Monday, July 20, 2015

Chapter 1~ The Goodbye Man by A. Giannoccaro and Mary E. Palmerin


I present to you the first chapter in its entirety. I am also enclosing the disclaimer. Please read before proceeding. Asheligh and I are so excited about sharing this emotionally charged, controversial book. It took a lot of courage for us to write, but we are looking forward to rustling the feathers in the literary world with this novel.

As always, thank you for your continued support, encouragement, and belief in both of us. Carpe fucking diem.


Mary <3

Readers, please note that this tale has graphic depiction of abuse including but not limited to; rape, physical torture, emotional abuse, murder, strong language, sexual degradation and humiliation, unconventional sexual practices, and detailed descriptions of several mental disorders. With that being said, we know that there are many dark books out there that have similar content. However, this story is an emotional mind-fuck that will have you questioning all your morals and your ideas of normal.

If you are the least bit frightened, you should be. We understand as the authors that we were taking a big chance when we decided to tell this story, but every writer tells tales for different reasons. We write what we fear, for thrill, and for things that we are not supposed to discuss.
This is not a romance. This tale is not about love. It is about goodbyes and manipulation in many forms. So, if you feel like you can continue reading, we hope that you enjoy this book. As always, thank you so much for your continued support.


Ashleigh and Mary



She wore pangs of despair like flowers in her hair.

People always talk of normal. What is normal anyway? I can’t say I really believe in it. I have memories, dreams, and other recollections from my early life, but they are bloody, bad things that would put most people’s nightmares to shame. I often wonder if they are real or a mirroring image of what I wish, because they are far from the normal I live within now.

The last time I was loved was thirteen years ago, the day my mother died. Now at seventeen, I still remember the distinct way she smelled of stale alcohol and cigarette smoke. Her scabbed up track marks along her bony arms used to scratch my naked back when she would give me a rare hug. Her broken Russian was slurred and her hot breath on my tiny ear sent shivers down to my little toes. 

Looking back, that was the only kind of love that I ever had. Я тебя люблю, gypsy girl,” my mother would get the courage to murmur to me in broken Russian when no one was listening and my father wasn’t watching her like a hawk eyeing its hungry prey. I love you, gypsy girl.

But the love that she had for me only lasted four years. The little things I remember from my mother both terrify and delight me. I wish I wouldn’t remember. I wish I could turn into the same kind of cold-hearted man that my father, Pavel, is. Glassy eyes, broken heads, and bleeding hearts are what make up the last memories of my mother. Bloodstained, matted curls on the dirty pavement made up the last kind of lullaby I was sung. Since, Pavel makes sure to fleck off pieces of me day after day, siphoning my soul into the depths of hell next to him. No matter how much he tries to get me to be like him, I will never leave my little dysfunctional oasis.

I am not him. I am Svetlana, a lost lamb who gets fed to the wolves every single day, night after night only to torn and wounded and sometimes left for dead. Still, I overcome the abuse, the blood, and the horrific acts that are done to me, only to hobble away while licking my injuries. What for? I hope to one day understand what all this means. I exist to be a punching bag. Others are created for love. Me, I was made for hate. Until I understand what it all means, I can only survive. Surviving is all I have been doing since I was born.

I am waiting for the day the lamb turns into a fierce lion, but I fear my days are numbered. As time passes, my father gets meaner and meaner. It was only a matter of time before I was thrown into the fire of harshness to burn like my mother. I was twelve when I started hustling the streets like my mother in the impoverished part of the city that I call home in Hunts Point, Bronx. I never expected to still be alive today. I am still trying to decide if that is a blessing or a curse. I am thinking the latter of the two is the answer. A curse. Most days, I think that my father is keeping me alive to punish me. I’m surprised he didn’t kill me the day he removed my mother, Marta, from this world, kicking my little four-year-old brain in and tossing me, like toxic fucking waste, into the metal grave like he did my mother.

Every time Pavel’s eyes meet mine, I swear I can feel a piece of myself dying inside. My heart stops moving and I can’t breathe. He can gain control over me with one simple, terrifying look. One that has remained the same since as long as I can remember. His eyes are as blue as the bluest sky and his pale skin is almost translucent. His light blonde hair is always a matted dirty mess. His large nose is crooked and he is always messing with it when in a nervous withdrawal.

