When the Lights Go Out...

I don't know about you, but sometimes I get so wrapped up in the "big picture" that little things can pass me by.

So much is going on in the world. So much that takes our attention and seems to need our immediate response. My mind is constantly preoccupied these days as I follow the news and try to figure out what I am doing that's making a difference. 

But there's still day to day life. There still needs to be food in the fridge and some kind of dinner plan (does anyone else feel like 90% of their day is trying to figure out dinner?) and not forgetting to get gas before you go to work and shit did I forget to wash my work pants again?

Maybe you have it a little more together than me. I envy you if you do. 

Last night, I settled into bed and found a show on Netflix to fall asleep by. I can't sleep in silence and the light from the TV helps Mr. McKay find his way to bed. About forty minutes after I had tucked myself in I sat up with a startled gasp. I blinked against the pitch black that had consumed me, trying to clear my eyes and squint to see. 

I heard Mr. McKay coming up the stairs. I grabbed my cell phone, using the screen as a flashlight. 

"The power's out," he said as he met me in the hallway.

I grabbed a flashlight from the closet. "That's weird."

It was weird. It wasn't windy or snowing, or doing anything outside that would make you think some power lines got knocked down. 

We made our way to our bed and settled beneath the blankets without the glow of the TV between us. We talked for a few minutes. I was groggy from the short amount of sleep I'd already had. But then a thought occurred to me.

"Is everyone's power out?"

"Yeah... I think."

"Did you pay the electric bill?" There was one thing I knew for certain, I had not paid it. 

The division of labor in our house is fairly even. Cooking, cleaning, food shopping—all that stuff doesn't fall on just one person and I am grateful for it. The same with the bills, but it becomes a little tricky when we have a conversation that: "the cable bill, car insurance, and electric bill need to be paid." Sometimes I think this conversation means he is handling it, sometimes he thinks my acknowledgment of this conversation means I am doing it. In the end, they all get paid.

Usually.

"Yeah," he said in a way that did not invoke confidence. Then he lit the flashlight and walked to the window to peer through the blinds. "Everyone's out, streetlights too."

"Okay, good."

He climbed back in beside me and I snuggled into him. "I knew I paid it," he whispered into the dark, almost as if he was assuring himself. 

I woke up a few hours later to blinking clocks and the low hum of electronics around us.

We're trying to be good neighbors and good citizens. We often feel powerless in these uncertain times. I don't think we should lose sight of the big picture, of the world around us, of issues bigger than those in our everyday lives. 

But we remembered to pay the electric bill. And I have milk in the fridge for my morning coffee. I just realized there is still a container of pineapple stuck in the back, way past its prime that's slowly decaying because we keep forgetting to toss it when we take the garbage out. We'll get to it eventually.

We keep ourselves informed and support the causes we care about. And we can still make each other laugh when we're plunged into darkness for some unexplained reason. That's the hope that I cling to.

"By night, Love, tie your heart to mine, and the two together in their sleep will defeat the darkness"—Pablo Neruda, 100 Love Sonnets

Read More

Becoming Un-stuck

Hi everyone! We are 10 days into 2017 and the only conclusion I have come to is that I really, really hate cold weather.

Other than that, this year is treating me fine. 

Last year was not my best year for writing. Believe it or not I set goals every week. I try to complete projects and get them out there to share with the world. Apparently, 2016 was not my year for that. I had the best intentions. But it was a weird year.

Anyway, having published one book in 2016 makes it kind of easy to at least double if not triple my output this year. I've been doing some reflection in trying to figure out what exactly stunted my creativity.

The conclusion I came to (without going into every minute factor that affected my daily life) is that I don't think my creativity was the problem. I think it came down to motivation, time, and the actual joy I was getting out of writing. 

Just recently I started revising the very first book I wrote and published, Catch a Falling Star. It's funny to read something that I wrote four years ago. It's weird to see how much my writing style has changed, while pretty much staying the same. 

Sure, I cringe at some of the things in there. The way I wrote things, the words I used. Apparently, I really, really loved commas (I don't think that's changed). But I'll tell you what's refreshing about looking back at this book, remembering how it just kind of burst out of me. 

Yeah, I didn't know what I was doing. But I wasn't writing it for anyone. I didn't even think anyone was going to read it. I didn't care. I was just writing. Creating my own world with my own characters, just for me. 

I don't write like that anymore and I am wondering if that is part of the problem. I'm too much in my own head "are people going to buy this?" "what will readers think if I write this?"

When I wrote this first book I didn't think about any of that. I didn't care because it wasn't even a factor.

Somehow writing evolved from, "this thing I love and make time for" to "this thing I try to do." I don't know when it stopped feeling like an outlet and started feeling like work. I think I got into the mindset that if I kept pushing on it would feel right again. 

