Ahh, the feels…

Here’s mine:

“I beg to differ.”

She beamed me a breathtaking smile, equal parts adorably cute and wickedly evil. Lethal combination. “I love it when you beg.”

I had every intention of engaging in our usual quick draw banter. However, it simply wasn’t going to happen. Not anytime soon anyway. I tried to swallow the lump in my throat. Twice. It wouldn’t budge. Shit, I couldn’t even see straight anymore.

“Don’t you dare get emotional, jerk. You’ll make me cry.”

“Don’t you dare cry, woman,” I growled back. “You’ll make me lose my mind.”


If you’re an author…

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The #1 Reason Why Your Book Isn’t Selling

Confession: I totally did NOT research the market at all before publishing due to the whole never-thought-I’d-publish-jack-squat thing.

Hmm. I’ll be totally honest cuz partially honest is pretty shady, eh? I kinda sorta got lucky because 1) I found a very specific audience (wounded hero romance) without much searching (literally a 5-minute Google search)  and 2) Me Before You came out with perfect timing and put disabled characters on the map in a very big way.  Thanks, Jojo Moyes!

Anyhoo, I know some indies just write what they love but…

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Can you feel the love?

Here’s mine:

This feeling…

I’d never stop craving it.

The painful tightness in my chest. The unbearable heat coursing through my veins. The full-body tremble I couldn’t control. The hitch in my throat that made breathing a struggle. The intoxicating, addictive high from a sudden lack of air.

These moments…

I’d never get enough of them.

Moments like this were surreal. Abracadabra. Hocus pocus type stuff.

Moments like this were pure freakin’ magic.

Moments like this…

“Never gets old, does it?” his soft question broke the silence.

It broke me too.


If you’re an author…

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Book Blurbs: Selling the Story vs. Telling the Story

Y’all know I’m a bit crazy. Like from-a-whole-different-universe type crazy. I mean, I’d have to be since I enjoy writing blurbs, eh? Because, yeah…

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Just observing

Here’s mine:

“Is that all she ordered?” I ask quietly.

“Yeah,” Gus answers. “I offered to make her something on the house.”


“Said she wasn’t hungry.”

I glance over to see her lick the spoon. Then turn it over and lick it again before tipping the empty bowl slightly with her thumb. She’s a liar. The damn girl’s starving. “You actually believe her?”

“Not for a second.”

Taking another bite, I try to sound casual, “Did she say where she’s from?”


I shrug.

“Do you care?”

Another shrug. “Just curious,” I say.


If you’re an author…

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