I was talking to an old college friend tonight that I had lost touch with over the years with our many moves, and he asked me a question that I hadn't really thought of before.

How did I become an author?

The answer I thought was very a simple. By writing and publishing a book, but the answer I gave him was much more complicated than that.  As a child, I had a wild imagination. I had to have one being the youngest child of my generation by eight years.  While my brother and cousins were off in high school, I was learning to play alone. I was making up stories in my head and devouring every single Disney movie I could get my hand on. 

​By the time I reached kindergarten, I had to face an entirely different kind of change. The educational piece I had down pat from the first day, but the social aspect was something I had never experienced. It took a bit to warm up to the other kids, but when I made my first friend who loved to play pretend with me, I had it made. She was someone I could share my crazy ideas with and in hindsight, she was my very first reader. A notion I had never considered before.  I was an author before I even realized it, but first, I had to learn to be a reader. 

It was Harry Potter that opened up the reader world to me.  From "spending the night" at my friend Faith's house as a guise to us going to the midnight release of the newest book in the series (Sorry, Mom) and promising each other not to start it until the morning (Lies!), I had found my home in reading.  Even in college, I found myself using a release I had been dying to get my hands on as an incentive to study for my finals. 

But how did that love of reading translate into my love of writing? Simple. It just happened. 

Yes, you read that right. It just happened. Losing my dad in 2015 was the single most heartbreaking moment of my life. I was close to my dad, and when he left this Earth, I was at a breaking point. I couldn't save him. None of us could. His loss left me broken until I drove to work my first day back after bereavement leave. It was on the trip that a story popped into my head. A story that was my way of coping with his loss. That story was my first book entitled Damaged. The second I started working on it, all the mournful sorry went into the words on its pages. Writing became my therapy.  My way of shutting out the world and sharing the stories that had been swirling in my head since childhood. And it's been that way ever since.  

So if you started reading this for a step by step guide on  how to publish your first story, I'm sorry that this isn't what you are looking for, but I can suggest to a lot of different resources that can help you if that's what you'd like. For me, there wasn't a guide to becoming an author because I had always been one. It had been inside of me for my entire life, and when I the choice to tap that creative energy inside me, I acknowledged what had been inside me all along. A storyteller. A wild imagination.  The real me. Will it work that way for you? Maybe. Maybe not, but the first step is taking that leap and writing the magical words. Take the leap and start with chapter one. 

​Happy August!
​
The title of this month’s newsletter might be a little shocking to some of you. In fact, you may be scratching your head right now because how would it be possible that I almost didn’t get married when… in fact, I’ve been married for quite some time. With our 10th wedding anniversary and my 34th birthday today, I’ve been thinking a lot about how the last ten years almost didn’t happen at all. Most weddings are these fairytale affairs that we dream about as kids. Mine wasn't, but before we get to that point, I need to go back a bit. 

After a year of constant changes with him having to give up a full-ride grad school scholarship to come home to have surgery, our entire plan was in flux. Instead of moving to California after our wedding, we were going to be staying close to home. Really close. As in in his hometown and five miles from my own hometown. Perfect right? Well, not really. My job was over 65 miles away, which meant, my five-minute commute from my apartment turned into 90 minutes of highway hell. But with everything that had changed for him, I was willing to make it work. The weekend before our wedding, I said goodbye to my first grown up apartment and moved back home. Since he was a minister, it was out of the question that we would be staying together before the big day so while my furniture and cat lived with him, I moved back in with my parent’s for a few more days.

Things were different being back home, but 24 hours into the arrangement, my world almost exploded. After a strenuous softball game, the night before, my then fiancé started having issues with what he thought was bad leg cramps. As the next day came, he was unable to walk without severe pain. In true Glen fashion, he wrote it off as a sports injury until I came by on my way home to check my cat and to spend time with him. It took literal seconds for me to see something was wrong, but his stubbornness refused to go to the hospital. Until I called in the big guns. My dad. With his help, we convinced him to be seen, and had we not, I wouldn’t be celebrating my 10th wedding anniversary with him.