And I don't even think I realized it happened until I started reading Catch a Falling Star and I found myself smiling. When was the last time that happened? When was the last time I sat down at my laptop and didn't worry about this scene developing the characters, or the dialogue moving the plot along? 

When was the last time I was excited about writing?

Too long. I'll tell you that. 

I'm thinking about not thinking about it too much.

I'm planning on having less of a plan. 

I'm going to stop being in my head and let my heart have a bigger role.

Maybe it will be a disaster. Maybe I'll be sitting here on January 10th 2018 saying, "Guys, that was a really stupid thing I decided to do."

I'm okay with that. 

On that note, I do have a couple of projects in the pipeline. One book that I have been working on for months. I'm getting to the end of it and I think it might actually be pretty good. 

A second book that came out of a dream I had one night. It's still in the thinking out process, but it's been rumbling around in my head for a month or two now. Sometimes I think I write the best when I let the idea ferment for a while. 

It's going to be different than the usual thing from me. We'll see how it turns out. 

I won't know until I try.

Read More

Romance for the Soul #lovewins

Hello, friends! I've been silent longer than I meant to. Not for any particular reason. In fact, I had good intentions of completing a blog post almost daily. I even have a couple of saved drafts of bits of things that flew through my brain that never got fully fleshed out saved in my queue.

But here I am, not to share anything groundbreaking or life changing or breathtaking. Just to say hi and to tell you that I did something today I have not done in a really long time. I got so wrapped up in reading a book I could not put it down and spent three hours laying on my couch, absently stroking the purring kitty in my lap, letting my coffee go cold in its mug while I raced through the pages and read on to completion.

It was not my intention. Today is my day off from the day job that enslaves most of my waking hours. I had a mental list of things to complete. Menial tasks and greater more important things like writing more of the book I am authoring myself (hence the lack of blogging).

It got me to thinking. I started writing a few years ago because of my love of reading. I can tear through books at a clip. I love everything about reading. The escape from reality. Meeting people and visiting places I would not otherwise have the chance to experience. Sure, they're fictional. Or fictionalized versions of real people and real places. I stray toward romance and happy endings. But since I have started writing I have read less and less. And sometimes it takes a lot for me to get into a book, to even have the energy to read until the end of the story.

Sometimes this has nothing at all to do with the books I am reading or how they are written. I just can't shut off my own mind long enough to enjoy something. Above all I have guilt that something I am doing for sheer pleasure is taking up the time I should be using to do something else. Like writing. 

I haven't abandoned reading. I have good intentions. My Kindle is loaded with books that I purchased that I intended to read "one day." Once in a while I scroll through them, trying to figure out which one I will try to read in guilty little snippets while I'm supposed to be doing something else.

This week I dove into this stock pile. I needed something to occupy my mind. I promise, this isn't a post about politics, I've tucked myself into a turtle shell trying to shelter myself from anything political in the last few days. But, I'm also having a hard time writing this and not mentioning politics at all. 

You don't need to know my political views (although, I am sure they are leaking out in what I'm writing in this post) and we don't even need to agree on any issues at all for you to read my blog and this post in particular and take something from it. I'm just merely painting a picture of events of my week.

My spirits have dipped. My otherwise sunny outlook and bright optimism in the face of any situation has been tested. I'm tired of thinking about things. About this world and politics and the future. I hate feeling hopeless and defeated.

So I thought, what should I do? I'm going to go back to that tried and true pastime that I've been ignoring and brushing off as unimportant for too long. I'm going to find myself a book and I'm going to exist on another plane for awhile.

I scrolled through my collection of books that I found worthy enough to download but had not yet been cracked open. I stopped on one. Looking at the cover, reading the author's name, an author I had never read. And trying to remember why I purchased it.

Craving Flight by Tamsen Parker. I read through the blurb again, remembering that one of my friends, who I trust in all matters of book suggestions, told me to read this one. To be honest I thought I was going to begin reading and it wasn't going to hold my interest or meet my expectations or bring me to the appropriate levels of distractedness that I needed. I dove in fully thinking I would end up being too despondent and depressed in my own mind to get fully absorbed. 

And then I timidly dipped my toe in the opening chapter. I met the two main characters. A total of eight lines of dialogue were exchanged between them. It takes place at a deli counter between Elan, the butcher, and Tzipporah, the college professor.  But it didn't, it all played out in my living room as I laid on my couch with my sleeping cat, wrapped in a cozy blanket on a gorgeous autumn morning. 

I was tempted to say I had wasted my morning. I whiled away about 3 and 1/2 hours of time I meant to spend doing other things. I came away feeling refreshed. Even hopeful. How could that be wasted time?

I went to the gym on Wednesday even though I had gotten a total of four hours of sleep the night before and had worked a full day. Why? Because I mentally needed it. Yes, exercise is good for the body. But it helped my soul. It was a terrible workout, but I felt better when it was done. 