There is a wall so thick before his eyes; it scares me to think what is behind them. To try to understand what kind of things he holds back is petrifying. His stance is nothing short of intimidating, as he stands at a good six-foot tall. His knuckles are always cut up from his constant abuse. I am certain they wouldn’t know what healing would feel like. His face shows the cruelness he has lived within for years since being in the States, providing scabs from picking and excessive wrinkles from the harsh elements in which he has lived. I don’t know much about my parents and what their lives were like in Russia. Part of me hopes that they had happy times before they were tainted by the ugly here, but something in my gut tells me that a man like Pavel isn’t capable of being decent.

I am different. Completely different than my father and he makes me understand that by the utter hatred he has towards me. I suppose I accept it because that is all I have known from Pavel. It is how he treated my mother, and it’s how he is towards the other whores, though I am usually the worst. I can recall Mother telling me that I was her gypsy princess because my brown hair and chocolate eyes were those of her gypsy ancestors. I thought that gypsies were from another part of the world, but what do I know. I am just a street-hustling whore.

Again, the love and memories that I hold onto are grueling. Part of me wishes I could become the same kind of monster as my father as I watch him beat, murder, rape, and torture countless women day after day, but I can’t bring myself to be there yet. He is a pro at being a ruthless criminal. It’s sad that the crimes he commits wouldn’t go unnoticed in other parts of the world. He has worked his way up the chain of being a small time pimp in one of the biggest prostitution hubs of the city, yet most of the money he makes, he spends injecting into his collapsed veins as we sleep on top of cardboard fucking boxes next to dumpsters in hopes of finding halves of cold leftover burgers wrapped in sticky paper.

That is why my job is so important. Cash flow for Pavel needs to be steady. When he starts to come down from his high, rage consumes him. Everything becomes my fault and hatred is all that he knows. Sometimes, I can’t blame him, considering the shit we are surrounded by, but the other half of me is angry at him for not loving me. I wish he would, but that isn’t the way the world works.
That is not who I was born to be.
I must have been asleep as I am shaken awake by the jolt of the train. I feel a pair of icy eyes on me and I know what this means. The feeling that I get when my father looks at me like that means business.

Bad business.

The screeching of the metal wheels on the train track sends shocks of electricity through every cell of my body. I wish I could stay nuzzled on the fiberglass seat of the subway, because at least it is warm in here. I don’t have a coat on and it is getting colder with each passing day. I hate when I know that winter is fast approaching. Long days seem longer when you are working your ass off trying to get a truck driver from one of many distribution places to fuck you because your father needs drug money.
But he declines because your tits aren’t quite big enough for his liking. Unfortunately for me, it has happened more than once. On the awfully cold evenings, as much as I hate having sex with men I don’t know, or anyone for that matter, there were many times I prayed for it just so I could regain the feeling back in my toes and fingers.

Like all things, it never lasted.

Father’s stare sinks deeper inside of me. I can feel him burying his claws deep inside of my heart. If emotions could be acted out, he would surely be yanking me up painfully as he sat back and watched, all the while mocking my pain.

This is my normal.

I have no choice but to sit up and provide my father the look he expects. His eyes send fright straight to my belly and I have to remain stone-faced. This is all part of my life. The only kind of life I have known.

“Вставай, шлюха!” Pavel yells.

Get up, whore! One of his most used lines.

I stand up, listening to his demands. I straighten my aged tank top, unaffected by what others think. I am surrounded by fellow prostitutes, drug runners, and people who rely on the 6 train for a warm night’s sleep. The twenty-something year old Hispanic man that is huddled in the seat across from me is shaking back and forth, chanting out in Spanish while pointing to different people on the train. He is definitely out of his mind, but nothing short of what I see on a daily basis. I look over to his right and see a girl younger than me clutching her swollen belly. Our eyes meet and her stare makes me sad. Our looks understand one another without words and I make myself turn away, knowing that her blue eyes were more sorrowful than I could handle, let alone my own life. She couldn’t have been more than thirteen. A swift kick to my lower leg knocks me out of my sad stupor. I look to Pavel while he gives me a disapproving look, gritting his teeth together at me like a famished dog hungry for meat. I shake my head yes, knowing that if I do not provide some sort of response, he will hit me. Pavel doesn’t care if there are people here are not. People don’t tell other people’s stories. Not when you are stuck in your own dread, spending forever trying to find a way to trudge out of a normal that is suffocating.

“Money, Svetlana. You make me money tonight.”

“Yes, Father,” I respond with my eyes down, showing him respect that he doesn’t deserve. But I give it to him, because that is what I was trained to do.

