Sunday, April 8, 2018

New Love

    I fall in love multiple times a day sometimes. It makes me smile at the most inappropriate times. It raises my spirits when I am feeling particularly lowWhen I read... When I write, my mind creates miniature movies where the characters play out the dialogue and my heart races with anticipation of the next scene. 
    "Paris felt Douglas' gaze on the back of her neck as she slowly pulled files from the shelves behind her desk. Her dark brown cheeks burning as she tried to forget her embarrassment from the first five minutes of their meeting. Prone to bouts of clumsiness, she'd seen the trip happen before it actually did. Why wouldn't she make a fool of herself on the first day of her new position? Life just wouldn't be fair if she had managed to make it through the day unscathed."
    Just a few sentences and I am invested in Paris. I relate to her inability to coordinate. I want to know more about her job and to find out if Douglas is a hottie. I want to know if Douglas is a jerk or if he has the skill to calm Paris' nerves.
    When I am writing I am falling in love with my characters. I cry when they cry. I cheer when they win. I scream when they go down the wrong hall or make a bad decision and I support their growth.
    I find beauty in the most simplest of scenes. Where you can feel the sensations of the characters just based off of your own life. I like to highlight how even in a novel based out of fantasy, those scenes are necessary to build a connection with the reader.
    "Livia slowly slipped off her boots and tucked them into the shoe cabinet by the door before making her way into her new home. New home... She had a new home and she hadn't even been looking.  More than a few months pregnant with a belly she could scarcely believe was there moving had not been a picnic. Not that she wasn't enjoying the upgrade from a three-bedroom condo the meatpacking district to a penthouse suite on the upper west side. Following the scent of scallions and garlic, she smiled and made her way towards the kitchen. Sei had promised her a home-cooked meal to make up for the last few nights he'd been away attending late-night meetings. The Summit was coming and the City was a veritable whose who of prominent Fae. Jinx had spent the first half of their lunch together complaining about how the increased concentration of magical beings was giving her a headache. She'd been dragged through a crash course of the magical community she'd been blind to for most of her life by circumstances far out of her control. Shuffling forward, she bumped Sei's back with her protruding belly. 'Smells good.'"
    With each new story, new character, new life created... I fall in love... With the idea of those characters and the lives they lead. It is that new love. You know what I am talking about. You have felt it before. It is the kind of love where you wake up thinking about them. You get excited just knowing you will get to see them later and spend time with them.
    When I reread a book or a scene it feels like I have gone on a second date. Like we are getting another chance to get to know one another and to really see if we get along. Does the thought of your smile cause my breath to catch? Do I wish I could take a page out of Sherrilyn Kenyon's Fantasy Lover and read you into existence? Will you feature in my dreams?
    What characters do you love? How does it feel when you put pen to paper and create a world. How about when you are reading a book? Do you have a full-length feature playing in your head? Do you talk to the pages or slam the book shut when the scene just gets too real? Leave a comment. Shout out the book and let me know. I am always looking for a new love affair.
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Sunday, January 28, 2018

Dreams, Wishes, Future...