The next few hours were a whirlwind of doctors, tornado warnings, and trying to be strong for him. He had a massive blood clot in his leg from his last bro road trip. That clot had broken up in what the doctor could only describe as “the most pulmonary embolisms he’s ever seen in someone still alive.” Not exactly what you wanted to hear, but he was right. Glen shouldn’t be alive. The fact that he made it through is a testament to his strength and determination. It was the single most frightening time in my life except for his second bout with blood clots just six years later that tried to take him away from me again.

With Glen in the hospital, we made the decision to cancel our wedding and reschedule it for the following week. My birthday. The one day that I didn’t want to get married but knowing how much it would take to help him recovery, giving him that goal was the fuel he needed to survive. Sure, we had to find a new reception venue, minister, freeze our wedding cake, order new flowers, and so much more, but looking back now, all of that was truly a drop in the bucket in comparison to losing him.

Our first ten years may have been a roller coaster of ups and downs, but I wouldn’t change it for all the money in the world. It’s those experiences that have shaped me into the woman I am today. Experiences that I put into my very own fictional worlds. Relationships aren’t easy, but when you have to fight for them, it makes those special moments even sweeter.

Happy Anniversary, Mr. Paige. Let’s see what the next ten years bring us.

Here it is.. the book that everyone has been waiting for since Dark Protector's release in May, Dark Secret!  And because we are so excited that it's coming in just a few short days, we've decided to send out a little sneak preview and release the first chapter a few days early. 

​Chapter One — Shelby 
Thirteen Years Ago

Pregnant.
 
That’s what the doctor had told me with her disapproving eyes while handing me a pamphlet on my options when finding oneself in this exact situation.
 
Funny how that single word can change every plan you’ve made for your future. Suddenly, you and your wants don’t matter as much as you thought they did, and your boyfriend isn’t your whole world anymore. The only thing that matters is the tiny little being, protected and warm, deep inside your womb. That being becomes your everything.
 
I swipe another brushstroke of blush across my cheekbone, staring into the eyes of the girl in the mirror before me. Is she really ready to be a mother?
 
Short and curvy, with fingernails chewed down to the quick. A snub little nose I’ve hated for every single one of my eighteen years on this earth. Too much eye shadow. Too much mascara. Hair cut short and spiky, with pink locks scattered throughout the blonde strands.
 
That’s just what shows on the outside. There’s more to me than all of that, because the best parts are inside, right?
 
I’m a bright student, a good daughter, and a hard worker, even if that work is at the Frost-N-Freeze. Work is work.
 
But what about college? What about Wyatt? We have a plan—a solid one.
 
In September, I’ll attend community college in the next town over to pursue a degree in child care. It’s not what I truly want to do, but it’s the one course I can afford that will provide me a decent living. Wyatt is being patched into the Black Hoods MC, who are talking about sending him to school to get his degree in computer sciences. We’ve talked about our future at length. Wyatt has so many plans for us, but would that us include a plus one?
 
Nibbling on my lower lip, I place my hand on my belly. We now have this little peanut to think of, and Wyatt doesn’t even know yet. What’s he going to say? Which option of that teen pregnancy pamphlet is he going to want to choose?
 
“Shelby!” my dad calls from downstairs. “Miss Kasey’s here.”
 
“I’ll be right down!” I call through the cracked bedroom door. Shit. Kasey is going to know something’s up the instant she lays eyes on me. But should I tell her?
 
No, I shouldn’t. Not yet. Kasey can’t stand Wyatt; she’s going to be pissed.
 
Besides, this news is for Wyatt to hear first, then Kasey. Then—I shudder at the thought—my father. If he hated Wyatt before, knowing I’m having his baby will send him through the roof and straight to the moon.
 
Flicking my fingers through my hair one last time, I rearrange a few strands to ensure they’re standing at a perfect, haphazard angle, snatch my purse off the end of the bed, and make my way down the stairs.
 