Yes, Father. Always the dutiful daughter.

His broken Russian and awful English are all that I have been around. Accompanied by the people that are constantly buzzing around me, I learn words and take them in. I like words, but I don’t speak often. If I had dreams, I would do something with words. But my destiny holds something different. I possess the same kind of talents that my mother, Marta, did. I am a whore. A stupid, stupid whore.
I dismiss thoughts of my mother and look down at my wrists. The discoloration of my skin is obvious as black and blue bruises mark my olive skin. Memories of the fat truck driver who fucked me in his cab overtake my thoughts. He was insistent on tying my hands above my head so that I couldn’t touch him or bat away his abusive hands. I couldn’t say no. I had to do whatever he wanted to make sure and please him to get paid or Father wouldn’t get the drugs to keep him halfway happy.

I am a gypsy princess. My thoughts are a jumbled mess as I stare at my olive colored wrists.
The metal on metal causes jerking and I stumble forward into my father. His body is as cold as a winter’s night and he is as hard as a brick wall. Shudders of terror run through me, but I brush it off because I have a job to do. A very important one that means getting Father the money he needs to feed his drug habit.

“Watch where you go, whore.”

“Yes, Father.”

I exit the train car 6 as we arrive at Hunts Point Boulevard. An old, black man yells out in front of me, jingling a can and pleading for change. I wish I could tell him I am no help and that I am just as hungry as he is, but my father would beat me and him too, so I look away and try not to care. The pregnant girl walks quickly past me; her disappearing body into the shadows of the night leaves me uneasy. Something in my heart tells me that her story won’t end well. I shake my thoughts free. I hate when I overanalyze everyone around me; I wish empathy was a trait I didn’t possess. I have a job to do. One that I have come to master since I was twelve-years-old. I have to do what comes next. I push my mediocre breasts out and pucker my lips as I try to shake my hips from side to side. My outfit is appalling, but pussy is pussy. At least that is what my father tells me. Pussy be pussy, Svetlana. Learn to like to fuck. Make your pussy get wet. Men like your dirty cunt more. You learn, learn good, girl.

I feel a swift smack on my bottom and I bite my lip hard. The copper taste of blood makes my stomach swirl and ache for a decent meal. I momentarily allow myself to dream about a soup kitchen, their watered down chicken broth and stale bread is like a heaven that I never get to enough of. It has been nearly 48 hours since I have eaten something and my skinny body is starting to feel a decline. But, death is always lingering. I would feel empty without it. I don’t turn around because that is something that my father would do to hurry me along.

Instead, I pick up my feet and move quickly up the stairs as the air gets colder on my bare shoulders with each passing step. A pair of strong hands wraps themselves around my waist and I forget to breathe. I half expect snide comments from my father about my thin build and my lack-of-curvy ass and hips, but his chants are absent. For the first time, I wish for them.

A yank brings me backwards on the stairs as I feel my right leg twist on the concrete while I am being dragged down back to the hum of people that haunt my thoughts. The voice that I was craving to hear seconds ago starts bellowing loudly in the background. Evil is so thick in the air, it could crack like glass. Something in my gut is telling me not to look up and see the man that has a hold of me, but I feel myself being magnetized by an emotion I am not familiar with.

I turn my head as I am greeted by a forty-something-year-old black man. His skin is sweaty and he’s huffing like he’s been running from someone. Or maybe he was running for me. It doesn’t matter because the cat has found the little mouse, and it’s ready to eat. He offers me a smile, but I immediately know it is not one that is of comfort or kindness. His yellow teeth and alcohol-breath make my mind erase the thoughts I once had of food. Others around me continue to remain unaffected, because this world is chaos and that kind of disorder is something they are all used to. Junkies and fellow prostitutes go about their business as my father moves them along with his laid back hand gestures as he talks out of his head in Russian. So much is happening at once, I find it difficult to process. Am I the only one to care inside of my skull? Do the people that stare and judge my torn and tattered clothes want to save me? I want to scream, to fight back, to run, but what good would that do? Only to be delivered to some juvenile detention center and fed to a different set of wolves? This is who I was born to be. This is what I was trained to do. I need to put the softness away and let myself continue to do the one thing that I was destined to do.


