My trip to Nicaragua has snuck up on me. I thought I’d have a month with plenty of time to get things done, including writing, exercising, and adding to this blog! But of course that didn’t happen. I actually managed about 75% of my goals, which is pretty good for me, but I am sad I couldn’t have done about 3x as much.
Most of all, I am sad I didn’t publish more in January. I had hoped to publish around 1x/week, with one or two books prepared to release in February while I’m gone. Ha! Maybe I could have kept up the brutal pace that this would have required, but I would have been miserable. Among the many reasons why I don’t want to be miserable, I very much want writing to remain a pleasure. It can be stressful and fun but once it’s only stressful then that’s no good.
So, if you’ve received my latest newsletter, you might be wondering – where is that book you promised us? I had high hopes about finishing a novella/novel length book in 3 days. CRAZY…but, I have done it before (Cut to the Core just FLEW from my fingers). I knew what story I wanted to tell, I knew my characters, and the words flowed naturally. What stopped me, then? All the other shit in my life, which wasn’t an issue when I was writing Cut to the Core during vacation at my parent’s house. I’ve got my day job, I’ve got my partner and a home to maintain, I’ve got friends to see (it’s like senior year all over again!), and I had interviews and meetings and just loads of school stuff. I don’t feel like I wasted any time, which is a good feeling. But it meant giving up some attention from one goal to give a decent amount of attention to all goals – and, if I had to prioritize one goal, it needed to be interviews, not writing. Sad but necessary at this time.
If you ARE here from my newsletter and are outraged that I’ve broken this promise, I’m SO sorry! Please let me know how I can make it up to you! The good news is that when I return, I won’t have quiiiite so much other shit – just the day job but no classes and no interviews. And more importantly, I am bringing a notebook to Nicaragua, and I WILL come back with at least two stories planned out.
It kills me not to have my laptop – I HATE that I won’t be typing stories – but I used to hand-write my books and I’ll do it again, goddammit!
I’ll also come back with LOTS of new exciting things – pictures and blog posts about traveling, global health, and Nicaragua! But where’s the erotica, you ask? Yes, I’d ask that as well if I were you. Not to worry. I will DEFINITELY write at least one story involving Nicaragua in some way, so there’s that. A sexy, hot adventure in a foreign country with a gorgeous Latinx will absolutely be in the works.
So in the meantime, I encourage you to read the rest of my catalog (the most vital part of the newsletter was true – there WILL be deals on almost everything I’ve got in February) and check out some other amazing erotica writers. Daniele Light, Carry Cockburn, Veronica Stiles, and Alison Osias are some of my favorites on a long list of wonderful authors.
AND, if you’ve managed to make it this far through this post, here’s your reward: an excerpt from what I’ve written so far of my next book, tentatively titled Stepbrotherly Love.
My mom had married Garrett Harbour five years ago. I didn’t love Garrett, but now, I was certainly…fond of him. I was twenty-one at the time, about to graduate from college, and didn’t really need or want a father figure in my life.
Garrett had a son from his previous marriage — Sebastian, who was about four years older than me. Again, I didn’t need or want a new brother — but I was curious.
While I had gone to college in Massachusetts, near to my mom and now Garrett, Sebastian had gone to school somewhere fancy in Europe (Sebastian’s mother came from Old Money in the UK) and had stayed there to work in business or law or something. Once Garrett had proposed, I thought that surely, Sebastian would come to the engagement party. But no — apparently he had very important business to take care of and sent his regrets. However, he assured Garrett that he would attend the wedding.
Mom and Garrett got married the summer after I graduated. It felt like a summer of one party after another: graduation parties, bachelorette parties, and then the big day itself. I was Mom’s maid of honor, and Sebastian was Garrett’s best man.
Well, he was supposed to be, anyway.
You can guess what actually happened.
“Last-minute business deal I’ve gotta handle, can’t make it,” he’d texted his father the night before the wedding. Garrett, stoic as ever, simply put away his phone and shrugged, but I could see how crushed he was. It broke my heart a little, and that was when my own attitude towards Garrett started to change. He might not be the most exciting or interesting person, but he was definitely one of the nicest people I’d met, and he didn’t deserve to have such an asshat of a son.
An asshat who, it turned out, wasn’t even stuck in Europe because of ‘business,’ unless his definition of business involved being caught having a threesome in a Parisian nightclub. I had the pleasure of learning this the next day while I was on my phone at the reception. It was all over the gossip websites that I guilty read from time to time. That was the first time I became aware that Sebastian Harbour, my new stepbrother, was semi-famous in Europe. Both because of his career (apparently he was extremely wealthy) and also because of his playboy tendencies. It wasn’t too hard to see why he was such popular tabloid fodder. Money, relative youth, and strikingly good looks (yes, even I would admit to that) certainly made for interesting news.
All in all, I wasn’t too upset in the end that Sebastian hadn’t come. What with his infamy, he might have ruined the wedding anyway.
Now it was five years later and I still hadn’t met the man.
I’m going to stop you right there before we begin. Yes, this is the first time I’m visiting my father after he remarried. Yes, it’s been five years and I haven’t even met my stepmother, or my stepsister. What an awful son I must be.
Listen, this whole thing has become a much bigger deal than it was ever meant to be. It’s not like Garrett has ever complained or begged me to visit. I mean, is it really so unusual for a child not to see their parent for a few years here and there? We live on different continents for fuck’s sake, and it’s not like I hadn’t spent most of my teen years split between London and Connecticut anyway.
The point is, I’m coming to visit now.
“Yes, Mum, I’ve got a tin of biscuits,” I repeated for what must have been the third or fourth time.
“You just can’t show up empty-handed,” Mum fretted. She did like to fret, often about what a scoundrel I was according to the papers. Another frequent theme was my relationship with my father. This occasion had cause for both.
“Mum, I don’t think Garrett is going to give a flying fuck whether I’ve brought biscuits.”