“Hey,” I greet Kasey as I press a kiss to my father’s cheek, ignoring the burden of my secret when I pull away.
 
“You girls behave,” he asserts from his place in his favorite recliner. “I spent your bail money on a case of beer.”
 
He wouldn’t be saying that if he knew where we were going.
 
Kasey giggles as if she hasn’t heard that same joke from my father a thousand times before. “We’re always good, Mr. D.”
 
Dad snorts. Taking another swig of his beer, he warns, “Watch it, Miss Kasey. One of these days your pants are gonna catch on fire.”
 
I roll my eyes. “Bye, Daddy.”
 
In true Kasey form, I’ve barely closed the door to the house before she’s on me.
 
“What’s wrong?”
 
Laughing, I walk over to her rusted Ford Taurus at the curb. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. What’s wrong with you?”
 
She glares at me over the roof of the car before climbing into the driver’s seat. Once we’re both inside and buckled in, she pulls out onto the road, heading toward the Black Hoods’ clubhouse.
 
“Don’t lie,” she retorts.
 
How does she always know?
 
“I’m not lying!”
 
“Shelby Jo Dawson, I’ve known you since we were four years old. I was there when you got yourself into trouble with Ms. Lester for gluing her stapler to her desk. I was there when Bobby Dixon tried to kiss you on the bleachers at the homecoming game our freshman year. And I was there when Wyatt Hayden finally made a woman out of you—well, not there, at that moment, but afterward. You know what I mean. Anyway, I know you better than you know yourself. I could tell straight away you have something going on, and I want to know what it is.”
 
Sagging my shoulders, I blurt out, “I’m pregnant.” That’s it. Two words. Matter-of-fact. But inside, my heart’s hammering, watching from the corner of my eye as she processes the news.
 
She doesn’t say anything. Instead, she drives another few minutes and pulls into a parking space at the clubhouse without a word. Turning off the ignition, she drops the keys into her purse and faces me, staring intently. “I got you, girl. Does Wyatt know?”
 
Shaking my head, a tear escapes, making its way down my cheek.
 
Taking my hand, she gives it a tight squeeze. “I’ve got you.”
 
Music blares out of the clubhouse. This is a big night for the club, and an even bigger night for Wyatt. After becoming a prospect at eighteen, he’d worked his ass off for two years to become a member of the Black Hoods MC.
 
He’d done things he would never tell me about. He’d learned things that were club business only, and I had quickly figured out it wasn’t my place to know. It had been a rough two years for the both of us. But tonight, he gets his patch. Tonight, all his hard work and the struggles we have both faced are paying off. His dream is coming true.
 
“I can’t do this,” I announce, reaching behind me and grabbing at the seat belt I’d just removed. “I can’t tell him. Not tonight. This is his night.”
 
Kasey grabs my hand once more and holds it still. “This is his night. And if finding out he’s going to be a father with the woman he loves doesn’t make it even better for him, he doesn’t deserve you or the baby.”
 
God, I hope she’s right.

“Get your ass out of this car and go tell that man he’s going to be a daddy.” She says it with so much enthusiasm, my fear of his disappointment fades a little.
 
I climb out of the car and move toward the door of the clubhouse. Kasey loops her arm through mine and grins over at a couple of the guys leaning against their motorcycles. The men here love Kasey, but other than being a total flirt, she never gives them the time of day. It drives most of them nuts.
 
Inside, the air is thick with smoke, and the music thumps so loud, I can’t even hear my hammering heart. I scan the room for Wyatt, but he’s nowhere to be seen.
 
“Two”—she glances back at me—“make that one beer,” Kasey tells the prospect tending bar. “And, do you know where Hashtag is?”
 
Slamming a bottle of beer onto the bar top, he tips his head toward the hallway. “Last I saw him, he was heading back there to check out his new room.”
 
Ah, right. I’d forgotten about that part. All patched members of the Black Hoods are given a room here at the clubhouse to store their shit or crash. Tonight, Wyatt would be given the key to a room of his own.
 