Reading is important too. Getting lost in a good book, even when we're neglecting our to-do lists and life obligations. I'm going to stop thinking of reading as something I should not be doing. A guilty pleasure that achieves nothing. I should be reading. We should all be reading. We should all be taking care of our minds and our souls.

So I'm starting a new to-do list. I'm going to be kind. I'm going to be thoughtful. I'm not going to lose the hopefulness that was always ever-present inside of me. 

Because love will always win and I don't think anyone's politics can change that. 

I'd be grateful for some book suggestions. Have you read a book lately that might help me escape for a bit?

Read More

What Makes an Alpha Male Alpha? #spankingromance

I had a friend of mine read over my latest book to see if there was anything I needed to change. Her main criticism? She didn't like that my alpha hero was a tea drinker. Her first comment was that she didn't know any American alpha males who drank hot tea.

I guess I didn't really think anything of it because first off, I read a lot of books by British authors and I am sure I have come across more than one alpha male who was a tea drinker. I never made the connection it was a normal British thing and not necessarily an alpha thing. And secondly, my very own real life alpha male is a tea drinker. He's never been a coffee drinker. He likes the smell of coffee and will occasionally have a small cup if we're in a diner or something. Otherwise, he loves tea. Flavored teas, regular teas, he really isn't a picky tea drinker.

He can also be quite bossy even while he's sipping hot tea. And while I could argue the fact that alpha males come in all shapes and sizes and drink preferences, as readers we probably do have some preconceived notions about what an alpha male does and what he likes to drink.

Found on Pinterest-- not sure of actual origin

Alpha males drink their coffee black (unless they're British, then they get to drink tea).

They probably drink beer and whiskey and eat steak (should I mention that my own alpha male will never turn down a good pina colada?).

They aren't afraid of spiders and will always be there to rescue you from them. (Although, Indiana Jones was afraid of snakes—is that an okay thing to be afraid of? I am just guessing that he was an alpha male. I mean, he carried a whip.)

They probably know how to ride a horse and fix a car. There's probably some innate skill about milking cows too.

I get it, as readers, we want to read about men who are completely capable and all around manly. I tweaked the tea bit in my book a little, my hero definitely prefers coffee and is spotted drinking a beer more than once. 

In real life, my alpha male drinks tea, can't fix cars, and enjoys the occasional musical with me. It definitely doesn't make him any less sexy, but maybe it doesn't exactly make him a romance hero. That's okay because I would be a pretty terrible book heroine. 

My dad is an all around Mr. Fix It. He's one of those guys that carries a Swiss Army knife in his pocket and can fix things with a piece of foil and a rubber band. But he's petrified of spiders. When I was younger, I was in the bathroom brushing my teeth. A spider ran into the sink and I shrieked. My dad came to the rescue, he pulled me out of the bathroom and slammed the door shut. We stood together in the hallway for a few seconds looking at each other. I think, even at six, I realized slamming the door in the spider's face probably wasn't going to do much. Dad's solution? "Let's go get your mother."

That might be a funny scene to put into a book and would probably be a forgivable flaw that a reader would enjoy. But it might also make the reader think that if the hero can't face down an eight-legged creepy crawly, maybe he'd run from other dangers as well. 

The thing is, while I am making the case that real life alpha males aren't all the same (and they shouldn't be, because life would be boring that way), I understand characterization. I get that it's important to portray a hero as the ideal, manliest man, swoon-worthy guy. My books aren't novel length. I write novellas. I have 40-50 thousand words to make you fall in love with my heroes. If he needs to drink coffee for you to love him, then he'll drink coffee.

I really don't care what my hero drinks as long as he can make me smile, respects his woman, and likes animals.

I mean even if he doesn't love animals he should still be nice to them. 

It does have me thinking though, what are some traits that turn you off to a hero?

Read More

A Modern Day Romance~ Life of a Boring Married

I've been slacking on the blogging lately. To be honest, I've been slacking on the writing. It's dumb really, all I want to be when I grow up is be a full-time writer, but life gets in the way.

My day job has taken over. All good things. I have a new position which brought on some training and I am working new hours. I'm enjoying it, but adjusting. There seems to be less time for author and publishing stuff. And then I spend the time I have on publishing stuff and then my author stuff suffers. And when I have time to write (like right now) the words won't come—I stare at a blank screen and think about all the other things I could be doing with my time.

On top of that, I am back into the roller derby swing of things, complete with a fresh crop of bruises and a sore ache-y body from practice this week. Nothing better to make a girl feel alive!

And then there's this man I live with. You know, my husband, that guy I say hi to in passing when I whisk in from work and then back out with my derby gear. Oh yeah, him.

I think that's the problem with the blogging and writing as well, I often like to blog about the kinkier side of life. The spanking, sex and crazy fun we've been enjoying. Is it terrible to admit there has been none?

There's been nothing of that sort to blog about. I'm not lamenting or looking for sympathy. And I know it won't last forever. I think it's something that happens now and again. Nothing is wrong with us, life is happening. Outside stressors and things keep popping up. Family issues, health things, just all around suck-age.

