Tell me about it…

This was in an email to me today…

“What do you think most women want to hear about sexually from a man? What is going on in his mind about them….?”

Ah, yeah… 

Power...

I find this image pretty trashy but it’s not the photo that grabs me. It’s the words. They’re very powerful and astute. How many people are crushed by emotionally wanting what they can’t have and how many rise above it and think ‘fuck it, I’ll live’?

May I always be able to rise above the moment.

If you're going through hell, keep going ~ Winston Churchill 

Scratch it...

I have a simple philosophy: Fill what's empty. Empty what's full. Scratch where it itches ~ Alice Roosevelt Longworth 

Never, ever...

Never be bullied into silence. Never allow yourself to be made a victim. Accept no one's definition of your life; define yourself ~Harvey Fierstein

Super-dooper-troopers…

So, I have a doppelganger at work – well, sorta, kinda, okay, probably not. She’s this chick down south in the very, very, snotty corporate world of pretentious Sydney who is beyond perfect and wonderful and never a bad word is spoken to her or about her because, well, she’s perfect. I’ve never met her. I doubt if I would be deemed good enough because I am not worthy of such magnificence but I’m told by all that she is wondrous, amazing, selfless, probably will find a cure for cancer while balancing a ball on her nose, dialing the phone with one toe while bluebirds fly joyously around her head as she sings in a sweet, harmonious, trilling voice that soothes all men….apparently. She does everything and beyond the call of duty of normal people and has started to take on my job which was hardly a surprise to me. Frankly, the sooner she does and I’m handed a redundancy the better. 

But back to the paragon. She’s perky and positive and everything is beautiful and wonderful and la-la-la-la-frigging la-la. The only flaw I can pick at is she sounds like a butch bloke eating a tough horse from the hoofs in and I’m thinking, despite being so wondrous, that’s why she is such a doyen (you could also insert 'suck up') to all the anal, gold bracelet wearing stuffed shirts in their insulated corporate world. They think she’s a bloke.

“Sylvia can do this.”
“Let Sylvia do that.”
"Sylvia has already done that.”
“Sylvia is wonderful.”

I say we need people like Sylvia the world – the suck ups and wondrous, the politically correct and super-duper-troopers. Good old Sylvia. I say let her do stuff. What the hell. Call me when you’re ready to pay me out. I need to delete vital files and 'acquire' stationery… 

Stereotypical bullshit …

So, I was looking for an image for a book cover. I wanted a larger, curvaceous, real woman. When I put the word ‘curvaceous’ through one royalty free data base, I got a bunch of thin women with large boobs. Hmmm. I then put ‘voluptuous’ in and everyone had large asses but no one was actually a larger sized woman. They were all very pretty, thin with either boobs or arses sticking out. I put in ‘fat’. I got frumpy looking women who were pulling faces – for whatever reason – making them all look demented and less than attractive and a vast percentage of them were stuffing food into their mouths. Total, stereotypical bullshit of course and no wonder women feel the pressure to conform to what society thinks is normal when it fact there is no normal.

Truth in advertising? There is none. Real women = real bodies. Don’t try and force feed us non-reality for mass conformance. Piss off.  We're over it.  

Tattoo...out now...

https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-tattoo-1213509-356.html

Sian Rossiter carries the mark of her lover. A Celtic tattoo that has been given to the soul mates of Seamus McDonagher’s clan for centuries. Their bond is sexy, enduring and unbreakable.

But there is another who carries the same tattoo. As far as the dark woman is concerned, Seamus is hers. She will stop at no lengths to get him back. The other woman? Collateral damage.

And then there is the hand of fate and the power of an ancient sword. The one who wields it in the land of Twilight will win the man. Does true love have a hope of beating pure evil this time?

Excerpt

Seamus stood for a moment and watched Sian sleep. He caught his breath, as he always did, when he looked at her. They could have been parted for days, hours or even seconds yet it wouldn’t matter. Each time it was like the first time of attraction and hope. No other woman called out to his soul as she did. He was in love with her. It was simple, true, real. It was a love requiring nothing more than being close to each other and reveling in the sanctuary each provided the other. He was very tempted to go back to bed, to take her in his arms once more and drive Sian crazy with what she needed. He’d never met a woman who enjoyed being made to submit as much as Sian. It drove him on to do crazy things to please her.

“But not yet.” He had to deal with someone he had always known, one day, would become a problem. He turned from the woman he loved and walked naked to the window and looked out. That it was cool, he barely noticed. He had other things on his mind. It had been hard pretending the simple conversation Sian had with him about the woman she saw with the same tattoo as hers could have been just anyone. He knew who she was.

