Welcome to #TeenPit! We’ve gathered some fantastic writers to help decide who makes it into the mentor round of our inaugural #TeenPit contest. Welcome to our FIRST ROUND READERS!!! Heather Van Fleet is stay-at-home-mom turned book-boyfriend connoisseur. She’s a wife to her high school sweetheart and a mom to three little girls, along with her […]
It’s here! The cover for the anticipated debut by Kari Lemor, WILD CARD UNDERCOVER. The first in the Love on the Line series will be published by Kensington Lyrical Underground – March 2017, and I can’t wait! Until then here is a little of what you can expect from this upcoming must read.
All that glitters in Miami is not gold…
Lured in by a bad ex-boyfriend and the moonlight of Miami, Meg O’Hara is trapped in a nightmare situation, waiting tables for a crime boss and fearing for her life. When undercover FBI agent Christopher Shaunessy offers her a way out, she seizes it. Getting the goods on Salazar Moreno might not be easy, but she’ll do anything to be freed from her servitude and Moreno’s sexual advances, even if it means moving in with the charismatic agent.
Chris Shaunessy pretends to be Meg’s lover in order to keep her safe, but he steels his heart against further involvement. Passion has no place in the sordid world of organized crime. And yet, the closer they get to cracking the case, the stronger his feelings for the spirited waitress shine. It’s a dangerous game he’s playing, and taking Meg in his arms for real could prove a fatal misstep . . .
“Does that man never have a day off?” Margaret Kathleen O’Hara grumbled, grabbing her tote bag and sarong to move surreptitiously along the chairs by the pool. If the hotel manager saw her here again she’d be toast. He’d more than toss her out. Threats to call the police had been thrown at her for months now. Although in her case, that might be a better deal.
With her eyes trained on his location and the Miami sun beating down on her exposed skin, Meg backed along the water’s edge attempting to leave the area before he spotted her. She needed to shower the chlorine out of her tangled hair and change for work soon. He looked in her direction and she rushed behind the closest object. It was six-foot-plus of blond-haired gorgeousness. The man’s eyes were glued to something on the upper deck. Her boss was sitting there with one of his expensive bimbos. Did Blondie like that type? Maybe he wouldn’t notice her little game of Hide and Seek.
She leaned around him, ducking back when she saw the Pool Nazi still present. Getting caught was not an option. She already owed more than she could ever repay.
“Are you okay?” Forest green eyes stared down at her, puzzled. Would he buy that she was simply looking for shade? He was big enough to provide it.
With strong hands, he reached for her shoulders and Meg reflexively batted them away. She got enough of people groping her at work. Scorching curses froze before erupting from her mouth as the hotel manager moved, staring in their direction. Her mind kicked into overdrive, scrambling for a way to hide in plain sight.
“Sorry,” she squeaked. Grabbing the man’s head, she planted her mouth solidly on his. Short, thick strands of hair tickled her fingers. Firm lips yielded no resistance to the increased pressure of her mouth. Better make this look good.
An electric current skittered over her skin causing her heart to race. Maybe too good? Slowly he pulled her closer with his muscular arms. Her eyes flew open and she broke the connection. His hair-covered chest was too close for comfort. And much too tempting. Distance, she needed distance.
Her eyes darted around, seeing no signs of the manager. A sigh escaped. Time to make her exit as well.
“Sorry,” she mumbled again, looking up. Big mistake. The stranger’s curious eyes captivated her. They were soft and tender and filled with something she could…trust? If she still had any of that left in her. His hands were gentle as they held her. A tiny smile played about the full lips she’d brazenly kissed. She couldn’t believe she’d done it. Her mother would be appalled. But it had worked.
The chlorine scent from the pool faded into the background as sweat and suntan lotion wafted off the man’s damp skin. Her stomach did cartwheels followed by a few back flips. Dangerous.
“Let me go,” she hissed as reality returned. She gave a swift shove at his well-defined pectorals, rushing to get past, to escape from this distraction and the possibility of being caught. Her head whipped around at the sound of a splash and water droplets from behind. Gorgeous was just breaking the surface of the pool. Had she pushed him that hard?
