plath and Nin is me. My sense of loyalty to friends and commitment to supporting them is me. My love for dance and music and family is me. My penchant to question and fear the unknown and to ask too many questions and suffer from grave insecurities is me. My sexual appetite is me. And my ability to smile and love is, indeed, me. Regardless what name I am. I. Am. Me. For better. Or for worse.
And right now, the need to absorb happiness is me. I want to bask in this small, ephemeral moment--this feeling of pride. For that too is me, just as surely as I know that tomorrow the clouds may very well roll back in to steal this moment away as if it never existed at all. For I am a writer, a soul tortured by that inner, nagging voice that never sleeps. And that, too, is me. "It don't matter what my name is. I don't got one. I'm not famous.: ;)
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