Blunt Blogging from a #Bitch #Author

Time for some personal reflection for the week.

One of my good friends sent me this image on the left yesterday and said "I saw this and thought of you!"

I laughed and wrote back "TRUTH."

"That's my girl!" she responded.

Yep, it's funny because it's true...most of the time I sort of hate people.

But, deep down, I was thinking after I got her I want to be that way? Do I want others to think of me as kind of a bitch? 

(I did sing that Meredith Brooks "Bitch" song the first time I ever sang Karaoke...)

For the record, I'm not a bitch to my friends. I'm actually super loyal and always working hard to stay connected to the people I love.

But to others...If I'm being 100 percent honest...I'm not always sunshine and rainbows.

I'm very blunt, and while out-going and talkative, I never beat around the bush and tell you what you want to hear. If you got a bad haircut, it's likely I'm probably going to tell you it's bad in the nicest way I can (if you ask for my opinion, that is).

What you see is what you get with me.

It takes effort sometimes for me to be the bubbly budding erotic romance author that others see in a Facebook party. I would much rather just bullshit with my readers about Jared Leto, other celebs I like and tell stories about random stalkers I attract at Starbucks (that's a story for another blog post.)

I'm not saying I'm like the Donald Trump of romance authors or anything. But sometimes I just don't feel like being super friendly and sweet. Hopefully that's okay. :)

How Do You Deal with Insults? #indieauthor #amwriting #MondayBlogs

"I'm just shocked. I was shocked."

"Grandma would be mortified if she was alive. She wouldn't even say the word 'fuck' out loud ever in her life."

"What are you going to say to your son about this when he's older?"

"How is it possible all your friends know about this and they are okay with it?"

"I just can't imagine that many people like sex that much and want to read about it."

This is a list of comments a family member made to me recently when she learned that I had decided to write erotic fiction and had, in fact, already published my first erotic romance.

You see, this family member does not approve. And for some reason, she felt the need to tell me this as if it was all relevant to my life choices.  

She hasn't actually read my book. She's only read the blurb, which she said -- insultingly -- reminded her of the movie Almost Famous. UM, NO.

With this list of comments above, she has basically outlined that I am 1. a bad person and 2. a bad mother because I'm not ashamed of myself as I should be. I should be ashamed to have a sexual fantasy and MORE ashamed that I wrote it down.

Also, I should be ashamed that I would jokingly refer to my book as 'porn,' because that means it is by definition, in her eyes, DEGRADING to women.

In fact, she told me, erotica is degrading to women because "everything about sex should remain private."

This family member isn't 80 years old. She grew up in the 1960s and 70s and, in fact, has probably had sex with many more men than I have.

That didn't stop her from telling me her unedited thoughts on my novella (that she's never read.)

I wasn't quite sure how to respond to these comments.

I ended up just saying "I'm not ashamed and I have nothing to be ashamed of. Don't be so Puritanical."

But I will admit the conversation hurt me. Not because think ANY of her criticisms are accurate, but because she can't accept me for who I am, for what I choose to spend my time on and see it for what it is -- a form of expression that a lot of people out there get a LOT OUT OF on a daily basis.

Erotica is fun. It's fantasy. It's freeing. And that makes it a perfect way to spend my free time. If I can write well enough that other women feel and experience the fantasies that I have in my brain, I'd say that's an accomplishment!

My family member is probably just jealous.

Any other erotica/romance writers out there have a family member or friend like this? How do you deal with it?


Tease Yourself with a Taste of My #RockstarRomance

Invisible Ink is known more for its hot and dirty scenes.

But...SURPRISE. There's a little bit of a sweet side in the story, too.

Check out this quick little sweet excerpt just for you guys.

“So you’re in love with him, right?” Sammi asked as soon as I finished telling her the story of my recent activities with Jake. We were at the pool, soaking in the sun and sipping those cocktails that you don’t realize are getting you drunk until it’s too late.

Drunk Sammi was an expert at putting her old reporter skills to good use.

“In love with him?” I avoided eye contact, put my blonde locks up in a bun and played with the straps on my bikini. “No. It’s not like that. He’s not even in L.A. right now.”

“Well, you should see your face when you talk about him these days,” she said, taking a sip from her pink straw. “You’re in so much trouble, Lexi. I hope you don’t get pregnant.”

I laughed. “We always use a condom, Sammi, You know about his manwhore ways.”

“Exactly. My point exactly,” she said.

Since our night together that turned into a morning together, Jake had been traveling non-stop preparing for another new project. Other than his random text messages, which kept me entertained on fall afternoons when stuck at my desk, I tried not to think about him. He wasn’t around. I didn’t want to waste time missing him.

I struggled, however, because as the months passed since our first hookup, he was more and more popular in the press, his face in magazines, in the tabloids and his name on the lips of people that hadn’t even heard of him a year ago.

But we weren’t anything serious. We were just a sex thing.

I stirred my drink with the straw and thought about Sammi’s “love” comment for a long time, staring up at a the palm tree over my head. “When I’m with him,” I said. “It’s like…the real world doesn’t exist. Thoughts don’t exist.”

Sammi sighed and flipped from her back to her stomach.

“Trouble,” she said.

* * *

It was 11 p.m. and my phone buzzed next to me in bed. I was half asleep and rolled over to glance at the screen.

"I must have done something wrong in a past life."

Another weird text from Jake. I could never be never sure he meant them for me.

He was thousands of miles away telling me he had a bad day. Or maybe he had one in a past life?

"I must have been a crooked lawyer or a dentist or something," he said.

I pictured him lying in bed alone with his phone and found myself missing him. I shook the thought away.

"What’s wrong?" I asked back.

"It was a long day."


He didn’t write back for a few minutes.

"I just shouldn’t try to debate things with people when I’m exhausted," he wrote. He wasn’t joking or charming me. Maybe he had actual human emotions?

“What happened?” I wrote back, trying a third time to get him to tell me.

"Send me a pic of u," he said.

Of course. Of course he asked for a fucking picture.

"Only if you tell me you know for sure who this is," I typed back.

"U doubt I know who this is?" he said. "Your name rhymes with S-E-X."

I laughed out loud.

"And you taste great."

"Ok, keep going," I typed. I could be bolder on the phone than I ever could be in person with him. I didn’t have to look into his eyes on the phone. Or risk him touching me and making me forget what air was.

"Don’t get greedy," he wrote back.

Silence for a long time, then the phone buzzed again.

"Where’s my pic?"

I didn’t respond.

"Ok. I’ll play. You’re a good way to calm myself down,” he wrote.

An unlikely compliment from him. I felt uneasy. Before he could type back anything else, I stripped off my shirt and snapped a topless selfie on the bed. After I cropped it and colored it the way I wanted, I pressed send.

"Now I don’t feel so calm," he said back. "Goodnight."

I stared at the phone for a minute and then at the ceiling for another half hour.

Exhausted from tossing and turning, I clicked the screen back to life.

"Now I can’t sleep so you owe me,” I wrote.

* * *

A few days later, a book arrived at my apartment. It was a collection of outdoor photography, no words, only gorgeous pictures. Tucked inside, a typed note.

"Next time you can’t sleep, look at this and remember beauty is everywhere. – J"

I wondered how many other girls his assistant had sent this book to over the years. Still, I smiled to myself there in my kitchen.