“Oops.” No time for apologies. He looked like the forgiving type. She had to blow this joint before the Pool Nazi came back. Grabbing her fallen sarong, she ran across the deck to hustle inside the luxury hotel.
The manager stood sentry near the front door. A crowd appeared at her back making that way impossible. The stairwell to the left would have to do. She’d go up a few floors then down to the side entrance. She wrapped her sarong around her as she carried out her plan to avoid being seen…and caught.
Meg should stop coming here to use the pool: this proved it. Sneaking in was adding to her already hellish life but swimming always helped work out the stress and the pool here was more accessible than any other on the strip. Pretending she had money to stay in a place like this, rubbing elbows with all the beautiful people, yeah, that got her through too. She’d learned the best times to come and not be seen. Well, for the most part. It was well worth the risk to get away from her dump of a room and its enchanting neighborhood. She’d leave this all behind her soon. She kept telling herself that. Had to believe it for her own sanity.
Footsteps behind her pushed those thoughts away. Her bare feet padded silently along the lushly carpeted hallway. Heart racing, she ducked into the ice machine alcove, her sigh echoing in the silence. She glanced down. Her bag? She must have dropped it as she rushed off. How had she not realized? It couldn’t have been the threat of being arrested. Or the crooked smile of the handsome stranger she’d kissed. The one with the kind eyes and gentle hands. No, she couldn’t allow herself to be led astray by a pretty face. Not again.
She continued down the hall, her trip cut short when someone grabbed her by the arm and spun her around.
Need More? Pre-order and have it at your fingertips on release day: WILD CARD UNDERCOVER Pre-Order
For more information on Kari Lemor or her Love on the Line series from Kensington Lyrical Underground, follow her on social media.
My wonderful Pitch Wars mentor, Jami Nord, and I recently did an interview about Pitch Wars, the journey to finding an agent, and answers to questions you didn’t know you wanted to know.
It was a lot of fun. You can see it here!
It’s not uncommon to find an author’s bio stuffed with tales articulating their lifelong love affair with books. Sometimes their college academic achievements that lead to degrees in English or other literary related fields. I love many of these bios, they’re just not mine. I wish I’d fallen in love with books as a child and carried that passion throughout life, but I didn’t. In truth, I hated reading. Hated everything about it for the first twenty years of my life.
My story starts in Texas, where I was born, and where they took my pencil. I was always behind the curve in the reading and language arts classes in school. It was just hard for me. I could read, but not well, and certainly not fast. By the time I struggled through a sentence I’d forgotten what the dang thing was about and had to start over.
My physical writing skills weren’t up to par. The creative parts I had down. I could always create a story from nothing and I had an above average vocabulary to match. Problem was, I struggled to get it down on paper in a way that someone else could understand. I couldn’t spell, I always used the wrong homophone, and although I could put together a proper sentence verbally, I couldn’t tell you what all the parts were on those stupid worksheets. You would think that would be plenty of challenges to overcome in grade school, but to make it worse my handwriting was horrible too.
By second grade I’d taken a bazillion test for every known mental defect under the sun. Testing was a success! They found what they were looking for. They called it dysgraphia with a side of dyslexia. I called it the most irritating combination of mental disorders for a person that never felt mentally disabled.
I could write you a book on the challenges of a kid with these disorders, but since this is just a bio I’ll go with short and sweet. To sum it up, I was smart. Just as smart as any of my peers and in a lot of areas I was better than most, but it didn’t matter because I couldn’t get the info out of my head in the conventional manner. And yes, in school the conventional manner is all that matters, because it’s what you’re tested on. I had the answers, but when I put the pencil to paper something shorted out. I could see the words on the page, knew and understood them, but the processing speed just want there.
I hated reading because it was hard, really, really hard. I hated writing because I felt like I had great ideas, so many aha light bulb moments in my head, but when I got them on paper they were a mess of bad handwriting. Most couldn’t read it, and when they could, the spelling was all wrong with the wrong word usage and backwards letters from time to time. It doesn’t matter what you know if you can’t get it out of your head.
