I've been writing stories since I was a child, when my knowledge
of the world was minimal, and so I had to draw on the writer's greatest tool,
imagination. I didn't let boring elements, such as facts and reality, get in my
way and my stories were exciting. It wasn't until I was much older that I
learned that there were supposedly 'rules' around writing that 'good' authors
followed to be successful. Many of them I had been using without knowing their
significance, such as structure and showing not telling, but one rule really
bothered me: Write what you know.
What a boring
rule. Now at the age of 50 plus, I do know a great deal about the world, but
that knowledge is still limited, too limited for what I want to write. If my
stories were to be tethered by what I knew, then what was the good of having
imagination? That rule was quickly crossed out for me. I have a good brain and
I intended to use it to learn about the things I didn't know.
When I wrote MASTER I had already determined
that my main character was from Ukraine, a country I had little knowledge of.
In fact the whole story would be set there and in the year 1995. My research
began with the firm resolution to be as factual as possible, as if I had lived
there. Writing my story began with months of reading everything about Ukraine,
from history to culture. I went on forums and chatted with Ukrainians who were
only too happy to set me straight about anything I wasn't certain about. This
research also helped enormously in plot development, being able to incorporate
historical facts into my story and give it a whole new level of reality.
Because of the time frame my story was set in, I had to match facts up with how
those elements would have worked in 1995 Ukraine. It wasn't easy, and I was
exhausted by the time Master was published. The readers loved it and recognised
the work that had gone into it, but they wanted more. They wanted a sequel. It
didn't help that I had made my protagonist a super genius computer hacker.
It took 19 months
to release SINS OF THE MASTER after an
exhaustive study of hacking, computers, politics and many other elements.
To date, no-one
has challenged me on anything in these books, but I will admit to a few areas
where I took poetic licence and used my imagination, but never at the expense
of undoing my plot by blatant ignorance. My advice to aspiring authors is to respect what
you write and respect the intelligence of your readers. Do your research, but
don't ever be afraid of venturing out into the unknown. It's a big exciting
world and our stories shouldn't be bound by what we've experienced, but rather
by what we are willing to learn.
Having lived with anxiety disorder for over twenty years, writing has been a great friend. It allows me something to turn to during the dark hours and helps me explore the emotions and confusion I often feel. While I essentially write books, I have found poetry to be something that allows me to focus. This is one I want to share for #WorldMentalHealthDay
Vulnerable
Once I was a warrior, equipped to be on the front lines of
life.
Now I step up naked on the battlefield, walled in by doubt.
My only defense is your mercy, my only weapon is silence.
When the demons are pulling upon the strings in my mind
I can only wait until they tire of their cruelty,
And abandon me like a cat with a sparrow,
Coldly watching my efforts to take flight again.
But my allies rally and I draw from their strength
Believing my victory is certain
And with this belief I advance on the front,
The laurels of achievement awaiting me.
But the battle is short lived, and uncertainty like a
crane-swing returns.
My war cry becomes a suppliant blubber
And my jaw droops for want of breath.
As my heart hammers upon an anvil of fear.
My wounds are deep and I gaze at the sword in my hand
Beckoning my fall upon it,
But what sort of soldier would I be then
And at what cost to those around me?
For now, I must contend to stay broken on the field,
The lot of an Indie author is not an easy one, but
the sense of achievement at the end of it all has to be the greatest feeling
ever. I've done it! The dream has become a reality and my creation is out
there.
In a drawer sits two full length novel manuscripts
that I wrote once upon a time, one of them over twenty years ago. I tried to
get a publisher, but the process was both expensive and time consuming. I had
four children and money could not be spared on something so frivolous. I lost
confidence and in the end gave up. One day I might take them up again, update
and self publish them.
I began writing The Finest Line in May 2012.