I relax into the man’s grasp while his lips curl over his teeth further in a grateful smile. His grip around my waist tightens as he pulls my small frame into him. His erection presses into my belly and the only thing I hope for is a condom. My brain doesn’t function normally as I prepare myself to be taken by a man that I do not want, but when HIV is so prevalent, a condom is the only thing I care about right now.

“I paid ya Daddy good money for this pussy. Ya better not disappoint, little girl.”

Though enamored with words, I find myself tongue tied now. No response would make this right as my father sits back and watches while a man twenty-plus years older than me preps himself to fuck me. I look over the large fellow’s shoulder and watch as trash dances from the wind of the recently departed subway car, the heavy steps of people still going to and fro. Dirty white, five-gallon buckets line the tunnel, making me remember times when I couldn’t find a restroom and was forced to piss and shit in plastic containers, hoping to dodge the train before it came. The throbbing in my leg brings me back to my hellacious reality. Gulping hard as the man’s hands leave me, I contemplate running, to where or to whom, I don’t know. I am only certain of one thing. This is not going to end well.

I part my lips for a brief moment, thinking that I may have the right words to speak, but stop myself as a hard blow meets my cheek. I fall to the cold dirty concrete, feeling it tear into both my palms while I tried to brace my body from the fall. My long brown hair that my father hates is tugged on violently as I am forced to look into the eyes of my abuser. I hate this part, preparing to be taken by a man that I don’t wish for. You’d think that after five years of being in these situations, I could travel far away to a place where I could become detached. Too bad it doesn’t work that way. Every part of my sensory system is magnified by a million. My vision, hearing, taste, and lastly, feeling.
I look to the man’s eyes; the stark whites hold evidence of what my father craves as little hazes of red plant themselves around. The grin from before is absent and is replaced with the man clenching his jaw tightly. My mind wanders to a place as I try to disassociate myself from this terrible situation while I think to what got him so angry. Then again, Hunts Point is full of many vile assholes. Maybe I am the abnormal one.

“Is that pretty mouth of yours not gonna answer me?”

He pulls on my head further; I am surprised my neck isn’t snapping in two. I move my lips to talk, but I am breathless. He frees my hair and I crawl over to the tiled wall, bringing my knees up to my body. I can feel my father watching. If I don’t give in and do what this man wants, I will pay.
Men like girls, Svetlana, not women. Learn to like it, too. We make more money that way if men know you real, I teach you to get wet pussy and be a good whore like ya Mat’ Pavel would say to me.
I zap into the current and think back to that statement. It is what will save me. If I don’t act like I want it, or enjoy it for that matter, then Pavel could very well kill me. Fuck, why do I even bother living anyway? Humans are creatures of selfishness; they don’t have the ability to understand that sometimes dying would be better than living. It is the fear that holds us back. All I do is trade one fear for another. Not sure what good that does, but I am his girl and still I listen.

“Yes, sir.”

I unfold my legs and stand, popping the button to my torn and tattered jeans. Panties are a luxury and one that I don’t have. I push my jeans down and pull my tank top up, exposing my bare breasts.

“Damn, girl. I am gonna tear that shit up.”

I offer him a made up smile. If he only realized how many times I have heard that line. I am taken day after day, time after time, yet still my little heart continues to fight in this fucked up world. I was created as my soul was doomed from the start. Perhaps God had made a deal with the devil the day I was born. Freedom won’t find me. Even if it does, I will always be stuck within the restraints of this. Things are the way they are for a reason. They can’t always be explained.

“You a whore and prolly ain’t got checked for AIDS. I’m packing, don’t worry, fucking slut,” the large man says to me, pulling out a shiny condom packet.

I want to fall to my knees and thank God above, but gratefulness is never what it seems. The fellow exposes his huge erection and sheathes the condom over it. He closes his fist and I back up to the cold wall, the aching from my leg soon to be the least of my worries. I look to the steel beam, once again and focus on something else as my eyes trace the letters of the HP in the distance, reminding me of home sweet home. The shadow that I can never ignore lurks in the background as his laughter returns wildly.

“Don’t take easy on girl. She likes it rough.”

Pavel emerges from the trembling glowing lights with his hands in his stained jean pockets. He is always looking, watching, judging.

“Good thing, sweetheart. I like a little blood and gore to go with my whore.”