In third grade, after they were able to name the disorder to my frustrations, they took my pencil! They told me I would never have good enough handwriting to use it, so they took it. They replaced it with a laptop. You need to understand that it was 1993 and computers weren’t common, laptops were unheard of, and I didn’t know how to type. The laptop created as many problems as it fixed.
The rest of my school career I battled with the frustrations of my disabilities, still do. Having a name for them didn’t make them go away. I did get my pencil back. I demanded my pencil back, and with the help of my elementary school special education teach, it was returned to me. I wanted to write. I wanted to do it the same way everyone else did, by making pretty marks with a number two pencil on a piece of notebook paper—if only so I could pass notes in class.
In sixth grade we moved to Colorado and I lost my academic lifeline, my special ed. teacher, and a school system that finally understood me. I was drowning again. The next few years of life were rough to put it lightly. I found I had a knack for trouble. I got in every kind of trouble you can imagine, and most of the time it got me kicked out of school. I didn’t care because I didn’t like school anyway. I went to six different schools in three years.
Between school five and six, I spent a few months in a juvenile corrections facility. That’s where drugs and alcohol, fighting, running away, and living a life more befitting a felon than a young teen girl will get you. I would tell you that it worked and that I straightened my life out, but it didn’t. When I got home, school five asked that my parents find somewhere else to send me. (I was obviously a joy to work with as a child)
They found school six in the next town over. School six wasn’t anything extraordinary, no cutting edge curriculum or high tech programs to help people like me. No funny metal contraptions you put your pencil in to make you hold it different (which one school did make me use and I hated). I would venture to say that when I started there half of the administration was even incredibly lackluster. What they did have was a small teaching staff that gave a damn. I wasn’t just a problem child to some of them. I was a child with a problem, and they took the opportunity to help me. The harder I pushed away, the harder they pulled back.
School was still hard, always would be for me. I give up often. When I gave up there were a few teachers around me that refused to let me quit.
At sixteen my lifestyle caught up with me again. The end of my junior year I had my daughter. That would’ve been an easy time to throw in the towel, and I actually had a principal suggest that I should. I went to talk to her about making accommodations for my finals, because that’s when my baby girl was due, and she suggested I quit and get my GED. That was exactly what I needed.
I was always a stubborn, say I can’t and I will, kinda girl. I wanted to prove her wrong, her and a whole lot of people that told me a sixteen year old girl couldn’t provide for their child and complete school. So I moved out of my parents’ house, got a job, and stayed in school. My little girl deserved a mom with an education. She shouldn’t suffer a sub-par life because of my mistake.
Of course I had some assistance in my efforts to prove those people wrong. I had those teachers, the one’s that held my hand through my pregnant junior year of high school and kept pushing me through my senior year. In 2003 I graduated with honors. A girl with a learning disability, was in special education my entire school career, sixteen and pregnant, graduated with honors. It was the middle finger to those who had told me I couldn’t.
The following semester I enrolled in college. Two years later I graduated, again with honors and as a member of the Phi Theta Kappa honor society. (Not with a degree in any English related fields. I still hated reading.) It was a great accomplishment for me, but it was a massive struggle. There were times when I couldn’t pay my rent, times when I fed myself and my daughter at the local shelter, and got food from the giving people at the food banks. I had proven them wrong, but the life of poverty I had provided for my daughter was far from what she deserved.
By the time I was twenty and in my junior year of college, I was a single mother. I dropped out and opted for better employment and more income, and so ended my academic career.
Sitting at home one day with nothing to do, I got this crazy idea to read a book. My parents both loved reading and my mother had packed me a box of old books she thought I might like someday, if ever the day came that I chose to read without being forced.
I rummaged through and pulled out Witch of the North, by Courtway Jones. I loved it! I couldn’t put the book down. The girl who hated reading and was always the slowest reader in every class, read the novel in two days. I read the other two in the trilogy, books one and three (because I had unknowingly read book two out of order), all in the same week. When I was done I kept in that same vein of reading and picked up The Merlin Trilogy, by Mary Stewart, and that is how my love affair with books began.
