A shy, curvy mortician turns to the road captain of the Lost Kings MC to help her improve her bedroom skills. It was only supposed to be a few lessons... until real feelings got involved.
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Today's Document
YOU ARE THE REASON

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@autumnjlake
A shy, curvy mortician turns to the road captain of the Lost Kings MC to help her improve her bedroom skills. It was only supposed to be a few lessons... until real feelings got involved.
Universal Link: https://books2read.com/LKMC24
🎉Surprise!!!🎉 Love, Loyalty & Mayhem: A Motorcycle Club Romance Anthology #PREORDER #99Cents Amazon US: https://amzn.to/2UUdCCq Apple Books: https://apple.co/2GAiWlk Nook: http://bit.ly/2UUPnnH Kobo: http://bit.ly/2IC3s2t Google Play: http://bit.ly/2ZtYbPG Amazon UK: https://amzn.to/2GvXzk9 Amazon CA: https://amzn.to/2vlnxkZ Amazon AU: https://amzn.to/2Gwid3C Bad Boy AlphaAlert! Nineteen of your favorite MC authors come together to bring you brand new, never released stories from some of your favorite motorcycle clubs. Love Life with a biker is an adventure full of twists and turns. When love is involved, MC men never back down from what they want—they fight for it. Loyalty Loyalty is the foundation in any motorcycle club. Break it, they break you. There isn't a line they won't cross to protect who or what they claim as their own. Mayhem These men live a life made by their own set of rules. Chaos tends to always find them. You cross them, the consequences are swift. Hold on for the ride as this talented group of authors come together to bring you an anthology like no other. Your favorite clubs, new clubs, and everything in between can be found in this collection filled with suspense, action, adventure, romance and so much more! Participating Authors Include: Autumn Jones Lake Avelyn Paige Bink Cummings Author Chelsea Camaron Author Author Glenna Maynard Author Kristen Hope Mazzola Author L Wilder Laramie Briscoe - Romance Author Laura Kaye Author M.Robinson MariaLisa deMora Mary Martel Author Nicole Jacquelyn Nicole James Author Nina Levine Author Ryan Michele Sapphire Knight Terri Anne Browning-Author Winter Travers **All profits from the Love, Loyalty & Mayhem: A Motorcycle Club Romance Anthology will be donated to Bikers Against Bullies USA. #authorsofinstagram #anthology #charity #mcromamce #mayhem #bookshelves #tbr #bookaddict https://www.instagram.com/p/BwtQl7BgPf2/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=16c06m6usgqj8
Thank you to @wanderaguiar_photography @lmhasser and @justin_cox_fit for making this cover so special!! #coverreveal Z's book is almost here!! Finally! pre-order links in bio! Blurb: As Vice President of the Lost Kings Motorcycle Club, I’ve spent a lot of years as a hit-it-and-quit-it player only seeking a good time. Willing women are never in short supply. More than one night? No thanks. Until I met her. My perfect woman. Like a damn mermaid, she was beautiful, smart, sexy, and slippery as fuck. I thought I’d convinced her we’d be good together long-term, but then she disappeared without a word. Three years. That’s how long it’s been since I saw her. Took me a while, but I finally moved on. Then out of nowhere, my mythical woman resurfaces. She forgot to mention one little thing before she vanished. One small secret growing up into a big lie. It’s a betrayal too deep to overcome. I should hate her. Even though she’s heartbreak wrapped in a seductive package. I want her more than ever. *Can be read first in the series or as a standalone. #preorder links in bio #zerotolerance #lostkingsmc #coverreveal #VP #brotherhood #upstateNY #Romancenovels #romancebooks #MCRomance #brotherhood #loyalty https://www.instagram.com/p/BtUOtyzAHiz/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=ngr0nytlvbm5
Yes You Can And Neither Can They.
Earlier today I tweeted about how watching some piece of creative endeavour that thrills you is energising; how it sends you away restless and wanting to create something of your own. I had a reply from someone saying that they felt the opposite; that seeing something great by someone else made them realise they would never reach those standards and thus they found it demoralising.