For a few seconds, I think I am going crazy as I see the man before me transform into a beast. Maybe that is my dysfunctional brain coping in its own fucked up way, but his lips curl over the top of his discolored teeth again and they seem sharp enough to kill. His closed fist meets my cheek and the familiar taste of blood enters my mouth. Pain starts from my toes and works its way up to my head.
I welcome it and swallow it as it temporarily calms my grumbling belly and thoughts of food and water. I stumble but remain on my feet. The hard as steel fist that punched me, meets my face once more and my knees give out. I fall to the cold ground and wonder how many minutes the man has before another train comes by to load people.

People. Yes, there are people around but they don’t care. I am in the shadows at the end of the platform. They hear commotion and may see it, but this is part of the chaos here. This is the normal. The man is putting on one hell of a show and I am the act.

“Scream, I will fucking kill you in front of your father.”

Grumbling from his throat interrupts the throbbing from my head as he spits on me. I understand his point; I am trash, a no one, a whore basking in his soon-to-be gore. But, get it over with already.
“Stand,” the monstrous man commands.

I oblige, quickly standing so I don’t get another punch to my already swelling face. My vision is turning double and my head is pounding. I am doing everything in my power to get through this so that Pavel gets his money. Then we can find an alley so I can sleep.

“You ain’t no virgin, girl. But I wanna play like you are. Let’s play ‘Big Daddy pops little girl’s cherry'.”

I turn my head slightly to the side, unsure what he means. He takes one hand and slams my body against the wall again, gripping my neck tight enough for me to see stars, but not tight enough for me to lose consciousness. His free hand grazes down my belly and to my sex. I expect his fingers to enter me, but expecting is the biggest mistake when being a whore. There are no rules, especially when you belong to someone else.

“Blood and gore for my little whore.”

He shoves my knees apart and sticks four fingers inside of me. I gasp out loud as a tear sears through me. I am dry, but that doesn’t slow him down. The friction only causes him to grin more at me while he shoves four fingers higher inside of me. Overwhelming discomfort rips through me and I can’t remember ever being violated this badly. I pray for death as he jabs his four fingers in and out, in and out, in and out over and over again until my blood covers his hand.

When he is satisfied with his damage to my sex, he releases himself and I want to huddle into nothingness and cry. I can’t remember the last time I wanted to sob like this, but right now I want to. This man has cracked me open and now I understand that maybe I never want to be put back together again.

“Ah, there ya go, girl. Seems Big Daddy could pop that pussy cherry after all. Now, eat it.”

My eyes grow wide while my mouth hangs open. He sticks his blood covered fingers into my mouth while ramming his dick inside of me. The distant screech of the subway car is welcoming, but even that wouldn’t stop this man. I am surviving hell on earth. With each passing thrust of his hips, I am swimming deeper and deeper into a place that I crave.

A goodbye.

Releasing on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, and iBooks on August 7th.

Sunday, July 5, 2015

Dark Duo Update

The Goodbye Man (Red Market Book 1)

Dysfunctional empires were made to fall.

I am Caesar. Broken and conflicted. I am a man who gives false goodness to those who crave it. I provide solace to the ones who beg to be saved, giving them the goodbyes they want. But, my quiet little world is about to be shattered by the whispers from heaven and hell.

I am Mateo. Unlovable and unworthy. I am the boy everyone runs from. I keep love close to me in little jars of perfection, reminding me of a thousand goodbyes I never had to say, because I left them before they could leave me.

I am Svetlana. Dirty and Used. Birthed into brutality while still trying to comprehend my version of normal. I am an injured lamb, eaten by filthy wolves day after day. Just as salvation seems like it's within reach, a goodbye from this awful world is all that I wish for.

**Graphic content warning including detailed depiction of brutal, bloody acts. Physical and emotional abuse is also apparent throughout this book with graphic sex scenes, both consensual and non-sensual. Reader discretion is highly advised. Not suitable for readers under the age of eighteen or those who are easily offended by the above mentioned acts.**

About the Authors

Ashleigh and I share love for the darkness and writing stories in ways that our readers would never predict. We are fierce and stare fear in the face with this story. Writing with her was the easiest process. We completed this book in less than five weeks, and it is not a short story, around 100k words. It was incredible and I loved every second of it. This story is unique. It will scare you, offend you, and make you question everything you believe in. Ashleigh and I could not get everything into one book, so there will be another in the Red Market Series. We are extremely excited to share this dark, disturbing tale with you. If you have not read anything dark before, this novel is not for you. Even seasoned darkies will have difficulty with some parts of this book. It will be releasing on all platforms on August 7th. The official cover reveal is July 10th. Stay tuned for an amazing cover done by Kelsey Keeton with KKeeton Designs. 

