Forgive Me

I put aside your name.
I cast you out in the name of
Love. 
What thing have I done?
What crime have I committed?
A great sin weighs on my soul.
Cast out the name of love in the name of
rhapsodies made in easy weightless bliss.
Cast out the feelings and the spite.
A great heaviness clings to my heart.
What can I do to undo this crime?
What can I do except accept the crimes I committed
Destruction.
I cast you out in the name of weakness for other weakness
I put aside your name.

For K.

(Can you tell I’m a trained Shakespearean actress?)

Motivational Mondays!

Can you believe in yourself while acknowledging your limitations? I think a lot of people assert that you cannot when the reality is, so long as we are fair and compassionate to ourselves, we truly can. We often forget to be kind to ourselves because we notice our flaws more than we ever realize. We must accept critique with grace, but remember to never let those critiques define us or undermine our self-confidence. No one is perfect, and we must not only recognize that, but accept it as part of our reality as we grow as people. It is hard, but the effort is worth it.

#Mondayinspiration#MotivationalMonday #advice #writelife

Finds Me: A Late Night Piece of Poetry/Prose

He awoke before I did.
He awoke and left a note by my pillow.
“Love you always.
Today is the next step to forever.”
When I awake I slip it in my pocket,
Throughout the day my fingertips leave kisses on its spine.
My legs grow weak at work.
My smile becomes heavy.
Customer after customer.
Nice usually.
Usually.
You know I want out.
Forever…is this my forever?

I trail my fingers over that note.
Defying the dread in my heart,
With one more push for a smile.

At day’s end I’m home first.
Dishes set for dinner,
Possibly for one.
But he finds me in the kitchen.
He finds me and grabs me by the waist.
He finds my neck and drowns me in kisses.
Spreads my thighs and finds more.
More.
He finds every scar I’ve ever had,
Every stain from ever bloody memory,
And for now they are erased.
With deft hands and warm fingers,
My sore tired flesh is explored.
Sensitive breasts lead to sighs,
Sensitive necks lead to growls.
One more reason to smile.
He finds me panting and moaning when he takes me.
He finds I moans loudest when its dirtiest.
He finds pleasure in my whimpering,
Beauty in begging,
A symphony in my shudders,
And ecstasy in hidden nature.

Dressed and sorted with rosy cheeks,
We make our plates,
Ignore the lingering heat,
And I try not to melt over lingering bliss.
“How was your day?” he asks, and we talk.
And we argue.
And we laugh.
And when the dishes are clear and the time is right…
He finds me again.
And today, I think, is the next step to forever.

The Reality of Romance — hangingwithamanda

As much as we love getting lost in the world of book romance and the fairytale life, there’s also nothing like a true committed real life romance. There are so many views on romance. Do you remember being younger writing in your diaries about everything you wanted in a partner? You would write out all […]

via The Reality of Romance — hangingwithamanda

 

I found the perspective of this blog really fascinating, and I think as a romance writer I feel like this is real romance. I love grand sweeping stories, but these smaller events and mundane things are what make or break a relationship. We can pretend the jealous Ex or the family gets in the way 90% of the time…but 98% of the time it is how we live day to day, it is how we grow, and it is how we respond to our partners’ growth that determines how our romances unfold. In life and in writing this is something to keep in mind,

Ramblings: On Erotica

Is it some cardinal sin to mix the two most often criticized aspects of erotica and roll them into one? I take one part physical smut and action, and weave it between bright emotional reaction. Associated with and disassociated with the glorious peculiarities of sex. It seems horribly authentic of me without falling into the over the top or the purple poetic. Yet both rear their heads when appropriate. To me is seems a glaring error, a human folly, to simply praise the literary sex or even to view sex as the wholly erotic. Once on a lark a man dragged is tongue up my spine. My back –rarely touched, rarely seen, but often thought of as a thing best forgotten due to marks and spots of all kinds– reacted as though he shot bolts of sensuous lightening through every inch of my body. It was more intimate, more intensely erotic, and more loving than anything I’ve ever experienced. The intention, the surprise, the feeling, and context swirled together into this marvelous embodied erotic experience. Such trivial matters are major points for those who live them and the beauty of writing is conveying that to others, to writing words so potent and powerful your reader understands how the actions transcend action and become inseparable from how they affect feeling, and are felt. Slot A into Slot B is nothing by itself. However descriptions of intimate acts. Of the fullness of intimate contact ,both mental and physical or real and imagined, provides writers and readers with a connection forged not on simple erotica or romance but on something that feels whole. I’ve read both types of erotica and loved it. However my desire it to toy with that middle ground and make you feel present.

Some would say I’ve done it all wrong. My prose is too purple, too random, too empty, too sexual, too slow, too fast. And yet…my readers, my professors, my friends find it deeply intriguing even as it defies what they expect. I’m not tooting my own horn. They find the flaws, point out my weaknesses, and eviscerate me until I think I might snap like a dragon backed into a corner. Usually those critiques are more than right. I am rough. I need work. Funnily enough that is what my sex, my writing is about, is about. We must round out the rough spots and sex is one means of doing that. Erotica must be well rounded for it to be felt in a way that satisfies me. I will not be satisfied as a writer until I believe I can give you something real to lose yourself in. That I promise you. Perhaps it is a literary sin to dare to make romance, erotica, and such defy itself. Perhaps it is a sin to make purple prose or action orientated sex a necessary part of my style.

Only you can decide. Either way I hope you enjoy what I write.