Seamus saw a shape move in the darkness. He knew it was her. The dark woman. Meredith. He blew out a breath. “This is so bloody complicated,” he muttered softly, hearing Sian murmur in response. He smiled quickly. That was the way with them. They were attuned to react instantly to each other. “Hush, baby. All is well.” She sighed and drifted off once more. Seamus rubbed at the pain in the back of his neck where a tattoo exactly like Sian’s was scored into his flesh. His had been done as a ritual. It was to do with family. Tradition. Honor. It always burned when there was trouble.

The tattoo was a simple design. It was his family crest dating back centuries. It was Celtic in origin and a knot made up of two individual strands that could not be broken nor could a break or a join be seen in each carefully inked line. It symbolized entwined souls destined to be forever. It was what the McDonagher house was built on. Strong partnerships with people who knew no fear. He looked over at Sian. She was fearless. She was also the one he wanted. Meredith? She was so long ago and he felt nothing for her.

“But she won’t let go.” And she had to. They both knew it. Lust and infatuation was not the material the bound souls together. Meredith was wild and exciting. Once she had fired his blood to the point of frenzy. He hadn’t been able to get enough of her. Like a great hunger he craved her to the point of madness. His great Aunt Cassiopeia had seen that and warned him.

“She’s not the one for you.”

“But I feel so alive with her.”

“Death and life are very much alike, nephew. They’re opposite signs of the same coin yet one cancels out the other and neither can sustain the other.”

“You don’t understand.”

“Oh but I do. Passion can drive you mad. It makes your body wild with desire, your heart pounds and you want to believe the one who drives you on is your soul mate because only she could make you feel that way. But she isn’t. Soul mates are more than just sex—and yes, nephew, I remember very well what sex is like.”

“Aunt—”

“True love comes only once to a man. And oh yes, I’m sure you’ve thought yourself to be in love with many but has one left you breathless?”

“What?”

“Has a woman stopped your breath and made you look at her like she was something you’d never seen before and scared if you let her out of your sight she’ll be gone forever and you’d perish because of it?”

“’Sounds overly dramatic to me.”

“That’s because you haven’t met her yet so you don’t understand.”

Please...release me...

Last night I barely slept a wink. I was moaning, twisting restlessly in the sheets totally out of control, begging for release, needing so much and yet knowing I had no say in what was happening to me. I wasn’t in charge. I just had to submit and ride the crazy crest I was on until I could let go and find release. For a moment, I considered what the neighbours must be thinking. The bedroom window was open, a light breeze coming in through the sheer curtains, only party cooling the heat of the moment as I panted and moaned, twisting and promising anything and everything to my tormentor to let me calm down and drift off, sated, at peace. But it was not to be. Some are relentless. Some never let go until you’re a crying, whining wreck screaming at the universe in a moment of complete physical breakdown swearing on all that is holy that never again will I do 200 sit ups and be in this much pain.

Six pack stomach? Nah, just give me a bottle of champagne like any real woman.       

Pretty gifts...

As usual, I was out attempting to be all healthy and fit like running along the Cairns Esplanade this morning. As I ran along, this really muscular, runner-type bloke, no shirt, just wearing running shorts and track shoes came level with me and smiled and said ‘Hello, How are you?’ My response was ‘Sweaty but not dead.’ He jogged with me for a while then smiled again, said ‘see ya’ and he shot off. See how much fun the universal is? It’s sends you pretty gods when you least expect it.  And while how someone looks is not important to me, it was nice to have a pretty gift for a moment.

I’m just a sweet, polite little thing...

My personal opinion is that to be good at business you have to have a good memory, a poker face, have the whole iron-fist-in-a-velvet-glove thing going on and speak politely. I used that today to great effect. I got what I wanted. That, to me, is the bottom line. I want. You want. My need and desire is greater than what I perceive yours is so I will do what I have to in order to win my desired outcome. Manipulative? Moi? Oh please. I’m just a sweet, polite little thing with a sledgehammer attitude. Is that a bad thing?   

And the chooks shall lead the way....

So, the chooks decided in their infinite wisdom to rip up part of the lawn. I looked at it and thought you little bitches. Women. Pains in the arse. Not me, of course. Anyway, I decided to buy some pavers to pave over the ripped up area and deter more random acts of hormonal chookery. The pavers looked so good that I ripped up another area and extended the paving further. Huh. And the chooks shall lead the way.

Chooks – really bad to the bone contrary buggers or visionaries?  

Because...

...sometimes it's just nice to look, wonder, appreciate and ponder possibilities. 

Go the tatas...

Absolutely love this comment...