If anything this short-term, sex-less, kink-less period has made me appreciate the marriage I have and the man I am sharing my life with. When the day has completely beaten me down and my feet are aching as hard as my soul, there's no one else I want to collapse onto the couch with. We sit in companionable silence and watch shows that have piled up on our DVR. Or we run some errands together and talk about anything and everything on the car ride. 

Is sex important in a relationship? Yes, I think it is. But I also think, since delving into the kinkier side of things, we have come to realize that communication is probably the most important thing in any relationship. I can get through this unsexy time because we're doing it together.

Life's been boring with nothing much to talk about. Maybe we've become boring married people. I'm trying to find the proper outrage within myself. I definitely never aspired to be a boring married person. But when you see the person you decided to spend the rest of your life with struggling and hurting and all you can do is hug them and tell them you get it. Kiss them and tell them you wish you could fix it. From the problem he's having at work to the biggest of life's biggest unfair things. And he smiles at you and says he knows, and he loves you.

And you realize you're his person. I mean, I've known all along that he's my person. You know, the person that can make everything seem better by doing nothing at all, but just being there for you. I guess I knew somewhere deep down that it probably did go both ways. I just didn't realize it until recently.

So here we are. The very (at this moment) un-exciting McKay's slogging through life much like the rest of the world. Is it any wonder I can't seem to finish this book jam packed with sex and kink and other lovely things? It's coming I swear.

In the meantime, I am in the middle of editing some very deliciously erotic, downright panty-dampening things that will be coming to you soon!

I'm sure life will be back to normal soon. Actually, this probably is normal. The ebb and flow of things, or life in general. Sometimes you just have to take a step back and figure shit out.

Read More

Holly Golightly~ Your Crazy Ex-Girlfriend

I love older movies and all things Audrey, so when a local theater was advertising a screening of Breakfast at Tiffany's to kick off Valentine's Day weekend, I made plans to go.

The only thing was, I didn't know why they were marketing this night as a romantic date night. I've seen the movie, dozens of times, but haven't in the past few years. I realized I hadn't re-watched the movie again, starring Audrey Hepburn and George Peppard, since I read the novel by Truman Capote.

I forgot that Hollywood changed Capote's original novella, so it does indeed play out like a romance with the Hollywood HEA and all. The book's ending is a bit more believable, but leaves you a little depressed. At least, it left me a little depressed.

On the surface, Breakfast at Tiffany's has all of the elements of your modern day rom-com. Scattered brain single girl trying to make it in the big city. A meet-cute with her new, insanely attractive neighbor. Let's pretend, just for a moment, that her crotchety upstairs neighbor, Mr. Yunioshi, isn't a horribly racist portrayal of a Japanese man played by Mickey Rooney.

Come on, Hollywood. Was this ever a good idea?

Holly Golightly is an iconic movie image. Just about everyone can recognize the poster even if you haven't seen the movie. Despite George Peppard's Paul being enamored with Holly, she's a crazy person. It's actually ill-advised that anyone get into a relationship with her. In all honesty, Holly has ever right to be as crazy as she is. She was an orphaned runaway, trying to care for her younger brother Fred when a rancher and veternarian takes them both in. Oh, and he marries her when she's fourteen, and enlists her to help in raising his four children. 

To his credit, Doc Golightly seems like a very nice man. Even if he is tracking down his child bride and trying to take her back to his ranch. He even tries to emotionally black mail her, telling her he'll throw her brother out onto the streets if she doesn't come home. Who wouldn't be a little messed up with a back story like that?

Holly and Paul are equally flawed, and aside from being neighbors in the same apartment building, they realize they lead similar lives. Paul is a writer, his older girlfriend pays for his apartment and gives him money—so she has the ability to visit whenever her husband is away. Holly makes a living as a high paid escort, she informs Paul, "Men give me fifty dollars everytime I get up to use the powder room." They're both just getting by, essentially selling themselves to make ends meet.

A glamorous life funded by other people.

They have a mutual friendship and a somewhat off-balance attraction. Paul falls in love with Holly, from her zany ways to her wounded past. Holly seems to love Paul in her own way, but she calls him Fred because he reminds her of her brother and she almost seems to be replacing Paul in her life with that of the brother she feels she abandoned.

Holly shrugs off Paul's advances and tries her hardest to land herself a rich husband (a gold digger long before Kanye was writing songs about them). Her motives are pure though, her brother Fred is getting out of the army and she needs a way to support him especially since Doc's threat of throwing him out. She longs to have her brother back again and to make amends for abandoning him. You can respect her for that.

In the book *SPOILER ALERT* (if it is even possible to spoil a book written close to 60 years ago) Paul doesn't even have a name, he's just the narrator, and he does love Holly and she doesn't return that same love. But in the end she leaves. She dumps her cat in the alley, "We belong to nobody and nobody belongs to us. We don't even belong to each other." And she's off, leaving the narrator to wonder what became of her.

