And her lips were dampened with summer rain, turning to frost much too quickly as winter seemed to rush forward and carry the warmth, and the breath of life away.
And so droplet became frost as flame becomes ash. Victor, hero, heroine--all must have a past.
I was terribly excited this election day, waiting to see the results. Was I prepared for either outcome? I'm not sure.
News cameras turned toward Times Square and the crowd gathered there was completely silent. I'll admit, I was stunned with them. I still am.
I don't know what to think of our new President-Elect, though he definitely said things to give me pause during his campaign. But then again, a campaign is about getting noticed, being bombastic, showing your teeth, and tearing your opponent down. It's like a national roast. The top leaders tear each other apart, act like fools, and then have to hug at the end of it. I'm not sure when this began, but there's no denying this is our custom now. So... how to reconcile the guy I only knew as yelling "You're Fired!" on commercials as being our new Commander-and-Chief? I'm working on that.
Overall, I love my country, so I will reconcile whatever disagreements I may have with the campaigns in light of supporting my fellow voters. That's how a democracy works. And should something untoward come of a belief I hold dear? Well, then I shall protest with my words and write those elected who are supposed to be representing me. (And I'll do a little in-home cursing and finger-wagging and eye-squinting at the TV.)
I feel there is a fine line here, though. Should you be passionate about who won and who lost, whatever that means to you? Absolutely! I've spent many a night shocked from the winner of this or that season of American Idol, and I refuse to believe that my fellow country men be less passionate about their government than they are about a talent show.
So far the bright pieces that glitter in my mind--
Even though Clinton didn't win, she sent so many cracks through that glass ceiling. At no point did anyone maintain the fact that she was unfit to serve because she was a woman. That makes me happy. She headed a major political party and had support from a massive amount of the nation to be Commander-and-Chief. That's worth clapping and cheering for whether you like her or not. Many people were shocked that she didn't win. So we were fully prepared to have a female president in a country where women weren't even allowed to vote at one time! I can't imagine how precious those stickers were they put on Susan B. Anthony's grave this past week. Amazing.
And for our next president? Multiple divorces and bankruptcies and mistakes have marred him, scarred him, and still there are those that found him worthy of the presidency, those that cast their ballots for him. Any in-race policies aside, how remarkable is it that such a checkered past could lead up to something as great as president of the United States of America? That just shows you how persistence and an un-willingness to fall down and stay down can lead to anywhere you want to go. Go back to school. Take that chance everyone said was so unfeasible. Believe in yourself like one would whisper to their children every night--You can be anything your heart desires.
That will be my take away from the race. As far as the next four years go? Well, I'm very lucky and proud to live in a country where we all have a voice. This is my country, our country, and we will all get through the world together. Our country is as rich in nationalities, gender identities, faiths, pasts, futures, paths, wants, and needs as it is in geography. How blessed we are that this nation is ours.
"My land, your land, this land was made for you and me..."
That's right, you heard correctly. I let it go free, all home on the range, for a while.
Come check it out!
Explicit Country Boy Hotness! You've been warned!
Rusty never dreamed he'd be tempted to break from the humdrum day life of working pastures and nighttime rush of riding bulls. Never again.
Office manager of the Coalside Ranch, Darlene had been burned by men—the danger addicts, the adrenaline junkies; so much so that she barely got over the last one. It was stupid to fall in love with men who had a passion for danger. So why couldn’t she stop herself from daydreaming about the cowboy who lingered in her office?
When a night of riding bulls brings lusts to the forefront—can they pull away before they lose it all to temptation? Or will desires trump fears?
Only two things are for sure:
Cowboys are meant to ride...and be ridden.
I thought I'd share a little love with some authors I see on Amazon. Share the love. :)
FROM #1 INTERNATIONAL BESTSELLING AUTHOR SIERRA CARTWRIGHT
‘A hot exciting read and quite the page-turner’ ~ The Jeep Diva
‘Flawless, classy and evocative’ ~ Totally Booked Reviews
‘As in all of Ms. Cartwright’s novels, the BDSM scenes and sex are extraordinary, but there is more. The author not only sucked me into the BDSM lifestyle once more, she sucked me into a new world: the world of Sarah and Reece, of luxury and decadence, of heartbreak and love.’ ~ Long and Short Reviews
Book one in the Bonds series.
She still craved him… The sight of a collar in her boyfriend’s drawer had stunned Sarah. Panicking, she had fled. But no other man has ever been his equal.
Two years ago, the woman he’d hoped to collar and marry disappeared. So Reece McRae is stunned to find his former girlfriend on her knees, behaving as the submissive he’d always wanted.
Is it too late? He should refuse her, but an undeniable sexual attraction consumes him.
Sarah had been under Reece’s spell from the moment she met him. When she found a steel collar in his drawer, she panicked. The idea of a lifetime of his relentless demands, sensual and otherwise, suffocated her.