My love of writing had started long before, back in grade school, well before they took my pencil. It started with my love of storytelling. After years of hard work and many dedicated teachers, I have the tools and skills to get all the crazy fantastic things out of my head and on to paper where you can read them. I love the physical act of writing. I still handwrite out all of my brainstorming sessions with my yellow number two pencil and notebook paper. I probably love it because someone once took my pencil and told me I would never be able to.
It would not be honest to say that I write with ease now and it is a happily ever after. I still struggle. I still misspell the really easy words and nail the hard ones. I google ever homophone I use just to be sure, and I still mess them up. I have to work to put the mess in my head down in a clear manner at times, and I edit, edit, and re-edit to remove the mistakes my disabilities make it easy for me to make. But I love it. I love being able to share my stories.
I have since moved from Colorado and I live a wonderful life in Oregon where I read and write every day. I also still keep in contact with some of those amazing teachers that refuse to give up on me even after I am far from the reaches of their classrooms.
I think those that know me now would tell you that the wild child bad girl of my youth is only slightly reflected in who I am now, and only in all the best ways of course. I don’t know what kind of struggles life will present me in the future, or who will stand in my way and tell me I can’t accomplish something. I can tell you, however, that anytime someone tries to take my pencil I will take it back. Anytime someone tries to take yours you should do the same. It is always worth the struggle if you want it.
May B.B. The-couldn’t-always-write, writer
I’ve been asked for reading recommendations three times this week. Must be a week for romance. Awww
Since I’ve pieced together this list a few times, I thought I would leave it here for all who might want it. I am going to break these down into a few categories for you. Here we go:
Dark Erotic Romance
I have two picks in this category. These two stand out far and above the others for me.
The Dark Duet series by C.J. Roberts. First one free right now* or trilogy. As the title suggests, these books are dark. Very dark in a way that a lot of erotica is not. They contains some physical abuse, and some sexual abuse. They are not for everyone, but they create a beautiful story. Life is not all sunshine and daisies. Not all love is born from something bright and lovely. This series does a great job of taking something tragic to an amazing place. Not to mention they are sizzling hot on the erotica scale. You certainly won’t find many books more erotic than these.
Blood and Roses series by Callie Hart. First one free right now* or series. This is a series of novellas. I tend to find novellas a turn off, but I love these. Love. Them. It is one of my favorite series in any romance category. I devoured these when I started them. They are a perfect balance of the dark side of erotica, an engaging plot with jaw dropping twists, and the heat you look for in this genre. Zeth is easily my all time favorite book boyfriend.
These books still pack plenty of heat, but have a lighter theme than the books listed above. There are so many romances that fall in this area. It makes it so hard to pick.
Archer’s Voice, by Mia Sheridan. This was the easiest book to pick for this category and might be my favorite read of the year so far. Beautiful story. Sweet, and heartbreaking, and steamy. Everything needed for a great romance read.
The Surrogate Husband, by Wynter Daniels. This book was a lot of fun. Light and sexy with a few good laughs.
Forever His, the first in the Stolen Brides series, by Shelly Thacker. I was never sure that historical or time travel romance was for me, but this book puts a great twist on it and won me over big time. An American girl taken back in time 700 years to the home of an ornery dark knight makes for some funny and sexy scenes. This is a romance with a great page turning plot.
Owned by Fate, and Exposed by Fate, the first two in the Serve series, by Tessa Bailey. These are a nice way to ease into the world of BDSM. Beautifully erotic, but plots that are light enough to still be fun.
Owning Violet, by Monica Murphy. This book is well within the erotica category. It has heat that jumps off the pages.
I can also narrow down my favorites in this category to two series.
Black Dagger Brotherhood, by J.R. Ward. Book one. Vampires the way you imagined they would be. Dark fantasy lovers. Alpha males ready to sink their teeth in. This series weaves a thick complex plot, layered with smoking hot erotic scenes. There are a lot of books in these series. It can seem daunting at first. Just dive in. Pick up book one and I can promise you will want to read them all.