       I love to dream. I love exploring my self-conscious and gaining insight into the mysteries I wasn't even aware were pulling on my conscious. Dreams are my mind's way of processing the world around me and even when they don't make sense, I embrace them...
        My dreams can be the beginning of a story I had no idea needed writing or could be just the thing I needed to get that scene just right. They spark that part of me that believes magic is real, aliens exist, and an open mind is the only way in which to live.
         Sometimes my only faith can be found in God and in dreams...
Take for instance Saturday (January 27, 2018, can you believe we are in 2018?) I was in bed completely exhausted. I'd been cooking for the week ahead, researching for my latest project, and writing all day... Not usually the combination for dream territory, but I gave in and shut down everything, and gave into the feeling. I fell alseep thinking about "Jenna".
She was the wallflower used to living her life in the shadows. She was used to life passing her by. Used to not trying, because it was easier than failing.
        She was the child of two people who never would have had her if they had not taken the risk to be together. Her parents had been Adventurers and she was caution incarnate. She was ready for more. Ready to jump off the cliff and find out whether she could fly. She was a story ready to be written and I wanted to be the person to write her.
        I wanted to be the person who got to know her and to be there when she found her purpose in the world. In my dreams, she's an outline. The promise of a story sure to get my synapsis firing,
        It was the same when I wrote Dessani Queen, Wintr's Homecoming, Witch's Reflection, or She Gets What She Wants. I just knew she was something worth exploring.
Dreams, stories, and books can be heartbreaking. They can be unfulfilled wishes. They can be the future yet to come. But boy-oh-boy can they be fun to read.
        "Jenna" is and was a story I knew I would create. She is the kinder Jinx. The more timid Makayla. At the beginning of her growing awareness feminity and her own strength as a woman, she is learning just how exciting life could be when making the "right" choice wasn't always the way to get to her objective. She was a heroine and I couldn't wait to see how her story shaped out.
        How crazy is it, that I can dream something and feel so certain that it was meant to be shared? That by placing pen to paper I am sharing a part of myself to the outside world. Quite literally, because if you have read about my writing style before you knew I write on pen and paper as well as typing. I like the tactile sensation of working through writer's block by putting orders down with ink and seeing how I still feel about that scene when I am actually typing up.
        As a child, writing was my release. It was how I dealt with my feeling and how I organized my thoughts. Now it is as paramount as breathing. It is how I create content girls and women like me wished they had when it seemed like the world was crashing in and they wanted to read about someone who knew about their experiences... Who shared features with them and knew that coconut oil was life. I write and for the most part, it is for me. It feeds that creative part of me, but it is also for my sisters, friends, aunts, and for the women who read the books traditionally offered by mainstream media and feel unfulfilled because they aren't pale skinned. They aren't natural blondes with beautiful blue eyes.
        Their hair is kinky. Their eyes are, for the most part, varying shades of brown. Their universe doesn't necessarily start or end with the ghetto and gansta life. They want to believe in the supernatural for a few hours during the day and to read about a heroine that looks like them finding love with a hero. They want that ever elusive happily ever after.
        You know the one... With the guy on horseback, preferably with no shirt, a pearly white smile, and bulging arm muscles. 
        I want the people who read my books to dream. About their wishes. About their future... I want them to read those books and know their futures are unbelievably bright. Happily ever after isn't just for our paler friends. It is for us. Our Princes aren't just disowned royals without a dime to their name and aspirations of being a musician.


Contact Info:

Website:

Facebook:
Durand Publishing
Wintr's Homecoming
Jaguar Nights

Instagram:
Jensawanderingthoughts


Sunday, January 14, 2018

New year, New Lies We Tell Ourselves...