“You know which one it is?” I shout over the noise as I move in that direction.
 
Holding up three fingers, he shouts back, “Room 3A!”
 
Kasey grabs my shoulder and turns me around to face her, urging, “You’ve got this.”
 
I try not to let fear overwhelm me as I wade through the crowd and into the hallway. Trying to calm my breathing, I walk past a bunch of closed doors until I reach room 3A. Finding it ajar, I take a deep breath before pushing it open.
 
I’ve been inside these rooms before, which are all the same, really: a bed, a dresser, and a nightstand. A small en suite bathroom is off to the side, complete with a shower. So, his room is basically what I expected, except for one thing.
 
I never expected to see Layla and Sasha in his bed—naked.
 
Sasha, whose back is to me, is riding the man beneath her. I can’t see his face, but from his moans, and the way his toes are curled, I’d be wise to assume he’s thoroughly enjoying it.
 
Layla, however, is facing me. She’s up near the headboard, her pussy pressed against his face, her hands full of Sasha’s tits. When she sees me, she freezes, her eyes wide with shock. Then, curling her lips up in an evil grin, she rocks her hips faster.
 
She doesn’t stop. She doesn’t tell Sasha I’m standing here. Instead, she continues to ride Wyatt’s face, making a show of how much she’s enjoying it.
 
All of this happens in a matter of seconds. I don’t make a sound. They don’t hear my heart shatter into a million pieces. They don’t hear me sob as I turn and bolt down the hallway.
 
I knew Wyatt was around women all the time at the club, including Layla, and it’s no secret she and I don’t get along. Hell, it’s been the cause of a lot of our quarrels. But I never believed in a million years he would betray me like this.
 
“What happened?” Kasey probes, her face twisted in anger and confusion as I approach.
 
I push past her, rushing toward the door. “I want to get out of here.”
 
“Shelby!” she calls out, scrambling to keep up with me. “Shelby, wait! What’s going on?”
 
Tears pour down my cheeks like a waterfall as I make my way to her car. Pressing my hands against my belly, I think of my tiny peanut, and how Wyatt’s betrayed us both.
 
The locks click when Kasey presses the button and I climb inside, wiping my hot tears on my sleeves.
 
“What the fuck is going on? What did that asshole do?” she asks as she settles herself behind the wheel.
 
The pain in my chest has me gasping for breath between sobs. “Just get me out of here, Kase, please?”
 
When her warm hand lands on mine, I turn and look her in the eyes when she assures, “Shelby, I’ve got you.”

It's official. I am NOT a green thumb failure.  After many stops and starts with getting my new garden area tilled and prepped for planting, all my plants are finally in and thriving. Shocked? So am I. Between Indiana wavering between spring and winter for several weeks to sweltering heat the last few days, it's been a weather whirlwind for my precious plant babies.  Every day, I pop out to our garden to check on our plants.  Since they aren't any sports to watch on TV and most of my normal television shows this time of the summer are delayed due to COVID19, my garden is my new source of entertainment.  Though, I do wish the weeds would get with the program and GTFO of there.  I spent two weekends in a row tackling them, and they just keep coming back.  Jokes on them because my new small cultivator will arrive this week and the battle with the weeds will come to an end...I hope.

The only plant causalities that I have had are two of my twelve Brussels sprout plants, which were totally my fault thanks to a wayward sprinkler during a water session.  My tomatoes are blossoming and the wax beans are really taking off.  I am so excited for the next few weeks as my Early Girl tomatoes should start producing in Mid-July. ​

It's hard to believe that we are just one month away from the mid-way point of 2020, and I am already looking forward to 2021.  I just wish 2020 would take the hint and GTFO.  First, the virus and the following lock down.  Then, murder hornets or Baskin Bees, which ever way you look at it. Now... a potential tropical storm forming off Florida several weeks prior to the start of hurricane season.  I'm honestly afraid to verbalize that question plaguing us all. What's next?

It took losing my aunt this last week for it to really sink in that 2020 and Covid19 has stolen so much from us.  