Fever series, by Karen Marie Moning. Book one. Lighter on the erotic side. Reads a lot like a YA urban fantasy series, but definitely adult. If you like YA but want it a little sexier, maybe a few more orgasms, this is the series.
Male Male Erotica
Temptations series, by Ella Frank. Book one or series. This is the only series I have for this category. Trust me, it’s enough. You would be hard pressed to find erotica with more heat than these. There are three in this series: Try, Take, and Trust. I have only read the first two(the third is a recent release and I will be reading it very soon). I will say, I like the second book, Take, a bit better than the first. That isn’t normal for me. I usually like the first, and peter out as the series goes on. The first book is all heat and lust. Don’t misunderstand, I loved it. But the second book starts to pull at your heartstrings. That, along with all the heat that easily carries over from the first book, edges it out over its predecessor just slightly.
My only caution on these books is do not listen to them on audio. The narrator sounds just like the movie trailer guy, and turns the book in to a total cheese ball fest. It really ruins how steamy and sensual they are.
Obviously these won’t be erotica at all, but there are some beautifully written romances in YA. Both of my favorites come from the same author.
The Infernal Devices, and The Mortal Instruments, by Cassandra Clare. The Mortal Instruments was released first and is the more known of the two series. The series do intertwine, but are absolutely stand alone. I tell you that to say, even though The Infernal Devices was released second, I would read it first. It is a prequel of sorts to the other. That isn’t why I am telling you to read it first. It might be my favorite romance story…ever.
Both series are urban fantasy, and are cut from the same cloth. However, The Infernal Devices series, I feel, does a better job of focusing on the interpersonal relationships, making it a better romance. It is heartbreaking, beautiful, and it made me ugly cry. It takes a lot to make me ugly cry, but these books make you that emotionally invested in the characters.
Okay, that is it… for now. We will have to do this again.
If your jaw is dropped, not understanding how your favorite romance didn’t make my reading recommendations, it could be that I haven’t read it yet. Remedy this by letting me know what your favorite is. My favorite reads have all come from recommendations.If you have blazed through these and are looking for more, check me out on Goodreads.
May B. B. The reads-more-than-she-writes, writer.
*Books listed as “free” were free on Amazon when I posted this. I can’t guarantee that they will be free a moment longer.
Restraints, clamps, collars, floggers, crops, gags, spreader bars, pugs, beads, canes, blindfolds, rigging, paddles… Sweat dripping, tension building. Skin pulled taught. Chest heaving, dragging in air that’s too thick. Will I? Won’t I? Can I? What if it hurts? What if it hurts and I like it? Scared and excited, and uncertain about which out weighs the other….
Oh the wonderful world of BDSM.
So what brings us here? I have gotten a decent amount of crap for reading Grey, and wanted to clear some things up. I’ll start by saying I don’t give a shit what people think of what I read. Book choice shouldn’t be a popularity contest. Read what you like and leave others alone so they can do the same. Simple as that.
Grey sold over 1 million copies in 4 days. Yet, if you look at Twitter and read how quick everyone is to denounce it, you’d think not a soul had bought it. I smell some closet Grey readers. Sucks our book culture has made them feel a shamed or like they need to hide what they read. Tisk tisk.
Anyway, that really isn’t what I wanted to rant— I mean discuss. I won’t defend the book as great literature. I can’t say it is a must read, or even that it was exciting and passionate. I am not even telling you to go read them. I have better reading recommendations for you if you are looking for things in that vein. For me, both the original trilogy and Grey were lackluster, okay reads. I like the plot. I wish it was better executed. I can think of some of my favorite erotic writers that could have done wonders with it.
And that plot is what I am defending. I have heard so much outrage and disgust about those books containing abuse. I’ve engaged in many debates about whether Christian abuses Ana. I only feel the need to defend them because BDSM is not abuse. I think it is important for people to understand that.