Through Kindle Direct Publishing, it was self-published to Amazon in August
2012. It cost me no more than the price of a few drinks for the people who
helped me create the cover. I brought two more books out within a year of that,
and they both did great, one of them going to #1 in Erotic Thrillers. Within a
year of publishing The Finest Line I was making a full time income with my
books and could devote my days to writing. When I say that self publishing is
the most liberating accomplishment for writers, I mean it.
It is the answer for anyone who has long held a the
passion to write and be published. They have a story in them screaming to be
told. Well, I for one want to hear your story. It shouldn't be up to the
traditional publishers to say whether your story is good enough or not. It's
yours, and you want to share it with the world, whether others like it or not.
Maybe it won't do so well, but who cares? I write for me, and I have to love my
story before anyone does, and when I do, like any proud parent, I want to show
my baby to the world. They don't have to like it, but it exists.
I've read all the dismal articles of the poor
quality of Indie authors, the typos, the grammar, and mostly I think that's
rubbish. Yes, I've actually read several stories, littered with mistakes, but
the story itself was incredible and I am richer for having read it, and I am so
glad the writer had the courage to put it out there. Failure is not several
mistakes in your work and some bad reviews. Let the readers have their say, but
remember, you did it, when they didn't. You are a success because you did put
it out there while others are still dreaming about it, and who knows, maybe you
do have the next New York Times bestseller within you. It just needs few trial
runs before it comes out. With every book you put out there, you learn from it,
and your writing can only blossom.
Would I ever go with a publisher now? I don't know,
I'd like to say no, and I have given this a great deal of thought. I love being
Indie. I love all those long hard hours of writing and getting ready to
publish. I love that it costs me nothing. I love that I can finish writing a
book and have it published within a few days. I love that my books belong to me
alone.
And what is this all about anyway? It's about my
passion for writing which has existed since I wrote my first poetry book at
four years of age. It's about the first fifty page novel I completed when I was
eight years old and the first full length novel I wrote when I was twelve years
old. It wasn't about money, fame or reviews back then. It was because I had to
write and haven't stopped my entire life, but now I can share my writing with
the world. You don't have to like my stories, but they're out there, published,
and I love them. #PoweredByIndie #selfpub
He
had almost brought himself to climax when he froze. The noise was barely
audible but his hearing missed nothing. Angry and frustrated, he turned off the
shower and reached for his towel, getting it around his waist just as Lena timidly
entered the bathroom.
“What
the fuck are you doing, Lena?”
Any
hope that his fury would scare her off was quickly dismissed. She remained
unmoved and looked back at him intently. “I don’t want to be alone anymore.”
“And
I want five minutes of peace. Now get back to bed.”
She
shook her head and her voice was strained. “You said that you would deal with
me… that you would punish me for disobeying you and now you’re not, and I don’t
know what that means.”
“It
means that I’m fucking tired, and don’t want to put up with your shit, but
fine, if you want to be punished, then go wait for me, bent over the couch.
I’ll be there with my belt in a minute and make sure you’re fully satiated.”
“Lena’s
lip trembled. “Do you want me to remove my underwear?”
As
much as he could see how afraid she was, he could also see her determination
and need. She was ready to subject herself to anything he could dish out, and
not out of any weakness, but out of the trust she had for him. His anger didn’t
stand a chance against this and it was time to change tactics.
“Lena, please, go back to bed. You’ve had a
terrible day and your emotions are confused. You need sleep and all this will
be forgotten tomorrow.”
“Sometimes
I wish I could forget, but I can’t. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. All I
know is that you keep your word. That’s as stable as it’s ever been for me.
Please don’t take that away from me.”
Her
sincerity was slowly eating away at him. Jahn stared at her, still hoping that
he could end this without tears and grief.
“Lena,
you don’t know what kind of man I am. All you have seen is a side of me that
knows how to care for another human being. That is the least side of who I am.”
“I’ve
also seen the side that can kill a man,” she replied. “That must mean the rest
of you is somewhere between, and that’s enough for me.”