In the movie, it all clicks for Holly when Paul tells her she's afraid of letting someone love her. They retrieve the cat from the rain in the alley way and they share a big romantic Hollywood kiss right there on the New York City sidewalk. Because even though Holly's mantra this entire time has been that no man can keep her, Paul has convinced her in the span of thirty seconds that he can.

And I'm supposed to believe they lived happily ever after? Neither of them even have any skills! How are they going to support themselves? They're both used to the finer things in life which have been provided for them by their richer and older lovers. This relationship has doom written all over it. It's certainly ending with Paul's clothes scattered all over the fire escape as Holly dumps them out the window, throwing him out of her apartment and out of her life before she leaves on her quest to find herself a rich man again.

Even if I found the ending to the book slightly depressing with Holly disappearing into the ether, I at least had the small fraction of hope that she was working through her shit and maybe getting her life together.

You can't fix her, Paul. Let her work her life out without butting in. As a matter of fact, maybe you should examine your own life and stop trying to fix other people.

This all might sound like I hate this movie and I'm telling you not to watch it. That's not at all what I'm saying. It's one of my favorite movies and if you get the chance to watch it, please do, it's full of interesting characters and great actors. But maybe read the book after your done watching and see if you don't agree with me.

As for Holly Golightly and her iconic look? Definitely emulate it all you want, she nailed the little black dress before it was a thing. But don't try to be like Holly Golightly, she's the original crazy ex-girlfriend and no one needs that in their life.

Read More

A Blizzard and a Blur~ Making Things Awkward with the Neighbors

We had a blizzard here on the east coast a few weeks back. Feet of snow. They closed down my day job for the day, which never happens. It convinced me the world was ending. (The world did not end and we had oddly warm days following the blizzard so most of the snow piles are gone.)

Mr. McKay and I took the opportunity of being snowed in together and watched some movies we'd been saving. We had just finished some drinks and were queuing up a second movie when I heard our neighbor out front shoveling the path.

We live in a townhouse so we share a porch and a sidewalk with our next door neighbor. They just moved in this past summer and this was the first snowfall we had to contend with. Earlier in the day, I had cracked the door open to inform him that the landscaping crew normally comes around to dig us out. I didn't want our new neighbor to think we were being lazy or not pulling our weight. Well, we were being a little lazy. I'll stay snowed in until someone else comes to dig me out.

So now it was night, the snow was not letting up and our new neighbor was outside shoveling for at least the fourth time that day.

Fearful that our relationship with our new neighbors would end up like our relationship with our old neighbors (she didn't even make eye contact with us anymore by the time she moved out), I urged Mr. McKay into his winter things and got some beers from the fridge.

"We're helping him shovel?" Mr. McKay asks, eyeing me skeptically.

"No, no. We're going to persuade him to stop." I hold up the beers and wrap my scarf tighter around me.

Our peace offering and thank you gift of one beer on the porch in the blizzard, turned into several. Our neighbor's girlfriend came outside in her pajamas and drank a bottle of wine. We stood outside, in the falling snow, draining beers and chucking them into the snow mound beside us.

Remember, we had been drinking before we even went outside... things devolved quickly. We ended up inside our neighbors' house (which satisfied so much curiosity in me as I have been trying to figure out the layout of their house since day one). We talked, we drank, we played a board game (?). I took it as our cue to leave when, at least two bottles of wine in, the female half of our new neighbor couple laid down in the middle of the kitchen. "At least she hasn't taken her pants off yet," her boyfriend helpfully supplied.

That last comment made me feel like I found a kindred spirit. Sometimes you just have to get drunk and take your pants off. It happens.

We stumbled back home and only then realized how drunk we were.

Sometime in the wee hours of the morning, I woke up feeling sick. Cursing myself for getting a hangover, I bolted to the bathroom only to meet Mr. McKay in the hallway who staggered into the wall. "I think I'm still drunk," he commented as I whizzed past him in just enough time to retch into the toilet.

Later in the day, once the incessant pounding in my head stopped, we assessed our night. "You invited them to our St. Patrick's Day party," Mr. McKay informed me.

I nod, remembering that bit of the evening. Also, I get super friendly when I am drinking and invite people to hang out with us all the time. So if we ever meet in a bar, buy me a drink, you can come party at our place!

The night is a blur, we pieced most of our conversations back together. But it turns out, aside from being around the same age, we have almost nothing in common. There was a conversation where female neighbor was bemoaning the fact that everyone in the world seems to be pressuring them to get married. I piled on with how everyone in the world seems to think it is vitally important for me to produce offspring right at this very second. I guess societal pressures like that are pretty universal and they make everyone who is feeling pressured completely miserable. We bonded over that and had ourselves another drink.