I did a mental check of the sex scenes in the 1st book. Most are pretty vanilla. He asks, she gives consent, and they have sex. Pretty basic stuff. There is the first time he spanked her. It was with his hand. He told her exactly what he was going to do and she laid herself willing over his lap to let him do it.
Yes, I know, she cried after he left. But she states that it was because he left her(not spending the night, which he did come back and do) and that she was confused by the fact that being spanked turned her on. Not that she felt beaten and abused. And yes, it can be hard to reconcile your feelings about some measure of pain or punishment, such as being spanked, turning you on. That’s normal.
Every scene between there, and the last in that book, she describes herself feeling excited about what he was going to do. Nervous, yes, but that is part of BDSM and I’ll get back to that in a second. When they were in the boathouse, he said he was going to spank her. She asked him not to and he didn’t.
He told her, and it is very true in any grounded BDSM relationship, that the sub(Ana) has all the power. He can only do what she will allow. If she says no, uses a safe-word, or otherwise doesn’t consent through preset limits or otherwise, it doesn’t happen. Period. That was always true in this fictional relationship between Christian and Ana.
The last scene. She asked, physically opened her mouth and asked him to paddle her. She wanted to know how “bad it could get” in his BDSM world. He asked if she was sure. She said yes. I would think—and please remember that I am talking about a fictional character, so I am projecting here—that a man like Christian that had been in the wonderful world of BDSM, was hoping that she would like it. Or at a minimum think it wasn’t so bad and she could do it if he liked it. We all do things that we are not thrilled about, but find tolerable, for our significant others.
What?!? I know, I know. I must be crazy right? He thought he could bend her over a bench, paddle her, sending flames of heat up her body, making her hurt, and scream, and cry, and burn, and she would like it? Even be turned on and wet for him after? Yep. That’s what I am saying. It would be a common hope for someone like him.
Maybe the thinking behind why some people like that kind of thing, deserves some explaining, but I think if you want that explanation from me, it will require it’s own blog post. If there is enough interest, I’ll write it… Ooo into the mind of May. Okay moving on(scary place).
If Christian had spent years with women who did like that, why wouldn’t it be okay for him to hope Ana would like it too. Don’t we all want the people we find a romantic interest in to be into the same things we are? To learn to love the things we love and share them with us? And is it unreasonable to ask them to try what you like if they haven’t before?
I could understand if he tied her to a bench, didn’t tell her what was going to happen and then started wailing on her, popped up at the end and said, “So, was that good for you? It was great for me!” But that is so far from what happened.
I have also heard the argument that it was not what he physically did that was so horrible, but that she only did it because she thought it was the only way to stay with him, that made it so bad. It is unfair to layout what you need, or what you think you need in a relationship and let the other person know they can walk away if they can’t provide that?
I think more people should hop on that train.
She wanted a relationship with him. As a result she put herself out there and tried somethings she had never tried before. All of them, with the exception of one, she ended up liking. The last book would lead you to believe that not only did she like them, she liked them so much that she insisted that they continue doing them well into their marriage. Yes, even spankings.
BDSM, by it’s very nature, is about pushing your limits. Doing things that make you nervous, put you on edge a bit and require you to put your faith in someone else. For anyone entering into that world for the first time, not just this fictional virgin, it is a nerve racking experience where you constantly question “Can I? Will I? What if? I’m not sure about this?”
Those are not bad feelings to have. A lot of new experiences in life are scary. A lot of them you do because someone else is pushing you to do them, asking you to step out of your comfort zone and try something new. You either like it or you don’t, and either way that is okay. BDSM is no different.
Okay, I’ll step away from the BDSM side of this conversation for now. It is a big topic. So much bigger than these books touch on. But before I rest my case, I just want to make one more point.
I read a lot. I read everything from YA to erotic. Thrillers, urban fantasy, romance of all kinds, some science fiction, historical fiction…. I think you get the point. It is SO, SO very common in all of these to see death, murder, torture of many kinds, violence(the non-consensual kind), abduction…
I don’t see mass outrage on social media about the number of fictional characters that get offed in horrible ways in books. Are we saying that it is more justified to be outraged by a book depicting a consensual spanking with a paddle, than all of the hundreds of ways we end lives in books? I doubt it. They offed a bunch of kids, in Hunger Games. Is that not worse morally than a spanking? Perspective, people. Perspective.