After coming home from the rehab facility just before COVID19 reared it's ugly head in Indiana, her daughters and granddaughters were unable to spend what we now know was her last few precious months with her. My mom unable to care for her sister. Her granddaughters losing out on one last memory with their Nonna. Though at the end, we were able to bring her home and spend her last few days with her so many others aren't able to bid their loved ones goodbye.

No last hugs.
No bed side vigils.
No last kiss goodbye.

My aunt, a well-respected member of her community, a teacher and principal of over 33 years, was laid to rest with 25 people there to attend her funeral. Not even all of the immediate family could attend the service because of the measures currently in place, and were left to brave the severe storms ravaging our area to attend the graveside service. While we plan to have a memorial service later when the situation is better, it broke my heart to see so many of the familiar faces from our family not being able to attend. To miss the chance as reconciling and finding closure to a live well spent and taking away too soon. 

It's the cruelest thing of all, and an eye-opener in our current state. How many others are forced to do the same? How many other people are without jobs, without means, and without hope? It really brings things in a vastly different perspective to how I felt several weeks back after lock down first began for us. Even as the restrictions are slowly being lifted here, I find myself re-evaluating what is most important to me. What would have been priorities for me seem silly almost, and thinking back to all the wasted time in my life that I spent on those things honestly is like salt in the wound.  My aunt's countless invitations for us to come up for a weekend t visit her at their lake trailer dismissed because I was always too busy to go.  Too busy for my family.  It burns just typing that. All that time wasted. All those memories never made because I was "too busy."

I will never be too busy for my family again. Those moments are too precious to waste again. 

You might be thinking that the subject of this blog post is a bit odd for me. Well, truth be told, it is.  I had a family friend over the weekend after discovering that I wrote romance novels begin to question me.  Why do you write romance? Do you write about your real relationship with your husband?  Does your husband know you write smut?  Do you want to be whipped or hit with a crop?  She seemed to have a dozen questions that only came with the same response from her.

"So, you write explicit romance because you're unhappy in your marriage."
Just hold on a hot second.  Never in any of my answers did I say I write romance because I am unhappy in my marriage.  On the contrary, my husband and I have a very happy and fulfilling marriage, but that's honestly none of her business. It really shocked me, to say the least, that she would automatically assume it was my marriage that made me interested in romance novels.  Why couldn't it be because I love a good love story or enjoy the journey of two broken people finding love again?  It honestly just didn't make sense to me that she would be so offended at my choice in genre.

Fast forward two days later, I am still mulling over her assumptions.  When did it become taboo to write or even read romance? Does everyone outside of the romance reader world automatically assume that every romance book is like Fifty Shades of Grey?  Because I'd like to stop right here and debunk that assumption.  Romance comes in all shapes and sizes from innocent, first loves to paranormal shifters in the midst of a clan war.  Romance isn't just about graphic sex or BDSM, but the bringing together two people.  If I sat down and counted all the genres of romance that I could think of, I'd have to borrow fingers from several more people. The romance genre is by far one of the widest range of reading genres out there.  You can be whisked away in a dsyoptian world where loving someone outside of your clan isn't permitted or be seated on the back of some dirty talking bikers ride cruising down the highway.  It's not just sex, but so many other emotions evolving into a passionate and caring relationship with one person.  Well, sometimes more than one person if you like menage books, but again, there's a genre for everyone's tastes. 

What about movies?  Is it taboo to watch romance stories unfold on the big screen? How many of you binge watch television shows or movies to follow the romance story line? It's no different than reading about it in a book.  The romance and the sex are all still there, but instead of reading it, you are watching being portrayed by actors in motion. It seems to me that romance is all around us in this world, but only romance novels seem to be targeted by naysayers.  Which brings me back to the my original point. 