Tuesday, May 5, 2015

The Emancipation of Love Cover Reveal

The Emancipation of Love

Genre: dark erotica

Release date: June 26, 2015


I am a monster. A sexual deviant. A gorger for pain. I am Worthless William Welch.

But I am hers…

Ten years since Welch has seen Gwendolyn he finds himself in Portland, the same city they were supposed to live together; just two bloody lovers against the ghastly ways of the world. But that isn’t how their story would pan out and Welch troubles himself everyday with memoirs of the only one that will have his heart.

His sweet, sweet girl. Fiery Gwendolyn is gone and he is alone with nothing to occupy him except memories.

As he tries to grasp onto the recollections while simultaneously forgetting the pain he was bathed in for so long, he searches for a woman that will give him the agony he so desperately craves. You know what they say… be careful what you wish for.

As Welch pushes an unlikely woman to the brink, he is surprised at her eagerness as she gives him what he longs for. Punishment, pain, and pleasure. He becomes enveloped by the demons of his past, the torment of his current, and the ghost in his mind that he refuses to part from.

Reverted back to the dysfunctional little boy who obeys, Welch finds himself in a disastrous cycle while the edge of goodness is within reach. Will it be too late for him to find love before he breaks himself down to a point of no return?

**Graphic content warning including sexual degradation, emotional abuse, adult situations, and unconventional sexual practices that are intended for mature audiences only. Not suitable for readers under the age of eighteen. Reader discretion is highly advised.***

Thursday, January 8, 2015

Cover Reveal~ Gwendolyn vs. the Band of Barren Hearts

Gwendolyn vs. the Band of Barren Hearts (Monster #1)
Mary E. Palmerin

Publication date: January 22, 2015

Genre: dark erotic thriller


Monsters. They don’t hide in your nightmares. They steal you away from the good life and prevent you from living your dreams.

That’s where 17-year-old Gwendolyn Fitzpatrick found herself; surrounded by wicked fiends after everything she thought she had was gone in the blink of an eye. She was shuffled away with one bag of memories miles away to a pair of foster parents that hardly had her best interests at hand. Forced to obey and listen to her caregiver’s commands, Gwendolyn buries her old self and focuses on the pain to become one of them.
A monster herself to seek vengeance.

While yearning for her teeming point to come, Gwendolyn starts to connect with another 17-year-old foster boy living with her who calls himself Welch. Just when Gwendolyn starts to feel faith splice its way through the venom of pain, the connection she has with Welch is put in jeopardy as the harshness gets worse with each passing day.

Will the two tattered spirits make it out alive?

**Not suitable for readers under the age of eighteen due to graphic content.**

About the Author

Mary E. Palmerin currently resides in Indiana with her husband and two small boys. She enjoys writing raw, taboo tales that strike various emotions in her readers. When she isn't busy writing, she usually has her nose in a good book. Mary enjoys spending time with her family and friends, anything outdoors, cooking, art, tattoos, red wine, traveling, and anything that makes her laugh. You can keep up with her work on her blog at as well as her Facebook page at for release information and signing schedules. Follow her on Twitter @MP_writer8! Mary loves to hear from her readers!

Sunday, December 28, 2014

Farewell 2014

There is so much I want to say about this past year, I could probably write it into a novel. Who am I kidding, I could likely write it into eight. 2014 has truly been a learning experience for me, also a year where I have grown both personally and professionally. I have learned a lot in the publishing world, some of which has scared me, most of it though has changed me forever in a positive way. 

I never thought I would be here to begin with. Believing you are worthy enough for something takes time, something that I am still adjusting to. Of course I think confidence comes with the journey along with each passing experience, whatever the case I am starting to feel more comfortable in my own skin and I am thankful for this past year because I think it helped me along the way.

A lot has happened to me... I went from a no one to being signed with a small publishing house, only to understand further that nothing is what it seems. Thankfully I was able to go back to having total control over my work and back to the Indie world that I was so terrified of to begin with. In the midst of my transition from traditional to Indie, I got the rights back to my work and re-published all five of my available books. One was banned soon after. That added more whirl to the wind, but I am grateful for it. Amazon eventually put it back up on their platform. 

All along the way, I have met some of the most incredible people! There are others that have stood by me through the thick of it all, and I wouldn't be here without them. I need to make sure that I let them know just how special they are to me.