I would say it’s more likely that we just like to get together in mass and be outraged about something. Unfortunately for a lot of top sellers, they give us a focus that so many of us know about, making it easy to unite in our outrage against some facet of them. Pop culture is not your enemy. So you don’t like it and don’t understand why a million other people do? So what. Move on. Don’t waste your time on banding together to be “outraged” by something you don’t think others should enjoy.
Perhaps you could band together to uplift something you do enjoy and put that on the pop culture map? Just a thought. But really, where ever you want to spend your energy….
May B.B. (The, hates that everyone hates on everything, writer)
I was reading one of my recent WIP lines, and it struck me that the line worked for both falling in love, and suicide. Pleasant thought, I know. Well that thought led to a few more.
“You will always fall in love, and it will always be like having your throat cut, just that fast.”
― Catherynne M. Valente, Deathless
I rummaged through some romance novels, of which I have plenty, and noticed that often analogies for falling in, or being in love, sound like dreadful things. I did a quick search and found a whole list of things falling had been compared to: the plague, disease, murder, suicide, a virus, etc.
“Some say love, it is a river that drowns the tender reed. Some say love, it is a razor that leaves your soul to bleed. Some say love, it is a hunger, an endless aching need.” Amanda McBroom, The Rose
Yes, I know there are a myriad of quotes that describe falling in love in a more fanciful way, but as I read through some quotes from others, it became alarming how well they work for the darker sides of life.
“…a fever which tests our strength, and too often leads to perdition.” ―George Meredith, The Ordeal of Richard Feverel
I don’t I know what falling in love is like for others. Perhaps for some, it is sunshine and soaring. I can’t say I’ve ever known it to be that way. It has always been a process of reluctance, digging heels in and eventually being taken over. Something close to drowning, where I flail and fight ‘til my limbs give out, and the enormity and power of the water around me wins out.
“I have flown and fallen, and I have swum deep and drowned, but there should be more to love than “I survived it.” ― Lisa Mantchev, So Silver Bright
It has always been a process that is freighting to me. One I can’t imagine going willingly into.
“….but you’re still jumping off a cliff…” ―Lisa Kleypas
Yes, we can just chalk me up to being a lost cause on believing that falling in love can be a painless, openhearted process. It may be true enough that I am jaded, but you can’t deny that there are too many quotes that work well for awful things in life, as well as falling in love.
I pulled some of my own lines and have posted them below. Thing is, not all of these are about falling in love; some most certainly are, but some are just about unfortunate life events. Can you figure out which are which?
The cuts were small, one here and there, but each opened her wider. As they came faster, it became too hard to close them all. And then it happened, she surrendered and lay open before him.
Her heart raced in her chest and her arms threatened to give out. She clung fiercely to the crumbling edge, resisting the fall to the shimmering water below, the depth of which was still unknown.
Looking in the face of what was before me, I shivered. This could hurt, pain that would only be made bearable by the sweet adrenaline high that accompanied it for a time.
She stood on the edge, looking out over all that was before her. Closing her eyes, she spread her wings and jumped.
The blow came fast. It slammed in from the side, catching her unaware. She scrambled to recover, but it was too late. She had dropped her guard, and the damage was done.
Gwen was trying to balance just on the edge of the abyss. She saw how deep it was and knew if she slipped over the edge the fall would be endless.
He made the first cut. It opened a vein I knew I couldn’t close.
He careened over the edge, tumbling helter-skelter down the side with nothing to slow his fall. The hit waiting at the bottom would be swift and hard.
-Lines by May B.B.
Do you see what I mean? Love and suicide, sometimes murder, seem like peas in a pod at times. Still, I suppose it’s a part of life, however sweet or bitter, painful or freeing, that is all but avoidable.
May B.B. (The, goes kicking and screaming, Writer)