I’m going to tell you a little secret. I live in Columbus Ohio and I don’t really like football. Shhhh! Don’t tell anyone. I might get run out of town. This town lives and dies by OSU Football. That is our “professional” sports team. I’m not saying this because the payers are paid or anything, merely because this town treats it like any NFL team.
I’ve grown to accept that on Saturday’s between August and January, I’m watching football in one form or another and maybe even attending a game or two. I’m married and we all have to sacrifice for our spouses. But I was blessed because Sundays were relatively free of football. That is until this year.
Ross was encouraged to be on a fantasy football team by one of our friends who has just plummeted to the bottom of my shit list – that’s right! I’m talking to you Mark Aaron! Sunday afternoons have become one game after the other as Ross stares at his “board” and watches his points compared to someone else.
The worst part of all of this, is that he’s got me watching that damned board too. I can’t help it! I have to win. I don’t have the personality to lose graciously and I won’t allow Ross to lose either. First, he has to beat Mark Aaron simply for ruining my Sundays. I feel that’s just fair. Second, I didn’t marry a loser! And finally, I wouldn’t tell him this but if he wins maybe he’ll join next year too and stay out of my hair on Sunday afternoons. We are incredibly unproductive when we are alone together. I might be able to get shit done!
If you’re an ass, you’re just a famous ass and I don’t have time to deal with that.
If you have fans (and don’t get me wrong, I’m totally jealous), but at least pay attention to them and don’t treat them like their shit. If they want to take a picture with you, smile and say “sure, that would be great!” Also, don’t hide who you are. If you started out as self-published, acknowledge it and embrace it. Be proud of where you came from. Yes, now you have a very VERY lucrative publishing contract but own up. You started out as fan-fiction, stole someone else’s characters and wrote a very subpar set of novels that the general masses adore. Own it!
Maybe its me but I can’t respect a person who doesn’t acknowledge who and what they are, the work they’ve done, and tries to be something they’re not.
As an author, I strive to be better every day, to make my characters as real for my readers as I can. I’m not going to lie. I’ve written some shit in my day, unabashed shit but I know that and acknowledge it. I learn from it and and develop not only as an author but as a person taking the good with the bad. I feel that most of us who are in the business for a while want to be proud of our work and we understand that rejection, development, and tears are all part of the process. If you catapult to stardom without the benefit of failure, you lose something. You lose the ability to be humble, thankful, and grow.
I realize this is a little late considering that RT was in April but better late than never…right?
Hi kiddies! I know I’m a day late. Nothing exciting happened in the last week but we are having a yard sale on Saturday so there’s the potential for alot of humorous incidents. In the mean time, I’m posting a little snippet from Midnight Ash. Its told from Dean’s point of view. This has not been professionally edited or reviewed so READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. If you want to read these little snippets earlier. Join my facebook group Damsel. Well, here goes.
I didn’t want her here. If Danny brought her into the Pack, Dahlia Sabin, the Blushing Death, would be a constant reminder of what I would never have. I sat on the bar, stiff, my body riddled with tension as I watched everything. Watched her.
Jackson and Kurt circled each other but I couldn’t keep my eyes off her. She stood just off to the side, rigid and at attention – a quiet intimidation in the background of a room full of dangerous beasts. Seeming like she was completely at ease, her hand rested on her cocked hip. I knew better. She had her hand ready for the draw. A knife was strapped at her back beneath the coat. I could smell the oil from the blade and had seen a glimpse of it in the darkened club. I could also smell her. The light floral scent of a shampoo or lotion mixed with her own natural scent was earthy and delicious. Grinding my teeth harder, I forced that smell from my nose.
She flung her golden blonde hair over her shoulder, out of her face and my cock jerked. What’s wrong with me? Danny’s my Beta, my friend, and a nice kid. More importantly, Dahlia Sabin was off limits. Pat didn’t share and neither did I.
Look at him! Coddling her. Trying to keep her out of harm’s way. Standing in front of her like she was weak.
The Blushing Death didn’t need coddled. She wasn’t weak or submissive. By the sidelong glances and irritated tension in her shoulders, I knew she’d had enough. She ground her teeth and the muscles in her neck tightened, strained. The angrier she got, the more her scent filled my nose. I wanted to make her angry and watch those grey eyes flash with emotion.
She turned on Danny, her fingers twitching as she fought not to draw that knife. Danny gazed down at her with a boyish, carefree smile I envied. It had been a long time since I’d been carefree. The Pack had needed me. Janey had needed me. When she’d been killed,I thought I’d lose his mind. But . . . the Pack had needed me.
I glanced away. Janey was gone. This woman could never, would never be mine. No matter how much I wanted her. Something deep inside me hummed with satisfaction every time she was near and that scared the shit out of me.
“Dahlia!” Danny bellowed and my ears perked up.
She sailed across the room as if she’d been shot from a cannon. My heart stopped as her limp body slammed into the floor. I fought not to jump from the bar and run to her. Gripping the edge of the bar, I squeezed until the wood cracked beneath my fingers. She wasn’t mine. She would never be mine. I had to remember that or everything I’d built would come tumbling down.