Goals

For me, the only thing goals are good for is ensuring that I fail. And I don’t mean that in a superstitious, jinx-y way, I mean that in a “I put too much pressure on myself and I cave” kind of way. That’s why I didn’t set any hard goals for myself on this get fit by walking and achieve writing goals by writing every day other than posting my daily selfies on Instagram and (sometimes) logging my daily word count.

And the easy answer is, sometimes I don’t make it. Like on Saturday, when I was recovering from a hangover most of the day, then spent the rest of the evening with the wonderful ladies of literature Sheree L. Greer and Fiona Zedde. I didn’t walk and didn’t write all yesterday.

I did however, log in a whopping three and a half miles this morning at a beautiful park I discovered when my regular one was still locked.

As for the writing, I’ve yet to log any real word count for the day. I played around a little with some scene ideas in my Notes App. 

I will say, I am so damn inspired by listening to Sheree and Fiona read from their new work last night. They were so eloquent and lively and I loved their question and answer session they had with each other.

So, there are still plenty of hours left to this day. Hopefully some writing will get done.

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Walking and Writing

So, something happened. Not that thing discussed in extensive detail right below this post, but another thing, or to be more accurate, things.

I started walking again. Now, for those of you who don’t get here often, I haven’t been wheelchair bound or anything of the sort. But, due to an ankle fracture, broken bone in my foot and the general shitty-ness of Lyme disease, my afore established exercise regimen came to a screeching halt. That was four months ago.

I hadn’t made any solid plans to start up again, but on Wednesday when I decided to walk the dog (about ten minutes, three to four times a day) my husband decided to join me and make it a joint exercise effort. I was game, but I didn’t think we’d go as far as we did.

We wound up walking over three miles. It was midday, so it was pretty hot and it took us just over an hour. The dog wasn’t too happy about it, though. I, however, felt fantastic and decided that that day would be my Day 1.

Day 1 of how many you may ask? Well, I don’t have the answer, yet. I don’t want to jinx myself or set myself up for failure by setting hard goals, but what I have done is made myself accountable to my Instragram account, where every morning, before I do whatever workout I’m going to do (right now it’s walking) I post a picture of myself. And I’m talking full body shots. Nothing from the face up with clever angling that makes me look cuter and thinner.

This is the true definition of no filter. It is what it is. Take me as I am, and how I will be, at Day whatever.

Also, I’ve been at the writing table actually writing for the past three days, averaging 1100 or so words a day. It’s chapters for a novel I plan to pitch and it’s going just swell.

Now, I generally link to Facebook and Twitter when I post my daily picture, but if I forget, am in a hurry, or my mind is cloudy as usual, feel free to follow my Instagram account (@therealtenille) and watch my journey, day by day. And oh, cheer me on! Call me out! Keep me accountable!

Let’s do this.

Boundaries

lafyette

 

This is going to get personal, like, really personal. But that’s what we do here. Chat lightly, things get heavy, we promote a little.

I would categorize this one as a vent, except I’m not angry, and quite frankly, that worries me.

I may or may not have spoken here about boundaries. Specifically boundaries in a relationship. And sure, everyone has their own, whether expressed or unspoken.

Mine, however, have been blatantly expressed in the past, but now I find myself dealing with the same issue.

Specifically, I’m talking boundaries when it comes to being in contact with people other than your spouse/partner.

Where do you draw the line? At texting? At calling? At hanging out?

And to catch you up. The spouse is mine, the contact is via text (as far as I know) and he sort of told me as an afterthought.

The texter is a coworker. Remember those simultaneous dreams he and I had where I dreamed he was having an affair with a coworker and he dreamed I was having an affair with the neighbor? Weird, right? Well, the neighbor moved.

And his coworker, not someone he works closely with or even physically comes in contact with on a daily basis, texted him yesterday to “check on him.”

He’s on vacation. He’s not sick.

He’s simply not at work. And if he’s not at work, then guess what? He’s at home or somewhere with his wife, who would be doing the checking on if need be.

I didn’t say anything at first.

Because I try to be a cool, modern wife, you know. But the thing is, I wear my emotions on my sleeve, and at some point, I started to boil over.

