While my life erupted around me I withdrew into myself, into my imagination. My first love, reading, filled my broken heart. Writing healed my soul.
After I finished reading a book my mind would conjure up new scenarios and alternate endings. The sensations created a high, and I just couldn’t get enough. Stories and series showed me what was missing in my life. While I may never visit these far off lands I could explore them in my imagination. I could create my own worlds, people, and places. My own thoughts would shape their very existence.
Great writers may have inspired me. But the flawed writers and their stories motivated me; my frustration over their stories and how they could have been masterpieces if only they had tweaked this or that. Creativity isn’t learned, but it’s execution is very much methodical. I am a black and white person, logical. I love lists, structure, and am borderline OCD. My imagination is at odds with my personality; the black and white vs every shade of gray.
I enjoy writing about things I will never experience. The same goes for reading. I’m 90% finished writing Chrysalis, the first novel in my Lili series. My target word count is near 100,000 words. I don’t rely on a word count. The story is finished when it’s finished. I also have a concept started, if you can call 40,000 words a concept. Shattered has a Male protagonist and I’m not sure what direction to take him in. My current project is a Dark Erotica Novella, Restraint. The wonder of these stories is that I may never find myself in a situation as my character Katya explores her sexuality. I will never fly, or grow wings and talons, or have fangs. I will certainly never be a sociopath as Atticus is. I can create these experiences and truly live them out in my imagination. As a writer, I sometimes feel like I am playing the Sims, controlling my characters. A better description, I am their god. It’s a very heady feeling, to control so much when you have no control over yourself.
I put a little bit of my soul in each of my works. I try very hard to remove myself from the journey. If you look hard enough, you will find me. It is impossible not to have me leak into the story. My first story, Chrysalis, I had to go back and completely remove myself. This isn’t about me, I’m just here to enjoy the ride. My friend and book mate, Kris, recently read a partial draft of Restraint. She wrote to me, “that’s you, That’s so Erica.” I laughed out loud for real. Yes, I seem to always have characters that have some form of an obsessive compulsive disorder, whether extremely organized or germaphobic. In this case, my character alphabetized her slippery agents. *You’ll have to read it to understand that comment. LOL* I may post a teaser in the future.
I hear my mother asking me if I am finished with them yet, or when will I be finished. It’s hard to explain to someone who doesn’t write, that the story doesn’t write its self. A great day I can pump out 10,000 words and I end up feeling hungover. A difficult day I may hit 2,000 words of hard earned story. In the end it’s all about my mindset. I have to become my characters. I live their world; after all I created it.
In my haste to evacuate my circumstances I charge headlong into a solid chest. I drop all of my stuff to the floor and look up- up to my boss. Not the boss directly ahead of me, no, the owner and president of my company, Mr. Zeitler.
A flush creeps up my face, burning and prickling at my skin. I am pale, but I do not turn that gorgeous color Kayla does as she blushes. I look ruddy. I flush harder from embarrassment.
Dark gray eyes captivate me, hold me in check as a predator holds it’s prey. My breath seizes and turns to little pants. Adrenaline floods my veins, a sensation that is coveted by my kind.
“Katya Waters,” a deep voice whispers across my flesh. Big eyes blink and break my capture. I feel a weight on my shoulder as my bags settle into place. I hadn’t even seen him move and pick up my dropped bags.
“Thank you, Sir,” I whisper to Mr. Zeitler. A dimple appears in his cheek and a sly smile spreads across his lips.
“Anytime. You need to get your frustrations out before you explode. Are you going to take care of that, or do I need to help you out?”
I blink repeatedly and shake my head to and fro trying to grasp what he means. I hear a masculine chuckle and glance up to Zeitler’s back moving away from me as he strides down the hall.
A peek into what I’ve been working on. Something fun to write while my mood is light.
Katya Waters is playing cat and mouse with an admirer named “the Boss”. The story is Kat’s journey to figure out who the man is…
Warning: The story is explicit, however, the excerpt is tame.
Katya’s first encounter with “the Boss”
Freshly washed and feeling fine as I wandered down a brightly lit hall from the ladies restroom. And what a restroom it was, granite and slate with the music piped in just as loud as the rest of the place. As I rock down the hall I am flung from my path. Before I could even utter a word a large palm is covering my mouth. In less then five seconds I am inside a pitch black room, pushed face first into the door, hearing the lock snick into place, with a heavy weight at my back.
“Let me guess… the Boss,” I say to the heavy weight at my back.
He chuckles in affirmation while something metal is clicked into place on my right wrist.
“Don’t take that off… ever.” His voice is smoky, deep, and slightly husky from abducting me. He’s getting off on this game. I try to wiggle out of his arms with no hope. He picks me up until were are even in height. My feet dangle a good foot from the ground. Just as the idea pops into my mind two large thighs part my legs rendering them motionless. Great!
“I’m the Boss and I can do anything I please with you.” More chuckles vibrate against my back and tickle the hairs at the nape of my neck.
“I take it ya heard that, did ya?”
“Just remember, Kitten, the Boss is everywhere, hears everything, all knowing is the Boss.”
“The Boss also talks in third person and apparently has a sick obsession with Bruce Springsteen. And I will never call him the Boss. You aren’t any boss of mine.”
I receive a nip of teeth to the back of my neck right over my tattoo. “Bad Kitty, I should punish you.” He laughs for a moment enough to vibrate the door. The Boss finds himself humorous.
“You will call me Master Ez. And Kitty Kat, I will always be your boss whether you like it or not, you must accept.” He fists my wrists above my head in one of his large paws, his other ventures down to where the sleaze had bloodied me.