Romance gets a bad rap. (Understatement of the millennium, right?) It’s not only the best-selling genre in the world, these stories are consistently the most groundbreaking in terms of theme, setting, and style. They are predominantly BY and FOR women, a clue into why this genre sits at the center of so much criticism.
Sometimes I can ignore the haters. But sometimes…
Well, my vow of non-violence gets seriously tested.
The derision of Romance novels can be tied directly to the patriarchy, misogyny, and racism we struggle with in society as a whole. (Despite the loud protests otherwise.) …
Before experimenting with Kickstarter, I’d heard of crowdfunding. Had even contributed to a few campaigns — an opera my friend put on, a gorgeous photography book, and some nifty product campaigns. I would’ve happily contributed to the ground-breaking campaign for Cards Against Humanity if I had known about it.
I liked the idea and have always felt awe for those brave enough to ask for community support for a yet-to-be project. In my mind, however, there was no relationship between publishing and crowdfunding. I didn’t know of any authors using the platform and had never contemplated the idea.
That answer might make this the shortest post ever, an accomplishment I’ve never tried to achieve, so I’ll elaborate.
In terms of living a creative life, there is only one obstacle, and that is mindset. Of course, I am excluding basic survival, which if not present, will make everything else irrelevant.
I often wish for more — much more — of both time and money. …
#MFRWAuthor 52-Week Challenge #3. An alternate take.
Let me tell you about the time I lost my mind.
To tell you the truth, it happens all the time. My highly successful selective amnesia has erased the painful peaks of heartbreak, childbirth, and too many martinis, leaving only benign flatlands that are much easier to navigate.
Multiple times a day, it also removes my words. Or at least the memory of my words. It’s even more than those instances, often dubbed senior moments, where I lose my train of thought, or can’t access the word I want to say. …
#MFRWAuthor 52-Week Challenge #2
I am selling the house I grew up in. it has lain empty for over 3 years now, a great estate of sickness and madness and death. The walls and doors and stuff I could not wait to flee, so many decades before.
This house, where I grew and I raged and I feared for my sanity, had become mine, despite my best efforts to escape. Mine to clean, mine to manage, mine to administrate. But not to sleep in. …
I began writing as a last resort. During an extremely difficult period of my life, when I didn’t think I had any other outlet. I wrote to help sort the pain and confusion in my thoughts. I wrote to find solutions. I wrote to imagine a better future.
Those pieces scribbled in notebooks, on scraps of paper, in computer files named ‘miscellaneous thoughts’, were never meant for public consumption. Most of them will never be seen by eyes other than mine. But they were some of the most valuable writing I have ever done. They brought me from darkness back…
AUTHOR’S NOTE: Be advised that due to strong language and steamy sexual encounters, this piece is not intended for the easily offended or readers under 18.
A bit of melted Cheddar oozed out between crisp slices of bread, warming the corner of Ramona’s mouth. She flicked out her tongue and caught the errant piece of deliciousness. The sharp tang, tempered by something earthy and creamy, pushed a satisfied groan up from the bottom of her belly. This was turning out to be a whole body eating experience.
With one more bite, the first piece was gone. She looked…
In the early morning, I sit on my heart-shaped stool, outside my front door and admire the beautiful trees and bushes around my new home. Sometimes, the drops dance on the leaves, carrying my attention for minutes at a time. Almost always, the birds sing.
I just sit. At first, it was an escape from the boxes. An effort to clear my mind and catch my breath. Now, it is the ritual that starts my day.
I live with two strong tendencies, which do not always align: the desire for complete freedom, spontaneity and boundlessness, and the yearning for structure…
This was not the first time Camille had looked foolish, but it might have been the first time she didn’t care. Unable to find her room key or hold back the torrent of tears, she plunked down onto the ugly hotel carpet in front of her door and sobbed, loud and hard. With nothing but the back of her hand to wipe away the tears and snot, the scene quickly escalated from tragic to gruesome.
Heartbreak was no stranger. But this break-up was beyond humiliating. How dare he? She had given him everything and he claimed it wasn’t enough. He’d…
She sat transfixed by the oversized white kitchen clock, her only movement the almost imperceptible pulse of that singular sound.
tick tick tick
Finally, the hands aligned themselves into the required shape and she turned her head.
“Mother,” she yelled up the stairs, “it’s time to go.”
She sat and listened to the shuffling from upstairs, then the thump-thump-pause of her mother’s slow descent.
No need to get up and help. The old lady was capable of making it down just fine.
She ran a hand over the stray hairs around her temple. No other preparations needed. There was nothing…