I use Pinterest a lot. Still. I have 60 public boards and several private boards. I love the different things I find, the visual inspiration. The things that are most repinned are food. I’d like it if other things got equal representation, but food seems to be universal…
I started a new board recently and I titled it On Creativity. I’ve been feeling more and more creatively inspired this year. This is a change. And a good one. A really good one. I didn’t feel creatively inspired last year. Or even the year before. I was kind of slogging through the days, waiting to get to the next one. I wasn’t sure how to approach my writing or even if I could call it a business. I mean, other people did, but was it? Really? And that whole line of thinking has changed for me in the last few weeks. I do see it as a business and more specifically, I see it as a creative business.
Follow Lissa Matthews’s board On Creativity on Pinterest.
Enter my On Creativity Pinterest board. It’s not very full yet. It has links to some books I like, some links to articles I like, some links to infographics and such. It’s about how to find and get creative. It’s for those who need some direction toward creativity in their lives.
According to Merriam-Webster, the simple definition of creativity is: the ability to make things or think of new ideas.
Cool. I can do that. It doesn’t have to be crafts or books. It can be whatever inspires us… Coffee. Cooking. Making things with our hands. Music. Art. Dance. Meditation.
It can be in how we inspire others, too.
On the board is a Pin for TED Talks for Creative Entrepreneurs. I am in love with TED. And I love these because they’re given by people who were once like you and me. They once had a dream. They once needed a road map. When they didn’t have one, they created one. They inspire me to create my own.
I’m going to be talking about creativity throughout the year. I’ll hopefully be able to get a few people to come onto the blog to talk about what inspires creativity in them.
But if you need somewhere to start with creativity, try my Pinterest board, On Creativity…
I don’t know about y’all, but I need A LOT of words this weekend. I need ass in the chair, fingers on keys, and words pouring out of my eyeballs onto the screen.
It’s week 5 of 10K Weekends For Writers and week 4 was a pathetic effort on my part. I got less words last weekend than I’ve gotten all year long and we’re only in February! (Can you believe that, btw? I mean FEBRUARY!)
So, bring your manuscript, your determination, your motivation, your terrible for you snacks (or if you’re one of those who can eat healthy writing having a writing binge, go on and bring your carrot sticks and water)… But it’s time to get down to it and write.
Author, bloggers, college students with a paper to write… Let’s get it on!
Add your name to the Linky below and keep track of your word count. The social media hashtag is #10KWeekendsForWriters. Grab the little badge if you want, but join in! Challenge yourself. Can you write 10,000 words between 7pm tonight (Thursday) and Noon on Sunday? Why noon? Because it’s Super Bowl Sunday. I didn’t forget. Hell, I’ll be watching and pulling for Peyton! And for those who won’t be watching, you can have until 10pm as usual. But for those watching the Super Bowl? It means is that YOU and I have to get the most words in BEFORE kickoff, before you start the party, before the beer is cold enough…
So, you ready?
As Peyton would say O M A H A!
Oh, right. I don’t have one. That was discussed back at the beginning of January in my list post.
I write a paranormal book, and thankfully, people come out of the woodwork to pimp that. Put out a contemporary and it’s like crickets. That’s not good for sales. Not in a culture where it takes hours to pimp a book. Days to pimp a book.
People have shared my posts and I am more than grateful to them for it.
I tried a Facebook ad, but Facebook rejected the ad because the cover was too objectifying. I’m thinking an ad with blueberry pancakes is next. That’ll probably be considered too objectifying as well.
I have a 3 Chapter Sneak Peek available on Instafreebie. It hasn’t led to any sales, but it’s gotten me a few Newsletter subscribers in the last few days.
And I sent out the Newsletter to 633 subscribers, which, did not result in even half that amount in sales.
There are other things to try. Other things that cost money. A lot of money.
Or hell, if you can get a handful of rabid readers to talk about the book from morning to night, that helps loads. But, I don’t have those readers. I’ve watched those readers and they’re fantastic for authors. But I don’t have those readers.
Because I don’t write the stereotypical books that have universal appeal.
I don’t have the stacked keywords in the title or the blurb. I have what the story is, and what the story isn’t.
I don’t have BBW in the title because it wouldn’t work for this book, even though the heroine is curvy and past body issues are briefly discussed within the pages.
I don’t have billionaire anywhere on this book, because well… Jared isn’t a billionaire. He’s blue collar, works in an automobile manufacturing plant.