He thinks it’s jealousy. I think it’s boundaries, plain and simple. If I’ve not met, formed any type of friendship with this woman, she does not get to have a part in our marriage that’s exclusive to only him, especially when I was here first.

But, maybe that’s just me.

In the end I gave my opinion and honestly, he seemed sort of sad, like I had taken away a favorite toy or something. He even told me to find a guy to text after I asked how he’d feel if he were in my shoes. WTF, right?

Now, mama didn’t raise no fool. I didn’t come out and say “stop this or else” because if he wanted to stop he would and if I told him to stop and he didn’t want to, guess what? He’d continue, only behind my back which would make it definitely look like something even if it’s nothing.

So what did I do? What any sane woman would do, of course. I friended her on Facebook. I’ve got the bitch on my radar and I’m watching the situation closely. That’s all I’m saying.

 

 

“It was hotter than an oven on broil…”

summer

 What’s hotter than an oven on broil you might ask? Well, not only a particularly warm day in October in a rural, southern town, but the resulting hot sex on the bed of a pick-up truck of course!

In my contribution to the scorching anthology Summer Loving edited by the lovely and talented Alison Tyler, a little tale titled An Oven On Broil, heat is the theme in more ways than one.

The main character, Louise, is already at home pissed that her husband hasn’t gotten her car fixed, then when the air conditioning in the house goes out, putting the icing on the cake, she’s really steamed.

In fact, she’s heated enough to walk in the heat to confront her husband, but he finds a way to cool her down, while at the same time, cranking up the heat.

This story came easily to me and flowed almost flawlessly since heat, to me, is synonymous with sex. I love the sweaty stickiness of getting it on in high temperatures, be it on the hot sand of a beach or on the deck of your house on the hottest day of the year.

 This particular excerpt should get you all hot and steamy yourself, wherever you are…

             Louise didn’t care that there were no sheets or blankets there. She just wanted him inside her. She was willing to risk a few minutes of discomfort for some spontaneous fucking in the middle of a hot day.

            Doug guided Louise to the back of the truck and eased her on her back. Her dress was rolled up to her breasts now and the hot ridges of the truck bed stung her skin.

            She flinched.

            Doug paused.

            “Too hot?”

            Louise shook her head and pulled Doug closer.

            “No, keep going.”

            Doug worked his way out of his shorts, exposing a lengthy and solid cocoa cock that he placed directly between her legs as he lowered himself inside her.

            It was like someone stuck a fork in her. Louise wouldn’t last a minute, not if Doug kept on like this.

            His moves were fluid. His humming in her ear didn’t help matters. She was turned on high, and she couldn’t help it. She was going to boil over…

             For more of my story along with nineteen other scorchers from erotica’s top talents, nab your copy of Summer Loving today!

Because there’s a reason.

robin

Today there is an assortment of Robin Williams photos and quotes to choose from, and I’m sure an overwhelming amount of them appear on the blogs, websites, and profile pictures of people everywhere. I chose the one accompanying this post because One Hour Photo is my all time favorite Robin Williams movie. It was dark, horrific, yet touching and relatable.

Yes, relatable.

Fans, friends and family of Robin Williams, we all have this in common: We received the news yesterday like a punch in the gut. We were all at once, shocked, confused and deeply saddened.

A heavy bulk of us also have this is common, which also, I’m sure is the topic of discussion on many a blog: we deal with, have felt or seen the effects of depression.

I’ve talked about it here before. I talk about it quite often, actually. There’s a whole category dedicated to it here. And like many, on my good days, my mask does it jobs, hides the tears that most times I have no explanation for, hide the emptiness and sadness in my eyes. Also like many, on my worst days, I can’t get out of bed, can’t stop the tears from falling, and sometimes consider other…options.

There are reasons. Could I name one? I could name several, but there would still be those who have their own feelings and judgements about suicide. Of course there’s help and maybe there’s hope, but I think the point that many people miss is that no matter how much help, how much hope there is out there, a person in the deepest pit of depression can see none of it.

The most furious my husband has ever been with me was when I confessed to him not long ago that I had seriously considered suicide early in 2012. I had mentioned it before, but he always thought I was kidding.

I wasn’t.