    I don't make new years resolutions. Usually because that would require thinking about my life beyond the next week and that most often leads to a spiral. I find it is best for my mental stability to only take things a week at a time. This year has just begun and I have already had a few verbal arguments (I'm trying guys), done some charitable giving (Supporting a college aged sister counts right?), and wished I lived on a remote island only accessible by amazon planes so I can use my "prime" shipping.
    My life, like most others, is full of ups and downs. Twist and turns... Loops and nosedives. Last year was another year of growing I needed and offered a lot of hurdles. But I am still standing. My legs are still moving and occasionally I feel like running.
    This year I want give myself a chance to make some real changes. This year I want to make a few resolutions. Don't get too excited, this may turn into a pack of lies (hence the title).
    This year I want to do for the year of 2018:
        1. Kiss a man without knowing his first name (Overcoming some very serious germaphobia)
        2. Write at least four books (While maintain some semblance of a life and working full time)
        3. Go somewhere with a lot of sand and sun (Can't waste a winter of getting beach body ready right? Ha, yeah right.)
      4. Go on a date with a man I did not immediately regret getting dressed up for (Dude, why are you not even worth the effort I put into blending into my              concealer?)
        5. Stand up in a room full of people and shine. (Can't just save the smartassery for my house and close friends)
        6. Walk away from unnecessary drama, even when I know I am right, because it is not worth the years subtracted from my life (It is just sooo hard!!!)
    Right! So there it is. My list of resolutions/possible lies. It is, a few weeks late I know, but at least it is here and in the right month.
    I know it has been a while since I have posted. Life got crazy... Books needed writing... Bills needed to be paid. Haha. But I want to reassure you all of those things will happen again this year and I will manage to get a post up at least one a month. Writing as good a balm as any for a antisocial introvert like me. I get to share my thoughts without having to have a prolonged conversation where I am constantly reviewing what I said to make sure I don't offend delicate sensibilities (have I mentioned I can be a bit of a smartass?).
    I want this space to be a safe place, a reprieve from the crazy that is the outside world. I want those who read my work to laugh, cry, and walk away from the scenes that pushed all of their buttons until they have found their happy median again.
    This year will be the year of faith and adventure. Do you want to be a part of it?

Contact Info:

Website:
www.DurandPublishing.net

Facebook:
Durand Publishing
Wintr's Homecoming
Jaguar Nights

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Jensawanderingthoughts


Friday, July 14, 2017

Dream Date



We pick something fun with lots of bombs
and a predictable ending.
You wear your favorite tee and a pair of old sweats.
I'm wearing my glasses and a dozen dots of zit cream.
My head is on your lap 
as your sock covered feet rest on the coffee table.
Your fingers play with the tips of my braids.
I'm trying to throw popcorn into your mouth.
You tease me, when I squeak during the tense scenes.
I tease you, when you drool over the cars.
We aren't trying to impress each other.
We are happy.
Carefree.
We are living the dream.

Monday, May 8, 2017

Friday, March 31, 2017

Therapy

The wishes I have are simple.
The hopes I have are not new.
The things I have seen are not unheard of.
The faith I have has been betrayed.
My trust has not gone untested.
My heart has been broken.
But my eyes do see things.
My ears do hear.
My ways may be different.
My insight difficult to hear.
But I do know one thing.
It must be heard.

Friday, March 24, 2017

Chapter 4 (Except From "Things We Left Unsaid")