I know exactly how he feels. So I thought I might blog this. This is my theory about that feeling and what we need to recognise when we feel it. I hope that some of you might find it helpful:
Much of the unhappiness we feel in the creative process stems from the fact that we started as fanboys and fangirls of the thing we’re now involved in. You go into novel-writing because you’ve always loved novels. Your whole life nothing made you happier than sitting in a corner with a book, absorbing the stories, living with the characters, luxuriating in the beautifully-turned words, the well-phrased observations about life and how it is lived, the worlds created before your very brain and now you, too, want to create those worlds, turn those words. You want to become a playwright because you’ve loved the theatre since you discovered it. You’ve seen everything there is to see, you’ve read plays, spent your money and spare time standing at the back with the cheap tickets so you could see everything you possibly can and now you, too, want to create those scenes that beguile and provoke. You go into comedy because you’ve never been happier than sitting in those rooms, watching those women and men with the audience in the palm of their hands, pouring out these brilliant and hilarious thoughts. You’ve got a point of view, you know what’s funny and now you too want to make strangers rock forwards in unison and delight as your ideas hit them. Every single person starts as a fan of the thing they end up doing. And it makes us very unhappy when we come to do it ourselves. Because we end up judging our work by impossible standards. I don’t mean judging it against that of people whose work is superior to ours, I mean judging our own work in a way we can never be equipped to judge it. You can never truly judge your own work. Not really.
Here’s a really good thing to remember. There are two ways into a theatre:
You can walk with the excited crowds along the street, warm with the glass of wine you just had in the bar down the road. You go in past the polished glass and the gleaming brass, past the liveried doorpeople tearing your tickets, up the marble staircase with the sculpted handrail. You walk into the plush, red auditorium with the sprung velvet seats and the gilded alabaster cherubs staring at you from the proscenium, glowing in the light of the chandelier hanging from the ceiling rose. You get yourself seated, open your bag of Maltesers, look at the program you bought. The whole room is rich with anticipation. The hairs on the back of your neck go up as the lights dim and the curtain is raised and there before you is a set designed by a genius, wrought by craftsmen and then through a door in the back of that set comes the person you’ve come there to see: that figure from film, from television that you’ve always wanted to be in the same room as, and they begin to speak finely wrought words, teased out of the language by a master…
That’s one way in. The other way is: You schlep round the back to a side-street, go through the entrance opposite a strip joint where a woman with a sour expression who smells of stale cigarettes and tea grumpily shoves some keys in your hand. You make your way down the thin, rat-run corridors with their peeling paint to your musty dressing room. You put on the your costume, still damp with the sweat of last-night’s performance, and you make your way back along the corridors to the stage. You go through the sprung doors that always smack back at your head as you pass through, into the backstage area, covered in struts and weights holding up the flats of that set, plastered with arrows and instructions and lists. And there in front of you is a table with all the props everyone is going to need over the next two hours, each in its own space, delineated by masking tape, and you take the prop you need for your first entrance, you wait by a door for the exact moment, the exact word and then you go through it. You’re met by a haze of light and beyond and in it a vague, organic mass whose mood and intention you can’t divine and then you say the words that you’ve been paid to come there and say…
There are two ways into a theatre. When you’re reading someone else’s work, or standing in front of it, or listening to it, or watching it, you get to come in the front of the theatre. You get to see it as the finished product. That’s how you meet it and that’s how you judge it. When you’re looking at your own work, you can’t get in the front. You don’t have a ticket. You have to go round the back. The only way you can look at your work is from the side that shows how it’s put together, because that’s all you can think of when you see your own stuff – how you put it together. What the process was, what you added, what you cut, what you always intended, what arrived in the moment as you were creating it that feels like it’s not even yours to claim, it was the subject of such a bolt of inspiration. It can look ugly – the struts, the spars, the sandbags holding it all up, the gaffer tape sticking it together in an ungainly way. And because you can only see your work that way, it’s not really reasonable to judge it against stuff you’ve only seen by coming in the front. In fact, not only is it not reasonable, it’s simply not possible. They are two entirely different experiences making you miserable by pretending to be the same thing.
And by the same token, you should always remember when you come in the front of a theatre and look at what is happening on the stage that behind the set there are stage weights and pulleys and people dressed in black with headsets, wandering around looking hassled. Even if you can’t see exactly what those things are it’s good to remind yourself they’re there. It’s good to remind yourself that no matter how brilliant someone else’s piece of work that you’re marveling at might be, they’ve gone through the same process as you do: They’ve rewritten and restructured and redrafted. They’ve stood back from what they’ve just done and thrown the whole thing across the room in disgust and self-loathing. They’ve had to lose bits they’ve loved, they’ve added bits they weren’t meaning to that you think were genius bits of craft and that just plonked themselves down on the page or the canvas or the score.