"She was laying on the floor when we left."

"Yeah, she was way drunker than you," Mr. McKay concedes.

"Win!" I throw my hands up in the air. I am always the drunkest person at the party, mini victories.

"You tried to recruit her to your roller derby team."

"I try to recruit everyone to my roller derby team." It's true. Derby gives me life and I can't understand why every person in the world is not playing it! She probably just thinks I was recruiting her to join some kind of cult with the way I was going on and on.

Something flits through the fuzziness of my memories and I grab my phone to confirm. "We traded phone numbers," I say, scrolling through the drunk texts from the night before.

I think my exact words to her were, "You know, if you ever need anyone to get a package from your porch, or to tell you when your house catches on fire." True story, one of my number one fears is my house burning down with my cats still inside—there is a morbid person hidden under this ray of sunshine.

I don't think we will ever be close friends with them. Our interactions have gotten supremely more awkward. I told Mr. McKay that it feels like we had a one night stand with the neighbors. Like when you would get drunk in college and make out with your friend's boyfriend's roommate and then you didn't know how to act casual when you saw him in the cafeteria the next day. No? Just me then. But you get the picture.

Our crowning achievement from the night of the drunk blizzard?

Mr. McKay pointed out, "Hey, as drunk as we were we didn't tell them that you write smut, or that we publish it."

Win! Maybe we came off more normal than we actually are.

Read More

The Man of Your Dreams~ In the House of My Dreams

Have you ever read a book and wondered if there was any truth to any of the things the author wrote about? Maybe I'm just nerdy, but I think about these things a lot. I mean, an author has to get their inspiration somewhere. Sure, it can be complete fantasy, but I would think something from real life would spur that fantasy along.

Lately, I've been getting very descriptive about my character's living arrangements. Apartments, gorgeous old houses, private islands—you name it, I want to write about it. Also, everyone has a fantastic, spacious kitchen with an island that has stools. This is me living in a fantasy world of my own. Our kitchen is my absolute least favorite room in our house, and it's the probably the most used. 

Mr. McKay loves to cook, and I love to eat. But we literally can't be in the kitchen at the same time. Many nights we'll make dinner together. I'll chop and prepare and he'll physically cook, but we have to do so in shifts. "Okay, I'll let you do your thing and get out of your way, call me when you're done," is a normal statement from my husband while we're preparing dinner.

I'm not exaggerating, if someone is standing at the sink washing dishes, you can't open the refrigerator.

So yes, when I write, my characters all get state of the art kitchens. With dishwashers! They have open floor plans and spacious bathrooms—I actually wondered the other day if I was writing house porn.

I blame this wholly on HGTV and its hold it has on me. I always dabbled in home improvement/house hunting shows. But when I broke my ankle in May I had much more time to watch TV. And most of the time I was watching a show about a couple buying a house, or fixing up a house, or flipping a house. Or building a tiny house (I still don't understand this phenomenon but will watch shows about it constantly).

Could you fit a spanking bench in here?

What do you, my readers, get as a result? You get Tom, Adam and Hailey with their sexcapades featured in a spacious, open floor plan house with a pool. You get Melissa and Martin vacationing on a friend's private island. Because I saw it on a show, it's called Island Hunters. And people actually buy private islands. So of course the rich Dom in my book can own one, because he's rich and needs a remote place to make his subs scream :)

In my current book, the continuation of the Masters of Fetishes series, my main character Liam invites Dani over to his old Victorian house that he is fixing up. So far he's only renovated the kitchen—which is amazing—and a BDSM playroom that used to be a den. As I'm writing this, I'm researching old Victorian houses, and what one has to do to fix them up. And I'm imagining living in a completely renovated one. Then I realized, Liam is fixing up my dream house. Okay maybe I'd have to make the BDSM playroom less conspicuous, but still, that kitchen!

I can't afford a house with a fancy kitchen now, but until I can, I'll keep writing about them. At least a girl can dream!

Read More

Hitting the Lottery~ My Secret Fear

For those of you not living in the states, or if you live under a rock, the Powerball Jackpot has climbed to a record high. It's played in 44 states (I am not sure which states aren't included or why) but I think everyone is talking about it.

We combined money and played together at work, because rule of thumb, if a coworker asks if you want in, you don't say no. You don't want to be the only one left after everyone else hits it big.

The drawing was last night and no one hit the big jackpot. It's up to $1.3 billion. You know, no big deal. If you take the cash option you only walk away with like $806 million.

We were with a group of friends last night and we were talking about how that is scary money. You'd pretty much have to go into hiding, it's life changing- people will hunt you down money. Personally, I don't want that, it scares me. Clearly I wouldn't keep all $806 million dollars, I'd obviously help a lot of people and donate a lot, but there will always be people who are bitter you won and they didn't.