4



Paint Day
Humming she bent down slowly. The pregnancy slowed everything down. She was using a knife to open the can of buttercream paint she brought last week. Today was paint day and nothing was going to stop her.
Not even her pregnant protruding belly. They were going to do everything themselves. Taylor insisted she and Ian be the ones to decorate the rooms their child would sleep in. It was what expectant parents did. It was a bonding opportunity for the both of them.
Plus it was fun watching Ian struggle with figuring out how to work most of the tools. Used to paying others to decorate his home. Ian did not have a clue where to start.
Most of her morning had been spent directing him on how to properly prime the walls and place the painters tape. Carefully placing the paint top on the ground she bit her lip in concentration.
“Are you sure you want to paint the room yellow,” Ian asked for the fiftieth time.
Taylor smiled and looked over her shoulder. Shirtless, Ian looked sexy as he walked into the room wearing only sweat pants and carrying a cup of coffee. Because she refused to know the sex of the baby, he had been pushing for more gender-neutral colors.
“It is not yellow. It is buttercream.”
“Right, buttercream.”
Taylor picked up the paintbrush beside her and stirred the paint. “We chose a zoo theme. The buttercream will brighten the entire room.”
As he took a sip of his coffee, Ian walked over to her and slipped his hand over hers. Gently taking the paintbrush from her.
“You did most of the priming. I will do this. The last thing we need is this baby coming early because you can’t sit still.”
“Dee says I am nesting.”
“And I am all for it, but how about I take my turn?”
Taylor rolled her eyes and sat back as she gently rubbed her abdomen. In three more weeks she would finally be able to see her toes again.
The paint covers on their floor crinkled beneath her as Ian handed her his cup. She held it up to her nose and breathed deep.
“You have a serious problem.”
“It smells so good,” Taylor moaned longingly and settled onto the floor.
Oh caffeine… How she missed thee? She had given up coffee, sushi, hard liquor, red meat, and heels. Taylor practically lived in yoga pants and loose flowing blouses.
Ian only drank his coffee black. So simple. So plain. But she would take it. She would take anything at this point.
She liked her coffee with just a drop of creamer. No sugar. Or honey. Just creamer to make it just a little brown. Ian poured the paint into a pan and dipped his brush in.
Taylor sat back to watched her husband’s first attempt at painting. Licking her lips, she watched as the muscles in his back rippled. She really was a lucky girl, Taylor thought playfully.
The baby kicked causing Taylor to chuckle. “Keep up the good work and I will have to think up some type of prize.”
Ian laughed. The deep tenor of his voice sent spark of lust through her spin. Lately when she wasn’t thinking about food, she was thinking about sex. Her mind would spin off into these wild fantasies about Ian and herself sans the sixty pound she’d gained carrying their child.
Shaking her had she cocked her head to the side and studied the room. Because they weren’t sure about the baby’s gender. Taylor had opted for a gender-neutral room. Lots of non-specific gender colors.
“I still think we should paint a mural from a scene in the book “Where The Wild Things Are”,” Taylor wondered aloud.
“You are going to give the kid nightmares.”
“My kid is going to be fearless,” Taylor denied.
Ian dipped the brush back in the paint. “Fearless, huh?”
Taylor nodded. “Of course, with me as his or her mom. What else could he or she be?”
“Just you, huh?” Ian grinned over his shoulder.
Taylor caught his intense dark grey eyes. She could see the love and desire there. Ambling to her feet, Taylor had long given up looking like the graceful pregnant lady. She walked over to him and slipped her arms around his waist.
Kissing his shoulder blade before she laid her head on his shoulder. Taylor breathed in his scent.
“I am sure you will help too.”
*          *          *
There was an insistent buzz in his ears. Once Taylor dropped her bomb, Ian could not think or hear. He forgot everything and insisted she take him to Saint.
His son.
He had a son. Saint was currently sitting in Taylor’s lap and explaining to her the importance of a puppy in his life. Taylor was listening with an indulgent smile. They were seated on the cream leather sofa across from him.
Ian could hardly believe what he was seeing. The boy was smiling as he faced his mother. His curly hair looked brown beneath the sunlight streaming in through the main window of Taylor’s living room.
Saint had not paid much attention to him since their introduction. His campaign for a dog was not superseded by his curiosity over the stranger his mom brought home.
“The puppy can sleep on my bed. And Deedee and I can walk him. And feed him.”
Taylor rubbed his back as she sighed as she talked to him patiently. “Puppies like space. Living in our apartment would be torture for a puppy.”
“Piper has a dog. And she lives across the hall,” Saint pointed out.
“Piper’s dog is tiny,” Taylor reasoned.
Ian stared at the picture the two of them presented. Taylor had walked away from their marriage with enough money to by five homes and a small boat. Instead she lived in a small three-bedroom apartment.
From what he’d seen, Taylor drove a four-door sedan and did not dress in designer clothes. She’d never been a big spender. Because of the way she grew up, Taylor was practically allergic to what she considered to be wasteful spending.
“Mom,” Saint exclaimed placing his hand on Taylor’s cheek, “a boy needs a dog. Its man’s best friend.”
Taylor bit her lip in an effort not to laugh. “Okay”
Holding up her hands in surrender, Taylor nodded and smiled down at the boy. “How about this? If you stay out of trouble for a week with both Deedee and I. I will start looking for a dog.”
The toothy grin on his son’s face made Ian want to run out and buy a dog. The kid was perfect and he was health. The kid was his.