First, I was thrown into the city that stole my heart. I remember e-mailing Bluestockings Bookstore in SoHo last September, beyond terrified. I mean, what in the hell would they want with some southern Indiana girl from nowhere, USA?! But they got back to me after reviewing my book and agreed to a solo event in January. I will forever remember that moment for the rest of my life. I had to remind myself to breathe. I'm grinning now just thinking back to that second, how my heart felt. That event was one that will be instilled in my soul for eternity. It was small, but extraordinary. I even did a live erotic reading before an audience and caught up with some great people in the city. I had the chance to share it with my best friend and cousin, Ashley. We laughed so much during that trip!

I took that picture before our first night out on the "town" lol. We loved Bleecker Street and all the amazing pubs they had. I never felt more inspired and accepted than I did within that city and I am lucky to be able to go back March 21, 2015 for the Halos and Horns Book Signing!

All while working full-time, being a mother and wife, and juggling life, I stay up late and write. It is what keeps me sane all while I lack sleep. Perhaps a total conundrum, but the absolute truth. I would be lost without my stories, my truths and tales, fears and loves from my characters. It is what keeps me on an even keel. I am a compulsive writer. Some see it as a blessing. Perchance they are right, sometimes it is, other times not so much, more like a curse. I don't believe those people that say you can't produce good work if you write quickly. Every person is different and I would never judge that. I just know when I have something to tell, I can't stop until I am done. I do at least eight read-throughs and have an incredible editing team (not to mention my inner editing self!). I believe that even though I produce work quickly, they are worthy tales. It has taken me a long time to see that, but I do.

I am good enough and my stories are beautifully fucked up fairy-tales. I am ready to stop being the wallflower and let my sparkle shine.

I've decided to stop playing it safe. Putting myself out there is part of that. I attended a few signings in 2014 and they were all fantastic. It was at the Rogers Mash-Up where I met Kelsey Keeton with KKeeton Designs. I instantly clicked with her and appreciated her vision in the photographs she took. The story of how I found my models is awesome and I couldn't be happier to have found them. They are humble, professional, fabulous people and I consider myself lucky to work with them! Eric and Rachel depicted Lyla and Everett perfectly! 

Another signing I met some more awesome people. Miss Kennedy Kelly is a true gem. I can't wait to hang with her in Austin, TX at the Deep in the Heart Author Event Feb 7, 2015

These ladies are my heart and soul, my rocks, my sanity through everything this year. We are there for one another outside of the book world as well. They are the first to read my work and the last, the ones that are my front-line warriors, my encouragers, my best friends. Cecily, Tara, Kelly... I love you girls more than you will ever know. I've said this before and I will say it again, you all make me feel like a tarnished old penny that was once unlucky and found, turned into a worthy charm. There are not enough words for me to tell you how much I am humbled and grateful for you girls. Another shout out and thank you to Jenna Schmitt... you are amazing and I look forward to our fruit Fridays again!

Finally, while mentioning several times that I have found the courage to be good enough, I have so much to look forward to in 2015. I will be wrapping up The Scars and Sorrow Saga and releasing 2 dark books (at least). Gwendolyn vs. the Band of Barren Hearts (Monster #1) and The Absolution of Abrahm Masterson (standalone), coming spring 2015. I am elated to delve into this genre a little deeper than Lyla's story. It has been enlightening, fun, scary, and so much more. It has been interesting and entertaining to take my betas on the wild, dark ride as well!!!!

Finally, I want to thank my street team, Mary's Magnificent Minxes for being my backbone as well. I love you ladies hard! Until next time, live for today because tomorrow is never promised. And as our beloved Lyla would say...

Carpe fucking Diem,

Thursday, December 18, 2014

2015 Signing Schedule

2015 Signing Schedule

February 7, 2015 Deep in the Heart Author Signing
Austin, TX

March 21, 2015 Halos and Horns Book Signing

May 16,2015 Yo Philly Author Event
Philadelphia, PA

June 6,2015 One More Romance Author Event
Dayton, OH

July 18, 2015 Ever After Author Affair
Columbus, OH

September 12, 2015 Passion in Portland
Portland, OR

October 10, 2015 Great Lakes Book Bash
Kalamazoo, MI

October 27, 2015 Sexy and Sassy Signing
Greenville, NC

Dear Readers...