We started talking about what we would do if we won a big jackpot, maybe not necessarily this jackpot, but any kind of life changing money. I would quit my day job. Pay off my student loans. Buy a new car- nothing crazy, just a newer model of what I  have probably. And buy a house. Having a debt free life and a place to live with space in the kitchen to put all our kitchen appliances away would be nice! Not living on anyone else's schedule, a dream. 

I'd also want to help out my parents and Mr. McKay's parents.

One of my coworkers said she would buy a private island. That's actually an awesome idea, then no one could find you to beg for money.

We went into an offshoot to another fantasy last night where we talked about all the random things we would buy and ship to a friend who was not present at this gathering. Five pound bags of gummy bears. Bags of Lucky Charms marshmallows. A box of pink gloves but only the left from each pair. All anonymously and without any rhyme or reason, because wouldn't that just be a mindfuck?

We had a good time talking about what we would do if we won. And how much we would want to win because almost everyone agreed that this jackpot is too much for one person.

The numbers came out and no one won. The next drawing is Wednesday night and I am sure we will buy more tickets even though I secretly hope we never win every time we buy them. Mr. McKay thinks I'm crazy. But it's my secret fear, winning the lottery and then having that responsibility. 

But I still buy them, because something would be nice. $500,000? Even a million would be easy to spend. Heck even a couple hundred bucks would be nice. 

Don't worry, there's a 1 in 292.2 million chance in winning.

But what would you do if you won the lottery?

Read More

Technology- A Kinksters Enemy

Let's face it, we live in a technology based society. I can easily say this as I write this on my laptop while I have seven different tabs open, I just checked my bank account balance online, looked up the new schedule for work, and got caught up on my old college roommate's holiday happenings (I haven't had a real conversation with her in close to ten years).

So yeah, I would say I'm pretty "plugged in". But then, I don't own a smartphone. I know, right? My parents have more sophisticated cell phones than I do. But neither me nor Mr. McKay have smartphones. It started as a money thing, we just plain could not afford them, or afford the data on our plan.

Now it isn't so much that. Perhaps laziness. We missed the original onset of them and now I feel like I am so behind I would need to enroll in a class. Plus, do I really need that? Do I really want that? It is kind of nice not being able to check my email when I run to the grocery store, is anything that important anyway?

It's not like I am living in a the dark ages, but sometimes it feels like everyone else in the world is a little more technologically advanced than we are.

And I am not sure they are convincing me that it's a good thing to be so connected.

We were cat sitting for friends of ours over Christmas weekend. We realized they had one of those new Amazon Echo speaker thing-a-ma-jigs (see how tech saavy I am?).

It's voice activated and you can ask it questions and it will also play music. So Mr. McKay and I were messing with it and asking it to play random songs. Then we stopped playing with it, but stayed in the living room and joked about having sex on the couch (which we have done while house sitting before but didn't this time). Then Mr. McKay almost knocked over a table with a ceramic nativity scene. Eventually, we tended to the cat's needs, locked up, and went home.

A week later we saw our friends at another friend's house. They mentioned that they were getting weird suggestions for songs to play and realized it was because we had listened to music on their Echo. How did they know about that?

Oh, it records you!

Panic spiked through my veins and I tried to remember what exactly we were talking about. My friend proceeds to take out her phone (that at this point I am fairly certain launches rockets) and says, "Let me see if I can find it."

Mr. McKay and I eye each other across the room, but what do you say without incriminating yourself. She plays the sound bite and you can clearly hear my husband requesting "Rock Lobster" by the B-52s. We sit and wait, but that was the extent of the recording. My palms remained sweaty until the end of our visit anyway.

We laughed on the way home, wondering what would have happened if they heard our entire conversation. I think they would probably still have us watch their cats, we're the right price (free) and they vacation a lot.

A few days later we were having dinner with Mr. McKay's parents. They just built in warmer climates and they are very excited to share all the new happenings with it. They plan to retire there in a few years and live in that house full time, but right now they go for long weekends and holidays. My father in law very graciously offered us the house any time we want it and we were thinking of taking him up on it—until he pulled out his iPad and showed us live video footage of their house.

Apparently they had security cameras installed? He can watch the feed live from his iPad. Again, Mr. McKay and I exchanged uncomfortable glances and I wondered how weird it would be to ask if the cameras were on all the time, and in what rooms exactly?

I kind of don't want to vacation there now. Not even for any kinky reasons (okay, maybe mostly for kinky reasons), but my mother in law does not need to know how messy we are. She'd have a heart attack if she saw our housekeeping ways. 

But really, even if I were assured the cameras were off, how does one get down and dirty comfortably? I'd be worried they would come back on or something. I would not be relaxed at all! 

It makes you long for the days when the biggest invasion of privacy was your brother picking up the extension when you were trying to have a phone conversation.

At this rate we'll only be able to get kinky in our bedroom, and where is the fun in that?

   

Read More

Have Your Cake and Eat It Too!

Thanks to Etta Stark for sharing this pic!