I was feeling the effects of late stage Lyme Disease, and at that time I hadn’t been diagnosed. The only thing my doctor could tell me was that I was experiencing a neurological emergency. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t get out of bed for days. I was starting to lose my vision.

One Sunday when my children were with their father and my husband was at work, I saw my chance. The only thing that kept it from happening was that I was out of bullets (and I never, ever run out of bullets) and I was in too much pain to get up and drive to the store. The next day I was properly diagnosed and began treatment.

That wasn’t what I would call a wake up call for me. Things still get heavy enough for me to topple over, but I think back to that day a lot. I think about my children who were only nine then, and who themselves struggle with so much at their young, delicate age. Much of the time, I’m their only cheerleader. What would happen if all of a sudden, I wasn’t there?

That’s what keeps me on track mostly, but like I said, things still get heavy, even in the seemingly best of situations.

I don’t have a witty or pretty way to wrap all this up, but I will say this: You don’t know, you’ll never know, until you know.

Easy like…

vodka

…feel free to take it from there, but let me tell you, nothing about this Sunday is easy, not for me anyway. I knew it had been a few days since I updated here, but a whole week?! Wow, I had no idea. And in the meantime, so many readers, blogger and reviewers were happily participating in the Can’t Get Enough blog tour, including the Trollop With A Laptop herself, Alison Tyler, who posted this colorful interview with me on her blog yesterday, while I was busy shuttling the twin to the sitter, driving to a book signing…

booksa

…signing one (tee hee) book and driving back, picking up twins, picking up dinner then coming home where it began storming and the power went out.

And that was just yesterday. Today I planned to stay in bed all day and rest because I was bold, no foolish enough to wear heels yesterday, and apparently I must atone for that today. However, instead of resting and recovering peacefully, I’m having to deal with the difficult tenant I’ve been avoiding mentioning to much over the past year (because I’m such a fucking lady) because after avoiding being served with a notice of eviction, she finally got served, then tells me that she needs more than ten days. Not because she doesn’t have anywhere to go, mind you, but because she doesn’t feel like moving her stuff.

Really, she doesn’t feel like it? Well, you know what I don’t feel like? Paying mortgage on a home that I’m not living in and not being reimbursed for it and having it torn all to hell to boot. So, yeah, that’s going on right now, but I’m trying to put my energy elsewhere.

Like this creative spurt I’m going through right now. While the power was out yesterday evening, I entertained my husband by reading him the beginnings of some things I’m working on. One story is a comedy in addition to being erotic, and the first paragraph made him laugh out loud. That was cool.

But speaking of Alison Tyler, one of several things I did on Friday (indcluding having tires changed, ugh!) was visit the Atlanta bookstore Charis Books where I spotted her Dark Secret Love on display on the shelf. I couldn’t resist snapping this picture and tweeting and tagging her.

darksecret

She wrote about it on her blog today.

I know this is a super long post, but I had a lot of catching up to do. I haven’t even mentioned that Rose Caraway announced the winners of her give away on Friday! And she did it in such a unique and clever way!

Thanks, Rose, thank everyone, and thanks if you made it through this post!

On Being Considered An African American Study

lafyette

First of all let me say, that it is an honor to even have made this category, no matter how Can’t Get Enough landed there. Not only is it there, it is in the top 50 ranked in paid Kindle books. And not only is it in the top 50, it is actually ranked #24. Right next to Alex Haley’s Roots is Tenille Brown’s Can’t Get Enough.

I know this because I stalk the Amazon rankings, which I know is an authorly no, no, but being so fresh out, I just can’t help myself. I check daily, multiple times a day. Which is how I also found out that the book is ranked #37 in African American Erotica. Needless to say, I’m floored, in awe, everything I’ve probably said a million times since the book came out.

A part of my Amazon stalking madness is due to the fact that I want so badly for the book to do well so that I can have the opportunity to edit other books, even publish a novel or two or ten. So, it matters. It’s do or die. It’s (insert appropriate cliche here).

But, all that aside…the blog tour continues. Today there is a guest post from me at Erzabet Bishop’s place (whose juicy, dirty, and kinky story, Waiting, is included in the book). There i’m talking about the selection of kinky stories and how they got there. She also excerpts Waiting. Check it out.