Anyone who knows me has to understand that I rarely bring up politics in polite conversation. I just don’t see the point of arguing deep-seated belief systems with someone on the other side of the divide. A lot of words and rhetoric with no definitive purpose, all such bickering serves to achieve is to further entrench both positions behind defensive walls so thick that the truth never stands a chance of shining through.
That said, should any of that matter on a day like today? Do we really feel content posting a picture of a flag and a hashtag, #neverforget, and then immediately carrying on with the insanity that’s become our daily lives? A commemorative post is not communion. It isn’t confession. It doesn’t absolve us of the rampant irresponsibility to which this nation has fallen victim.
While we writerly types love to throw words around at the slightest provocation, there’s one thing we don’t say nearly enough (and yes, the shame is palpable). Thank you.
You, the reader, are the ultimate raison d’être for any fledgling author with hopes of professional and artistic success. While we write to live and live to write, we wouldn’t exist without you. And what fun would it be if we could?
Please keep this in mind if you’re ever approached by a wordsmith in search of your support. If you believe in what we’re doing and the quality of our work, please don’t keep it to yourself. Leave a review that might catch the eye of another who comes after you. Share with like-minded friends this newly discovered jewel in the rough. And revel in the knowledge that you’re making a genuine difference.
We don’t ask it to appease some inflated sense of self, but because a simple gesture from you might help change the course of our career. It may just open new avenues and create connections that would not have existed otherwise.
Ironic, isn’t it, the way the pendulum swings? Most of the time, we barely even notice the back-and-forth rhythm as our days tilt from positive to negative and back again, teasing with blurred glimpses of a “normal” middle ground while dragging us repeatedly to either side. An annoying traffic jam here, a miraculous run of green lights there, when all we really want is a spot in the shade to enjoy a moment of blissful neutrality with a perfectly hot cup of tea.
And then there are those times when the pendulum grows violent, contrasting the bumper crops of summer with the harshest of winters and sunny skies with rolling clouds in the distance. Yin and yang. Balance and counter-balance. Or, as I’ve come to know it, July. It’s been a month now since the publication of my first book breathed to life a dream I never imagined could become reality. But with the weightlessness of elation came an inevitable anchor of darkness to restore my perspective.
I have to believe there is purpose in this balance—a lesson of sorts, buried between the lines. I have my own theories on what it might be, if you’ll indulge me a dive into the diary, but I’d love to hear your thoughts…
I return home to find her sprawled across my bed, as though there’s no place she would rather be. But I know all too well that isn’t true. The trail of clothing shed slowly up the staircase spoils the surprise of her visit long before I reach the threshold, but the view is just as spectacular. She has something new that she’s dying to share; I can smell her excitement from across the room. Why else would she be here?
“Be wary of the man who has mastered the orchid’s secrets because once he masters yours, your body may never again trust one who has not.”
So my new book debuted earlier this week, and with it the usual questions. How do you dream this stuff up? Why orchids, of all things? Hey, when are you going to get a real job?
It probably comes as no surprise that I’m an intensely private person; we who live in our own heads usually are. That being the case, I’ll often find inspiration in nature, where a soul can quiet the noise and focus on the passions of life without distraction. And what better muse for a story of sensual awakening than the intricate seduction of nature’s crown jewel?
When it comes to Order of the Orchidarion, one question I’m asked more than any other is whether I had to do a lot of research into orchids before writing it. My answer, quite honestly, is no. At least not in any conventional sense. I’ve been collecting and cultivating orchids in one form or another for decades. In fact, I can honestly say they’re one of the earliest in a growing list of undying loves. Care to join me for a stroll through the collection and find out why?
One of my more playfully irreverent offerings to date, I’m excited to see Food Lust embraced as the indulgent treat I always hoped it would be. One world-class chef. One food-phobic wallflower. Two insatiable appetites. It’s the ultimate recipe for fun!
A couple highlights:
“Very sexy and draws the reader right into the book.”
“I love the witty repartee and sexual innuendos. Loved the graphic descriptions, word pictures, and erudite vocabulary.”
“…Food Lust was one of the best books I’ve seen in a long time.”
Since, it’s been months of toiling and backbreaking labor to lay the groundwork for an experience unlike any other. Exhausting myself completely, with little or nothing to show for it but the satisfaction of self and the hopes of one day sharing that pleasure.
Propelled forward by an ever-present reverie whispering softly in my ear, I dismantled a jaded soul, busted and fractured by the cruelties of life.
From the pieces, I rebuilt something new, something resolute. I laid down the lifeline and the hard-won excuses, then looked back to catch a glimmer in the rubble. Shining back, once buried under the burdens of expectation and the tarnished fade of years, I found a shard of self-determination, which I’ve carried closely ever since. I would write—passionately, fiercely, even whimsically—as I’ve always wished I could, not only for myself but for the indulgence of every new friend who might stop to pay the honor of a read.
Early on, I began to question my own sanity in pursuing this quest, as though I had no right daring to believe I possessed something special and unique to offer. Was I being arrogant in my presumption? Or overly bold in hoping others might embrace this new world of mine, crafted just within the shadow’s edge?