In the years they’ve been apart, she hasn’t met his equal. Now, convinced one last night will vanquish his memory, she sets out to seduce him.
The Reece she returns to is even more determined to have his way. Is she now strong enough, brave enough, to surrender to his love?
I love the names of my romances so far. So why would I want to change that?
Because there's something fun about writing a title that's completely ridiculous. I love getting my friends involved, mostly because they're awesome and have a keen insight on dirty names.
Have I mentioned how I love my friends? What would your dirty book title be called?
I took a nap, but I still feel whiny.
Consider me a possum. I need a friend to pick me up, hold me with a pair of thick gloves while I kick and scratch and bite, until I tire myself out, feed me a cheese doodle, and maybe pet my forehead before letting me back into the writerly wild.
There's so much I need to do to help promote my works. You know, get them out there in the world. Let people know they're there. You know it, right? Who told you? Don't ignore me, answer the question!
Sigh. Well, I've made my attempt at promoting tonight. Look. I'll even put a pic here right at the bottom, sort of sneaky like. Didn't even know it was there, did you? Go ahead. Click the pic. It's a link. That's right, I'm a promoting ninja like that.
Possum ninja. That's right. What every writer must attempt to be.
There are lullabies on the wind
Laying in it's mournful howl,
In the flap of swallow's wings
And the cricket's sound.
You can hear this pagan melody,
At the last crux of the light,
See it falling gold as amber
Bleeding red and leaving night.
And look at all those distant suns,
Which ones have gone to sleep?
And are there some, that've just begun
Which just now I can't see?
Oh, hear the mournful gallows,
As the wind cuts down the leaves
And they crunch and crumple to the earth,
Preparing for the freeze.
Silver threads, reflected sun, shadows carving deep,
My lovely from the moon to tide,
And the suns far gazing reach,
The wind holds on to all of it.
Darling, listen to the breeze.
I don't know that we ever get over being scared of writing. I've been writing for a long time, and I'm still scared.
Some of my fears are rational (makes them even scarier), and some aren't, like an urban myth someone whispered to you long ago at a campfire, and you don't really want to tell anyone that it still scares you.
There are some fears like wanting it to be as perfect as you can get it, hoping readers like it, hoping you didn't miss anything important, hoping you have the imaginary fuel to complete the story with some amount of inspiration, rather than running out on the third page. Some writer's think that's silly. Some don't.
Then there's that one fear, that you won't make interesting stories. Or that you'll run out of ideas. That's the urban myth that keeps staring at the pen and page trying to make words fit, even when you're blocked, just so you have proof that it won't last forever, that whatever modicum of talent you felt, that others seemed to see, isn't gone forever.
And sometimes those fears come together all at once. Like now, when I've so many stories in my head and I'm afraid I won't finish them all. Like now, when I want to hurry up and write them all at once while I'm still inspired before the block hits that makes me feel relatively useless. Like now, when I want to go to a friend and tell them all of my fears and have them make me believe that I can do what it feels almost impossible to do.
Sometimes it puts the fear at bay. Sometimes the fear just lingers while you do what it feels impossible to do. And you do it scared.
I've got some really good intentions. Honest. I plan to do lots of things. I mean, not plan enough to, you know, actually make a plan, but loosely. Like, maybe I'll clean those ceiling fans today. And the intentions are really very good, but hen I get wrapped up in the other things and whoosh! there goes the day.
I should become a better planner. Make a list or something.
Yeah, I can do that. Maybe later.
Ooo! Look! Something shiny!
The chicken's defrosting in the pan and Gunsmoke is playing out black and white across the TV screen. (I so love how tall Matt Dillon is. He'd make a really big target, but I imagine not very fun to tussle with.)
And in the middle of figuring what to write next. Not that I don't have an idea. I know what I want to write. More like how to get is started. Like picking the end piece of tape. If you get it done right, it unrolls perfectly. If you force it, you'll end up losing half the tape.
So that's what I'm doing. Trying to edge a portion of my nail under the of the tape and get it started. Wish me luck.
There's so much time between thinking about a book and the actual time taken to sit down and write it. And yes, you'll find so many things about how writing is a job and to do it even when you don't feel like it, if you want to be an actual working author and whole lot more of blow it out your ass.
There's quite the difference between writing when you're inspired and writing when you're eyes are tired, your head's killing you, and you've drank about as much coffee as your stomach can stand. It makes the difference when you're writing the book, to how you feel about writing it.
So, right now, I'm in that time where I sit on the floor and contemplate how to move forward. I've got all of the things I need to contemplate my story. And right now, it's brownie time.
Madam La Zuray
Hello, darlings, I'm Madam La Zuray, author of dirty books you can't help but fall in love with. I bring the hot and the dirty and everything in between, all in a read you can swallow on your lunch hour. No sense in messing around with perfection.