Age has it's own issues and perhaps I'll just dive in there. When you're young, and by that I mean in your twenties or thirties, there's family. Kids to care for, hockey games, baseball, cub scouts, ballet lessons, tuba lessons, swimming, library, chess... the bazillion things our children do to keep fit and be entertained, to grow and develop into the adults we want them to be. We get to drive them, help them with homework, support them when they need it. It's part of being a parent. That puts limits on our writing time, but in so many ways we're glad to do it. We all desperately want our children to grow up and be successful, happy adults.
During this stage of our lives, we tuck our writing time into either early morning or late at night when the children are sleeping. Our spouses may or may not be supportive, but the drive we feel is relentless. We are writers and it's such a part of us, it'd be like cutting off an arm if we didn't write.
By the time we're in our forties, the kids are teenagers and we're less enthused, but still strive to help them become all they can be. And at the teenage years, it seems more important than ever. Their independence is in full swing. They've learned to drive and have boyfriends or girlfriends, have traveled on their own in many cases, to places poor mom and dad might never have seen. Worry about them is at a gut wrenching high, especially if your kids are a little more adventurous or rebellious. Drugs, HIV, all the things we hear about and are terrified of, that's what they have to deal with on a daily basis.
Yup, and writing again takes a back seat. The late night sneaking away to write hits all manner of obstacles, but surprisingly, early mornings are still very good. LOL We juggle, we sneak, we hide and pray no one will need a ride, or money, or help, or... any number of things that distract from our quiet time.
By the time we've hit our fifties, our children have mostly gone and we think, Yes! Now it's my time. The time I dreamed of having to create and put together those tales of sexy hunks and dazzling damsels. And, for awhile it happens just like that. The house is quiet most of the time. You and your spouse can be as flexible with meals and chores as you wish. It's wonderful.
Then the grand kids arrive. And, health issues show their ugly heads. WTH!! Just when you're sure life is going to be brilliant forever, it all comes tumbling down on you. You've lived long enough to have oodles of memories for stories. You've been to a few places, you've experienced tons of things. So, now it's time for your memory to fade on you. Or your eye sight to go wonky. And the grand kids, those adorable little beasties you just can't say no to, well they invade.
But, you still write. No matter what, that story, that novel, that epic, need to get out and you find time. 3 in the morning often finds dedicated authors tapping away at keys while grand babe sleeps near by.
It's pretty much heaven, you know. Having your own offspring around as adults. Responsible people who somehow turned out well and parented their own rugrats for training. There are stories there too.
Yup, this month my post has been a bit of a ramble, but it felt nice to go through the life changes with you all. Now, how about an excerpt from my lates with Total E-Bound?
by Jude Mason
Erotic Rating: Total-e-burning
Genre: Contemporary/ Vampires/ Gay/ Ménage à trois
Cover art by: Natalie Winters
Book Length: Novel
Johan is gay and has been interested in only one man for centuries, so why does this mortal woman pull at him so?
When a hooker on the stroll is kidnapped under his very nose, Johan's interest is piqued, so he follows. Joined by his lover, Petre, the two vampires find themselves in the midst of a mystery.
Once rescued, the lovely Miranda becomes a playmate for the two lusty men, but again, she vanishes.
Who is the luscious blonde woman, and who could possibly be so interested in a whore? And why do these mysterious someones want her dead?
* * *
From Chapter One
Hidden in the shadows of the doorway, Johan stood silently, watching. The scene in the square in front of him reminded him of one of those fifties noir movies he tried very hard to miss. Tall, sultry blonde woman, spiked heels clattering on the rain slick pavement and her long legs looking at least twice as long as they had any right to be, sashaying back and forth along that one little stretch of sidewalk. Her little black skirt was short and when she walked, her pink panties played peek-a-boo.
Cars slowed, some stopped, but not as many as her looks suggested should linger. Her tits alone were worth a second, even a third look, if you were into tits—which Johan was when he wanted woman flesh. That didn’t happen often, but she caught his eye, made his cock twitch. The little white blouse she almost wore covered about a quarter of what it needed to. Her sleek, white belly gleamed in the streetlights, or headlights, when a car cruised by.
Maybe it was her lips that grabbed him. Plump and red, with a bee-stung look. That’s what they used to call those kind of lips, he recalled. Even from the distance, he could see that her eyes were pale blue and the lashes couldn’t be real. No one had lashes that thick. Her scent was thick, rich, filled with blood and the luxurious smell of a woman in heat. Perhaps it was that smell that attracted him.
Johan leaned back against the wall, sliding his full length leather coat back and exposed the growing bulge in the tight matching slacks. The only colour he’d worn that evening was the deep purple silk shirt. Petre loved it on him and had asked him to wear it.
Petre, his lover, his mate, how he adored the slender, golden man. Thinking about him brought a smile, and another stirring in his crotch. My, but he was horny.
Movement. A car—one of those low, expensive jobs with the tinted windows and too much horsepower—pulled up to the curb and stopped a few feet from his girl.
Nose in the air, she insolently flipped that luscious long hair over her shoulder and turned away. He thought he caught a frown wrinkle her brow, but he wasn’t sure. For a moment, she looked like she might walk away. But she must have thought better of it. Maybe rent was due or the fridge was empty—something made her turn herself around.
With a fake smile plastered on her face, she sidled on over to the passenger’s side door and bent forward.
Johan would have given anything to be standing behind her at that moment. Bad planning, he chastised himself.
A few words exchanged and the would-be client pulled away with a chirp of his tires. Johns, he thought. The guy must have thought he could have her for the price of a ride in his big fancy—car.
Chuckling, Johan listened for prey, and heard nothing. Quiet nights were tough on the grocery list.
He ran his tongue around the inside of his mouth, licked the sharp incisors.
From the alley across the street and to his left stumbled the wretched remains of a woman he’d seen over the years, once vital, but age and hard wear had taken their toll. Her sunken eyes peered vacantly up and down the empty street. Threadbare clothing hung off emaciated shoulders, thankfully covering her from chin to toe. Turning to her left, the ancient relic plodded away, seeking refuge in whatever empty barrow she could find.
Johan had seen her before on his nightly excursions, often feeding on the refuse of someone else’s trash. She’d live a while longer, her drug habit ensuring her own private pleasures. He couldn’t imagine himself hungry enough to harvest her.
A squeal of tires from his lady’s side of the street pulled his attention that way. Another car, less flashy, more nondescript, pulled to a stop beside her. Two men—one enormous and obese, soft looking, the other, a runt by comparison—leapt out of the back doors and were on her in a flash.
“No,” she snarled when the two men grabbed her, one to an arm. She kicked and jerked her arms, writhing in their grasp. “Le’ me go, you bastards!”
“Cool it, babe. You ain’t going anywhere but where we want,” growled one of the goons. Using one hand to hold her, he moved the other over the woman freely, and his grin was horrible to see.
Johan took a step into the street, contemplating a rescue. It’d been years since he’d bowed to that temptation. Before he made up his mind, the girl was tossed into the back seat and both men had joined her. Her shriek was the last thing he heard before the car sped away.
Too late, he raced for the vehicle.
* * *