Jahn
shook his head. “I can’t give you what you want.”
“And
what is that? A life of commitment, a happy ending like those in fairy tales?”
Her sorrowful smile widened thoughtfully. “I already know that there are no
happy endings, there are only moments. In the end, we all die. I have a
lifetime of horrible memories that plague me. Is it so wrong to want ones that
I can remember with happiness?”
“Inflicting
punishment on you would not be a happy memory.”
She
looked up at him. “It would be for you. Isn’t that what you enjoy?”
Jahn
sighed and shook his head. “Somehow the thought of hurting you doesn’t bring me
any satisfaction.”
Her
face fell. “I thought… I’m sorry. I’ll go back to bed.”
Jahn
frowned in confusion, but as she started to leave, it suddenly dawned on him
how she had interpreted his words.
“Lena,
wait. I didn’t mean…
She
had given him the way out. If she thought that he was not attracted to her,
even in his perverted sexual desires, all this would be over. Lena would shed a
few tears and then they could co-exist without the complications. The plan
would be back on track.
She
was waiting silently, not looking at him. All he had to do was tell her that he
didn’t want her, even if it was a lie, but as he looked at her, so small and
vulnerable, the plan didn’t seem so important.
“Take off your dress.”
His
quiet demand made Lena tremble, but her fingers gathered each side and the
dress was drawn from her body, leaving her in just her underwear.
“Everything.
Take it off.”
Without
hesitation, she removed her bra and panties, and instinctively she crossed her
arms over her breasts.
The
severity entered his tone. “Don’t cover yourself.”
Her
arms fell away and his eyes moved over her body, studying the large breasts
pert with youth, the fullness of her hips and rounded belly. What he wasn’t
expecting to see was the plump naked mound at the apex of her thighs, with a
few stray hairs still present. He nearly laughed until the significance of what
she had done dawned on him. She had shaved to please him, to give him what he
desired. It was a gift that both disturbed and excited him.
Taking
her hand, he pulled her towards him and looked down at her. She was like a
frightened animal, shivering and uncertain. He had never seen anything more
beautiful and the adrenaline pumped through his veins.
Turning
away, he adjusted the taps of the shower until the water was running warm,
before guiding her under it, with her facing the wall. Grasping her wrists, he
brought her arms up high and wide, placing her palms on the tiles.
The
warm water eased her shivering, but her legs were shaking. Lena gasped as
strong arms went around her and his body pressed against her. The towel was
gone and she could feel his cock brushing against her lower back. His foot
pushed at her feet, widening her stance, and making her aware of how much her
vagina was exposed to him. Her hips were grasped and her body pulled back, so
that her bottom was thrust out.
His
mouth moved closed to her ear. “You don’t move. You don’t turn around. You face
the wall and obey me. Is that understood?”
“Yes.”
He
moved away from her, and for a moment that seemed to last forever, there was
only the sound of the water flowing over her body, trickling between her
buttocks and tormenting her clit. Any second she expected to feel his hand
between her legs, and she braced for the sensation it would bring.
Instead
it was her buttocks that received the first attention. Lena gasped and her eyes
widened as she quickly realized what he was doing. Jahn was crouched behind her
and his palms were splayed across her cheeks, gently spreading them apart. His
close proximity was easily judged by his breath on her most intimate parts.
Her
legs shook harder as she was subjected to his examination. She could almost
feel his eyes boring into her. Slowly, he allowed her cheeks to fall back in
place, but his hands remained where they were, softly caressing and squeezing as
if testing their firmness.
With
her mind clouding over, she was barely aware that he had stood up again, until
his lips brushed against the base of her neck and over her shoulder. Any doubt
of his attraction to her was put to rest as she felt his unyielding cock push
into her spine. His hands were gliding up her sides until they were cupping her
breasts. Her nipples were captured between his thumb and forefinger, where he
pinched and tugged at them, encouraging them to swell.