I don’t have BDSM in the title. It’s mentioned in the blurb, but again…
I’m not writing young, college aged angst. You know why? Because those of us in our 30’s and 40’s and 50’s and beyond have angst and drama and pain and loss and happiness and fucktons of orgasms and our stories need to be told. Our stories are worthy of being told. And there ARE readers in their 30’s, 40’s, 50’s who want to read the stories I write. I just have to find them. Find more of them. Build a brand around them that is sexy and seductive and erotic and romantic and wonderful in celebrating them and their strength and their beauty.
Then, there’s the other of the biggest detractors for me and that is that I don’t finish a book months in advance usually or even weeks in advance. For me, it’s usually mere DAYS in advance. I write down to the wire. Otherwise, I tweak the damn thing to death. I’ll re-write chapters in the time it’s sitting there, waiting on release day. I then have to upload a different file all over creation because I’ve changed half the book. Writing down to the wire, doesn’t give me that opportunity. I write raw. I write real. And it’s usually the best work. But… It doesn’t allow for advanced marketing. It doesn’t allow for ads in all the right places. Not that the bank account would allow for it, either. That’s totally on me and I get that. I’m working to change my writing habits, but I’m not sure how when I know how I work best for the book itself.
The book competition in the contemporary world is incredible. Some awesome books. Some awful books. It’s finding the niche you fit into. It’s having the money to promote (and at times having the Facebook gods on your side). It’s having the fan base that helps spread the word, that talks about the books, that pushes the author’s name out into the world. Buzz and word or mouth is crucial. So damned important.
So, I need a village. I’m not sure where to find the village. But, I need one…
So, I’ve been writing this story on and off for a while… It’s a rough draft, so, please excuse any typos or grammar errors.
The subject matter is off-putting to a lot of people and while I understand that, well, you don’t have to read it. I, however, am fascinated by the subject matter…
I haven’t decided on a title for the book yet, but Call Me … Is likely to be a series title.
I have a confession to make…
There’s a word that describes me at my core. It’s a word that evokes a lot of emotion when used in a sexual manner. It’s a word that sends pious people running. It’s a word that gets me hard every single time a submissive woman says it, even if she’s not mine.
It’s a provocative word. It encompasses many different roles played between a man and a woman.
It fits me in ways Sir and Master never did or will.
I am a Daddy.
And I’m in search of a little girl to call my own.
She’s difficult to find, this one special girl who needs to be owned and needs my personal brand of ownership. The special girl who wants guidance, limits, support and unconditional love, the same as she’d get from her father. See? You shuddered just a little in your seat. You squirmed a fraction of an inch to the side, trying to get away from the way it makes you feel. I understand it scares you. I understand you don’t get it. Not everyone does. It’s okay. You’ll keep reading, though, won’t you?
You’ll keep reading to see if I find the one special girl whose pretty little cunt is always wet when she utters or even thinks the word Daddy. The one special girl who will let me be her world because she will be mine.
You’ll keep reading because, understanding or not, you desperately love a happy ending, and even deviants like me, should have one.
I don’t frequent clubs. They bore me. More than that. They annoy me. They’re meat markets and juvenile drama. I don’t like either one. I’m a simple man with complex needs. I know I won’t find her here, my out of town business guest wanted to see the club first hand. I don’t get it, but then again, I don’t need to. I’m here to keep him interested in investing and get him a cab when he’s had too much to drink.
The crowd is insane, literally and figuratively. The blonde and her redhead friend keep eyeing me. Blonde’s had her hand between Red’s legs while keeping eye contact with me. They’re putting on a show. And while Red is beautiful and her crotch is bare, just the way I like them to be, neither woman does it for me.
“Excuse me,” I said once I’d caught the bartender’s attention. “Please send drinks to the two at the end of the bar with my regrets.” I lifted my glass in salute to them, drained it, then walked away in search of my charge.
I was ready to be done with the club and the night. I had too much riding on this merger to let him waste it on a cheap piece of ass and bad liquor.
“Andy, time to go.” I found him hanging out in the back hall. Nothing ever good came from hanging out in the back hall of a club.
“I’m waiting on someone. I can’t go now.”
“I’m sure she’ll understand.”
I hadn’t seen that coming, but didn’t let on. “Fine,” I said agreeably. “I’m sure he’ll understand.”
“He’s my first.”