Mr. McKay just had a birthday. He normally isn't very happy to celebrate his birthday, but I make him suffer through it every year, and I have a sneaking suspicion he secretly likes all the fuss. I know he enjoys the cake and I always try to make it memorable.

This year I think he was a little more grumpy about it because, well, let's just say he is now of the age that he can legally run for president of the United States. I told him age was just a number and he told me that's only something old people say. (Do you see what I'm up against here?)

Since his birthday fell on the weekend, friends of ours were texting him to see what we had planned. The truth was I hadn't planned much of anything. I knew we were going to be home and I was looking forward to relaxing, just he and I.

"What should I say?" he asked when one of our friends texted wanting to know if we had anything planned.

"Well, you could tell her the truth. I thought we would just drink all day and then bang," I replied.

He shakes his head looking annoyed. "Don't tell me everything! I want some surprises."

He eventually replied that I had a full day of birthday surprises already planned out and we were just spending the day alone together. What she took that to mean, I am not sure, but I'm fairly certain she wouldn't have guessed what we were actually doing.

The greater part of our day was just normal Sunday things. I did laundry, vacuumed, made us some lunch. We lounged around and watched football. Then sometime in the afternoon we fired down some drinks. I decided it was time to bake. So I pre-heated the oven and then went upstairs to get changed.

A few years ago, Mr. McKay bought me a cute retro looking apron. This was after I baked cookies one year for Valentine's Day in skimpy underwear with a plain black apron that had grease stains on it. He figured if I was going to do such things then I should at least have the proper attire. Since then I have baked various things in my sexy apron with nothing much underneath. It's been done before, but he always enjoys it, so I figured why mess with it?

I kind of think of it as foreplay with baked goods. I'm trotting around half naked, kind of ignoring him as I am concentrating on measuring and mixing. He gets to grope and lick and taste as my hands are busy doing other things. It works out nicely for both of us. And when all is said and done we have a tasty treat waiting for us at the end of the night. 

I went upstairs and opened my drawers and boxes full of frilly things. Have I mentioned before that I have an insane amount of lingerie and pretty underwear? More than one person should own. If I don't plan out ahead of time what I want to wear I can end up lost for hours trying to make a decision.

I decided to go for some thigh highs and garters (Mr. McKay's favorite, it was his birthday after all) a black thong and a lacy black and pink bra. I carefully pulled the thigh highs on, I can't even tell you the amount of times I have tried to put these things on and I end up putting a finger or a toe through the delicate material. Then I began trying to hook them up to the garters.

Here is where I need to ask, does anyone have a trick for this? I can always attach the

ones in the front, but the backs give me problems. There has to be an easier way, right? Please share, any and all information will help me out. After close to ten minutes and working up an unladylike sweat, I left the suckers unhooked and went back downstairs.

This led to a very sexy interlude where Mr. McKay tried to help me hook my stockings to my garters. He couldn't do it either, and part of the time I think he was confused as to what he was doing because his fingers weren't touching the hooks or the thigh highs.

On to the baking. I make cookies from scratch, recently I have made muffins from scratch and pancakes. But I have attempted to make home made cakes a few times and each time it's a disaster. This is when I decided that Betty Crocker was probably a very nice woman and it isn't very nice if I besmirch her product after she tried so hard to perfect the recipe. So we make cakes from box mix here in the McKay house. I do make my own icing though and I think it adds a very nice home-y touch.

I got out all of my ingredients and began mixing them together in a big mixing bowl with the hand mixer. Mr. McKay came out to "help" me. Good thing the mix only called for three ingredients, he can be very distracting.

Once I poured the batter into the pan I popped the beaters out of the mixer and held one out to him. "Want a beater?"

At the same time I shook my ass at him, making my words sound like "Want to beat her?"

Mr. McKay is never one to disappoint. He pushed me up against the counter and spanked me with a flurry of hard, open handed smacks. Apparently we weren't worried about warming up, or easing into it—he just went right to spanking the daylights out of my in the kitchen (I'm writing this with a smile on my face, it hurt like a bitch and it was fantastic).

After I was screeching and panting and all worked up, he left me to whip up the icing. It didn't take long at all and I brought a bowl of it with me out into the living room. I stripped off my apron and knelt down in front of him and he painted me with chocolate icing. Then licked it all off.

We never made it upstairs, and somehow managed not to get icing on the furniture! After that we went out to get some dinner, because who has the energy to cook? Much later, I was curled up on the couch back in my hole-y yoga pants and over sized hoodie. We each had two pieces of cake, it was slightly over done at the edges, but still delicious. 

Mr. McKay mused what he was going to tell all of our friends today when they asked what I had planned for him.

"Tell them the truth," I said, licking icing off my fingers.

"They'd never believe me!"

I don't think that's entirely true. I think a few of them are onto us...

Read More

Holiday Cups and Butt Sex

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Read More