Acceptance + Self Indulgence

Here is a fun fact that I just have to accept:

First blog posts are generally garbage, so I’m just gonna rip off the band-aid and get it over with.

Accept that you all don’t know me from Adam and so the fact that you’re even taking the time to read this is seriously flattering. (And if nobody reads this, then it’s straight up self-indulgence, and I’m not even kind of ashamed.)

Accept that I actually have been an indie author for some time now but on a much smaller (and smuttier) scale. I don’t kink-shame, but I think it’s safe to assume that most of my readers from that niche aren’t over here looking for motorcycle man-chests, sultry and strong heroines, and all the feels.

Accept that you have to learn to walk before you learn to run…

Although most of what I do is speed hiking

but if you want to learn to fly that requires a whole different set of beliefs.

Accept that I cannot function without a creative outlet, and writing romance novels allows me to scratch that itch every single day.

Accept that my first books aren’t going to be mega-hits because I am still learning how to write to market

and romance those beats

and make friends on social media without coming off as… uhhhh… yeah.


Accept that I’m sure I can slap a brand on all this, on me and all my crazy and complexities, but it might take me a few tries to see what feels right.

Accept that sometimes you have to let the weeds grow out a little bit until you can tell where the wildflowers are.

This is my self-indulgence post. I promise next time around, I will shift my focus to the finer things of my craft, like melting your panties off. (Too soon?) But honestly, I do have a cover reveal coming up for ya before the end of the weekend, and it’s SO FFFFFFFing SEXY. 

Now that I got all that out of me, I can get to work. And by “get to work,” I mean chug cold brew, pet my dogs, pretend like my laptop is not charged enough to accomplish anything at 49%, go to the bathroom, huff some bergamot oil, power nap, more oil, Doritos, and maybe by 8PM I’ll be ready to roll. Or ready for a beer. Accept that this is my process (and that my editor is gonna charge me whether or not I send him my stuff on time).

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