In
all her life, Lena had never felt her body react so violently. Her stomach was
tightening with the contractions in her vagina. Her veins seemed to be
electrified and her heart was hammering at her chest. She felt weak, with her
legs threatening to give way at any moment.
His
harsh whisper resonated in her ear. “Why do you give me so much grief, Lena?
Why do you make me want to punish you?”
As
if to reinforce his words, his fingers crushed her nipples, making her cry out.
His body was pushing in closer to her and Lena was aware that his breathing was
faster. Absently, she moved a hand down to his, hoping her touch would distract
him. Instead her hand was seized in his and brought back up to the other.
Grasping both wrists, he held her still.
“You’re
disobeying me, again.”
Keeping
her pinned, he moved away to her side, only to bring his hand slamming into her
buttock. A second later, her other cheek received the same. Lena yelled with
the pain and was startled to hear his huffed laugh of amusement. Fear began to
edge into her arousal.
For
a moment he rubbed and squeezed her bottom gently, but then rapidly delivered
three violent smacks to each cheek. Her whimpers soon turned into sobbing as
the burning pain swelled in her bottom. She struggled to free herself from him
only to be pushed back against the wall.
“This
is what happens to naughty girls.” His voice was harsh as he moved back behind
her, seizing her breasts and pulling her back against him. She had little
choice but to grip his iron knuckles as he crushed her against the tiles, under
his weight. His legs were on the outside of hers, pushing them back together to
complete her entrapment. Releasing one breast, his hand moved down and he
forced his cock to rub against her sore buttocks, pushing and trying to divide
her clenched cheeks.
“Please
don’t,” Lena sobbed.
“This
is what you wanted.” He continued to rub and push. “To be punished and hurt.”
“Not
like this. I don’t want this.” She was crying loudly. “Don’t hurt me. Please,
don’t hurt me.”
Whether
it was her desperate plea, or the water suddenly turning icy cold, Jahn
suddenly released her and backed away. Lena remained against the wall, her body
shaking with misery.
“I’m
sorry,” she gasped. “I’m so sorry.”
He
turned the water off and grabbed a towel, wrapping it around her. Rubbing her
shoulder, he waited until she had calmed before gently turning her to face him.
“Go
back to the apartment and get another towel and get yourself dried.”
She
couldn’t look at him. “What about you?”
He
sighed. “I need to cool off anyway. Just do as I’ve said, and then go back to
bed.”
“Forgive
me,” she whispered.
Jahn
sighed deeply. “You’re not the one who needs to be forgiven.” He softly pushed
her towards the curtain. “Go.”
He
watched her until she had entered the apartment, and then he leant back against
the wall, feeling his wet skin cool and prickle in the cold air. Turning on the
cold water, he stood under the flow, trying to extinguish the heat that still
ran through him.
What
the fuck was wrong with him? Lena wasn’t the first woman he had lusted over,
but it was more than that. He wanted her beyond a point where he was no longer
in control. He had been fully prepared to rape her, and it sickened him. Maybe,
finally, the years of sex and violence had taken their toll and unleashed the
real animal in him.
If
losing control wasn’t bad enough, his mind was chaotic with emotions that he
had never had to contend with, shame and remorse.
“Fuck
you, Natasha,” he called out. “This bastard does not fall in love.”
Whatever
had gone wrong there would have to be damage control, or Lena would be an
emotional wreck of his own making. He would have to reassure her that she had
done nothing wrong, maybe even cuddle her if she still wanted to go near him. A
little compassion, a little romance and all this could be put behind them.
Anything else she read into it would not be his problem.
Lena
did excite him, her and that beautiful arse that coloured so well, but no woman
would ever take precedence in his life. He needed to be back in control, and
even to examine these revelations of his nature. He didn’t need to hurt her
physically to do that. The ultimate test of cruelty would be allowing her to
fall in love with him. Master available for purchase on Amazon