Anonymous has left a new comment on your post "Boycott bullies...":

I never shop there looks like you stepped off a tween tv shop if you do and I am a grown a** woman with tatas, hips and a** and glad of it

Posted by Anonymous to Amarinda Jones at 9 May 2013 3:25 pm 

Yeah, I'm pretty proud of my tatas too.

Boycott bullies...

Uh huh...bullying comes in all forms. 

"CEO, Mike Jeffries, 'doesn't want larger people shopping in his store, he wants thin and beautiful people.

'He doesn't want his core customers to see people who aren't as hot as them wearing his clothing,' Mr Lewis added. 'People who wear his clothing should feel like they're one of the "cool kids."'

'We go after the cool kids. We go after the attractive all-American kid with a great attitude and a lot of friends. A lot of people don’t belong [in our clothes], and they can’t belong. Are we exclusionary? Absolutely.'

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-2320868/Thin-beautiful-customers-ONLY-How-Abercrombie--Fitch-doesnt-want-larger-people-shopping-stores.html

Gee, if only, as a human being, I was perfect then I would shop at Abercrombie and Fitch. Oh, no wait...I wouldn't. I believe in equality. I don't believe that's a dress size for them.  

The arvo email…

We have a critical situation that needs to be rectified immediately. Please advise immediate course of action to avoid catastrophe.
Is it really critical?
Well, pretty critical.
Catastrophe?
Sorta – well, they think so.
They?
It’s a pushy woman.
Oh, her. Can it wait until next week?
Sure. I don’t want to interrupt you guys if you’re busy.
Yeah, we have a couple of meetings tomorrow and I’m away for a couple of days after that.
Going somewhere nice?
Nope, just lazing around at home.
Okay, well, this can wait.
Are you sure?
Yeah, it’s only pretty critical – not like its super critical.
Well, yeah, super critical could be done but pretty critical is well, just pretty…you know?
Yeah. Let ‘em wait.
Er hello? I’m cc’d on the email.
Oh
Oh
So I’m thinking this needs to be rectified now as worlds will indeed collide. While I understand there is protocol, havering, corporate bullshitting, work avoidance and navel gazing involved and clearly I’m not high enough up the food chain to understand this at your level, all I can say is please do what I want now.
We can do it tomorrow 

Yeah, we planned to do it tomorrow.
Of course you did.      

Pacesetters...

I was standing, waiting for someone, watching these kids around 10 or 11 years old – they looked like a football team – running around a sporting field. Every lap they took, one kid, behind them all, got slower and slower but he kept on running. He didn’t stop for a second. He didn’t give up because he was last. He just ran. When they finally finished their run and the rest were waiting for him, he ran it in, stopped and looked at them as if to say ‘what next?’ These are people I call pacesetters. Nope, they’re never at the front. They don’t aim to be. How are they pace setters then? Maybe because they motivate less strong individuals fearful of being last to try harder. Maybe it's because they can keep up that pace forever as the front of the pack generally dies after their sprint. Or maybe, they just don’t give a crap that they come last because their pace is their own and they don’t have to be like everyone else at the front.

Pacesetters…never underestimate them.     

Multiple orgasms...

I’ve started reading the Anita Blake Vampire Hunter series by Laurell K Hamilton. I’ve just finished book 4. What I find interesting about the series is the heroine, kick-arse, strong, in control, deadly Anita, isn’t into pre-marital sex – sex has to mean something – it’s a commitment.  I find her an intriguing character in a book where sex doesn’t sell the story. It made me think about heroines in ebooks. It’s no secret that sex sells ebooks and in many cases fills in for plot when the author can’t think of a plot other than the hero/heroes (depends what the current trend is and how hungry you are for a contract) protects the heroine while indulging in mutual shagging two minutes after meeting her and oh yeah, there’s something about a bad guy but back to the multiple orgasms. You don’t seem to get that in paperbacks, except for E.L's Shades of Monotonous Tedium but then that’s just a rip off of Nine and a Half Weeks and while kudos to the author for making a shite-load of money, it’s still just two tedious people having ho-hum-gosh-gee-blink-gasp-he wouldn’t-giggle-snore-stupid slapper-sex.

Is sex in ebooks easier and vitally necessary to write in because most writers don’t go past the 50k mark and sex adds to the word count? If you can write past this word count, does it mean you have the ability to write a plot and therefore while sex is important, the characters don’t have to fuck like bunnies – an ebook writer expression – to get a contract and therefore should consider writing for real publishers?  Am I being hard on ebook writers lacking wordage and plot? Yes. But I can be. I’m one of them. I have first hand experience of the industry. This Anita Blake series has me thinking about what women want, about writers and publishers and I’m thinking ebooks = cheap sex and paperbacks = plot.