I didn’t want to know, so I didn’t ask. With a few more minimum protests, I got Andy out of the club, and into the back of a cab. I told the driver where to take him and not to leave until the concierge came to collect Andy. He was paid handsomely for his troubles.
Hopefully, Andy would sleep this off and be able to function in the morning. We had papers to sign.
The strip, Sunset, not Vegas, was alive and kicking, bursting at the seams with clubs, bars, and anyone looking to be seen.
I didn’t want to be there. I didn’t want to be seen. I wanted things no one who knew me would ever be able to grasp. I wanted a reality that was beyond the norm. I wanted the elusive her.
As it didn’t appear she’d be dropped at my feet on the Strip, it was time for me to get the hell out of Dodge.
No, the woman, the little girl at heart woman I sought wouldn’t be caught dead on Sunset Strip. She wasn’t in a dance club every weekend, or crawling through the bars soaking up alcohol through her skin.
No, she was something unique, special, and she most certainly didn’t —
The voice caught in my ears and rattled through my brain. I turned slowly, casually tucking my hands in my pockets.
My lips twitched at the sight of the woman, balancing herself with a hand to the club’s outer wall, while stripping off the heels she tossed to the concrete with barely concealed hatred.
No woman, or man in their right mind, would walk down Sunset in bare feet, but she seemed intent on doing just that.
She gave the club entrance one final glance, shook her head, kicked one of the offending shoes, and began walking away in a huff. Only, she didn’t get far before she returned for the shoes, and stomped off, this time making it further than before.
I wanted to laugh. She’d been comical, to say the least. But something else grabbed hold of me that wouldn’t let go, and over rode any humor in her actions. Desire. And fear.
She was alone in the middle of the night on a street that could so easily swallow her whole and never let her go.
I caught up to her, and did my best not to spook her. “Miss?”
“What?” She rounded on me, fury in her gaze. I wasn’t deterred in the slightest. The feeling was quite the opposite.
“Do you need help?” I asked, willing to be of whatever service she needed. She was adorable. Cheeks flushed in the neon glow of the businesses surrounding us. Her chest heaved with labored, angry breathing. Her hair was dark, matted to the sides of her face from the club. And she was more than a bit chubby.
That was something else those I worked with were unaware of. My proclivity, my hunger for bigger women. I wasn’t proud that
I never brought a woman of my own choosing to a dinner or party. I wasn’t proud that I’d n3ver given the impression to anyone who knew me professionally that I was anything but a playboy outside the boardroom.
Then again, I wasn’t at work to make friends. I was there to do a job. I was there to close deals and get pen to dotted line.
But looking at the woman in front of me, the one glaring daggers into me? She’d be the one I’d parade in front of everyone I knew and do so with a shit eating grin on my face and my cock hard as a fucking baseball bat.
“Why are you asking? Where did you come from anyway? I didn’t see you before.”
Her words pulled me back to the conversation at hand. “I was just leaving the club when I saw you head this way.”
“And you followed me? Thinking what? The fat girl would be an easy mark?”
I couldn’t stop the smile. “I don’t need or desire an easy mark. I thought you might need some help or a ride somewhere. This isn’t a safe street for any woman alone.”
“Getting into a car with a stranger would be so much safer, yeah?”
“In this instance, yes. Look, I’ll put you in a cab that’ll take you anywhere you need to go, or I’ll give you my car and my driver will do the same.” It wasn’t lost on me that I didn’t put Andy in my car with my driver. The idea had never crossed my mind.
“Only in L.A.,” she uttered quietly.
“In other places, too.” Her eyes widened. “I have excellent hearing.” I shrugged. “Ten years of music classes. So, which option? Cab or limo?”
“If I take you up on use of your car,” she began, hesitancy in her every word, “what will happen to you?”
“He’ll come back for me.”
“I’m sure as hell not walking home. I may run ten miles a day, but I’m not walking home tonight.”
“Ten miles a day,” she scoffed. “Show off. I need to get back to my hotel and I don’t know how far it is or even in what direction. I just knew I wanted out of there.”
I understood her perfectly. I’d wanted out of there too. Had never actually wanted to be there in the first place. I don’t think she had either. “So? My car?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
“My pleasure,” I assured her. And it was. I may be dominant. I may be a Daddy. I may be a kick ass vice president of a corporation. But she made the most innocent of gestures on my part, a distinct pleasure. Her smile was worth it. Her gaze softening was worth it.
* * *
I haven’t decided on a cover yet, either, but this is will be out later this year…