When did reading romance novels become so taboo? Are we as people expected to forego reliving the feelings of falling in love all over again with fictional characters because we are romantically involved in real life? Why is reading about true love such a bad thing when our world is filled with cheating and deceitful vows? I don't know how many times this year I have seen family and friends who have been married for 15+ years divorce because their marriages went stale or their spouse cheated.  We were put in this world for one sole purpose, to love.  Reading romance inspires me to think outside of the box to keep my marriage alive. Every fictional couple makes my heart swell and reminds me why I feel the way I do about my husband. Sure, the settings and plots are far from my real life situation, but the emotions are all the same.  While I'm not saying reading the dirty romance novels that I love so much is keeping my marriage a live, it certainly isn't hurting it.  

I challenge those naysayers to try reading a romance novel and to see what I mean about the emotional connection flowing from the fictional characters into your real life.  Love surrounds us all, and honestly, in a world where innocent people are murdered on a daily basis, I think we all need a little more love in our lives.  Give it a try, and if you don't like it, I'll be happy enough knowing your tried.

COVID-19 is almost a dirty word at my house two weeks into the stay at home orders begin rolling out across the United States.  It's been two weeks of alternative work schedules, my husband going from two jobs to none, and the madness churned to life outside at every single grocery store.  Chaos incarnate has descended upon our entire country, and planet. We're fighting for our lives, to protect our families, and over all things... toilet paper because we've been tossed in a world full of fear and uncertainty as the positive case numbers been to skyrocket around us.  Even going outside for essential goods and services seems a daunting task because there are some out there who are living like everything is normal, but it's not. 

This experience was jarring at first, but we are coping. Just like everyone else.  As 80s babies, we've never experienced being told by the government that we couldn't leave our homes aside from the occasional winter storm shutting the state down.  Yet, here we are with no sports, no forms of the usual entertainment, everyone is wearing masks and gloves, and even a simple cough from someone standing behind you in the checkout line is enough to send shock waves of panic to anyone nearby.  We are living in a medical war zone now.  The normal rules no longer apply.  

Hospitals are overrun with cases, low on essential supplies, and are forced to watch this disease steal lives away from otherwise healthy people. Laboratories are begging for test kits and able bodied workings to process them. The shelves at your local grocery store are bare because people are panic buying months of supplies.  The elderly are shuttered inside of their homes from the outside and terrified to step outside for fear of contracting the virus.  

We live in a state of perpetual fear now. 

I am considered essential at my laboratory, and continue to work, but I do my best to spend as much time as I can working from home when able.  At first, I was  frustrated with that designation because I fall into the highest risk category being immune-compromised.  How dare my company insist that I need to work?  That feeling only lasted a day as I saw millions of Americans, friends, and family begin to be laid off without pay left and right.  It's a blessing that I can still work, and that my company has stepped up to the plate to help collect and process COVID-19 tests over the last weeks.  But, not everyone is so lucky. 

My husband is the prime example.  Both the school and the church are closed indefinitely, and while both have pledged to keep paying him from the time being, the threat of the loss of such a large chunk of our income is still out there the longer this goes on to the point he started working for a local grocery store last week to make sure we still have something coming in.  But in doing so, he's has to distance himself  to protect me from anything he might have been exposed to on the job. He's had to give up going to see our two new godsons born this week to protect them.  People like my husband are sacrificing their entire lives to protect those they love because it's the only thing he can do in times like this. 

For others, it's not such a heartwarming story. There are so many families out there that have gone from income to nothing in just a blink of an eye.  They are terrified about how to feed their families and keep a roof over their head. The agencies that can provide such help are now overwhelmed with the number of calls coming in begging for relief, and help is hard to find with other agencies like churches now shuttered.  Our world is crumbling around us, and these people need the most help. 

Despite all of the negative, I have to hope that once the threat dissipates that our world will be forever changed in a positive way. That we as a country, and as a planet, can use the lessons we have learned to help future generations avoid such chaos.  It is the idea that maybe we as a nation can stand together in support, after social distancing ends of course, and turn this train wreck around to reunite like we once did after 9/11 and the previous wars.  Is it a pipe dream? Probably, but in a world of such uncertain times, hope is all that we can cling to until the world rights itself once again. 

Stay Safe.