Happy Thursday! Wow, it really has been a LONG time since I have made a post. There is a lot to tell you guys, so now is the best time. Books, books, and more books! I haven't been the best at keeping up this blog, and I will be the first one to tell you that I am terrible when it comes to maintaining social media sites. It seems like every day another one is popping up. I am doing well enough with Facebook, my author page, Twitter, and now Google +. But, I will do my very best to work on that aspect :)

First and foremost, most of you know I am back to being in the Indie world. I couldn't be happier about this. It was a rough transition, but I was able to re-publish all my books and still finish Surpassing, Book 6 of the Scars and Sorrow Saga to release it December 1st. I am beyond lucky to have met so many incredible people that have helped me along this journey. I need to thank Deena, my formatter, for helping me. I don't know what I would do without her! She worked her ass off to get my books (5 to be exact) formatted to be be re-published. That is awesome!

In the midst of the beautiful chaos, Shadows, Book 3, got banned from Amazon. I am still unsure of why. I will never know the reason either other than Amazon claiming it to be the content. All of my books have the same clear disclaimer, yet the lightest and least offensive was banned. That day, people banded together and stood up for me. I had authors, readers, and bloggers sharing my books and I am so humbled and honored to be part of this community. It took a while, but Amazon eventually allowed for it to be back up on their platform under a different ASIN number. I lost all my reviews (which wasn't many because I had to re-publish from traditional to Indie anyway with a shortened title), but the process was still crazy. I would do it over a million times because it has molded me into a stronger writer and person.

Amongst all of that, I had surgery and have been off work for six weeks. For those of you that know me personally, you know that I never stop. I don't sleep much and when I am not working at my day job or caring for my boys, I am ALWAYS writing at nighttime. I am a busy person. I love to do things that make me happy, whether that is helping other people (which I do a lot), or creating tales to share with my readers. Being off for six weeks was something I was dreading, not because of the surgical pain. I was certain I could deal with that because I have been through enough to understand pain. However, it was wrapping my brain around not being able to do much. It was going to be a nightmare for sure. The first two weeks were physically draining, but I started to feel a lot better. I have multiple WIP on my computer and within the journals scattered about in my office. Suddenly, a chord was struck in my heart and I felt compelled to tell a story.

Compulsive writing was brought to the surface with a vengeance.

I had started Gwendolyn's story before, had roughly 12k words written. It was one that I was sure I would finish and release by summer, planning on a standalone novel only. Big things happened in that story and a lot has changed. Within one week, I finished that story. It was all I could do, eat, sleep, and bleed Gwendolyn's pain and fear. When I have a story that I want to tell, I generally don't stop until it is done. That is exactly what I did with Gwendolyn vs. the Band of Barren Hearts. The beautiful thing about this book is one major thing....

I feel damn good about it. I'm proud of all my stories, but there is a difference between Lyla's tale and Gwen's. I poured so much of myself into Lyla, it was hard to disassociate myself from her at times. With Gwen, I could live in her world and shut it down, then go back and relive it again when I wanted to tell the story. It was a lot easier for me to tell. Maybe that is what I am trying to say about Gwen's story, all I know is I am so excited to share it with everyone.

Make no mistake, it isn't fluffy. But, what of mine is? I stress the importance that nothing is what it seems. Real life is hard and it hurts. I think I made my point in Gwen's story, stating that the world's beastly ways can take a young person's mind by storm and alter it in ways that will change it incessantly. What a sad reality that is, but too often true.

There are so many people that have aided me along this course. I have stated it in the videos I have made that are on my facebook page. I have a blog tour coming up, which scares the shit out of me, but also excites me beyond measure. I've never put myself out there this much, but it is time to put fear aside and let my sparkle shine. Some people will appreciate it, some will hate it, and others will feel indifferent about it. I understand that and I'm willing to finally do it.

I have one last thing to say about Gwendolyn vs. the Band of Barren Hearts...

I know I planned on having a standalone, but things change. In the story, you will meet Welch. Something about his tormented soul was screaming out to me, saying tell my story. My heart was broken for him. After I finished Gwen's book, I was certain that their story wasn't over. I knew I had to tell his story as well because he has too much to say for it NOT to be told. Make no mistake, this won't be some long series like the Scars and Sorrow Saga (laughing behind the computer screen!). Rather, a hers and his book (a duet book). Monster #1 and Monster #2. You will understand the significance of those subtitles once you read Gwen's book.

I hope that you put her story on your TBR. It is one that deserves to be told. As always, live, laugh, love, and carpe diem! Until next time, (sooner rather than later).