We all always imagine it’s easier for other people. My image of other writers is that they sit down at their old school typewriters, with a box of cigarettes, a visor, those weird armband things and just go brrrrrrrrrrrrrr ping brrrrrrrrrrrrr ping brrrrrrrrrrrr ping! Done. “Now to spend my advance on sweets and prostitutes.” Of course they don’t do that. I mean obviously we all spend that money on sweets and prostitutes in the end, but not straightaway. There’s a lot more work to be done first.
For a long time I would write a new stand-up show every year and take it up to the Edinburgh Festival Fringe. And it took months and it was painful. I can remember sitting in other comedians’ shows and thinking, “You bastards. You’ve just turned up and done this.” Of course I ought to have been able to have seen that was untrue with a second’s thought – I’d seen them out and about doing work-in-progress gigs, same as me, after all – but the image of someone else’s work just coming easily, fully-formed and God-given is irresistible and every creative person beats themselves up with it.
But it’s not true. Stop it. Remember which way into the theatre you’re going.
(Since you ask, this is an extract from a lecture I gave a few years ago at Birmingham University on ‘Unhappiness In The Creative Life And What To Do With It’)
Photo: Idil Sukan (http://idilsukan.com)
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AND UNTIL WE CHANGE THE SYSTEM, REMINDER THAT OPEN ENROLLMENT IS OPEN UNTIL 12/15/18
Boo!
Just got home from Neil Gaiman’s talk here in LFK - he was great! Went with a few friends plus a couple thousand other folks. Great seats, too:
A few things on writing l jotted down while he spoke:
If there’s a story that you love but no one else does, there might be a good reason for both. (Find how to make it work, where its heart lay.)
Give yourself one rule: Make the place where you go to write somewhere that you can do absolutely nothing, or you can write your story. You can’t do anything else there. Do nothing or make something. The joy of doing absolutely nothing soon fades, and doing art becomes preferable.
People mistake comics for a genre, so he could work in any genre in that medium.
When people tell artists they can’t break the rules: “You’re not Neil Gaiman, you have to do it the normal way.” “But I wasn’t always Neil Gaiman. You can do whatever you want.”
Fiction is a gateway drug to reading.
Fiction is the lie that tells the truth.
Individuals change the world by imagining how things could be different, then writing about it. Shapes readers’ imaginations.
Einstein: If you want your children to be intelligent, read them fairy tales.
He calls his Norse mythology stories his knitting. Had elderly relatives who went everywhere with a bag of knitting, something to do when not doing something else.
On when to submit work: Send off a book once it’s good enough for jazz. Not perfect, because the publisher always wants to give you notes. If it’s perfect, they’ll just mess it up. Give them some room for notes.
Really want to read his book of talks and articles - he read a great piece on the critical importance ou’d libraries and librarians.
If you haven’t heard him read, he’s fantastic.
So much great stuff!
For any of you who are writing ‘across the pond’-here is a little guide I put together of some common differences between British and American English!
Also for all of us non-native speakers who don’t know which fucking English we’re even using
swedes = rutabaga
rubbers = erasers
as it comes = without any alterations (”I’d like this sandwich on the menu, please.” “As it comes?”)
can I have = can I get
put out the bins = take out the trash
dummy = pacifier
nappy = diaper (and then nappy bag = diaper bag)
bag/handbag = purse
purse = wallet (specifically for “women’s” accessories)
telly = tv
drawing pins = thumbtacks
“It’s a good job…” = “It’s a good thing…”
chemist = drugstore
Don’t start the soft drink discourse again @universalfanfic , you know I’ll find proof 😂😂😂😂
@gracieinanovel OK but “fizzy drink???” That just sounds like some Doctor Who silliness and you KNOW IT.
@jealousmaude
Princess mega post! I absolutely had a blast creating this artwork for the Disney Designer Collection - Premiere Series. Now that the madness has passed, who was your favorite?
She leads a quiet life — until meeting an outlaw with a heart of gold. Their forbidden chemistry turns everything in their lives upside down! Nook: https://pxlme.me/3MF3-C6C Apple Books: https://pxlme.me/FFGpeAIP Amazon: https://amzn.to/2JssOO4 Amazon UK: https://amzn.to/2CS4jIP Kobo: https://pxlme.me/1drPLrhI GooglePlay: https://pxlme.me/ASSdeGQF https://www.instagram.com/p/BqHDTZyA-SK/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=1jowg84gpo4ah
Amazon: http://bit.ly/LKMC11_Kindle Apple Books: http://bit.ly/LKMC11_Apple Nook: http://bit.ly/LKMC11_Nook Kobo: http://bit.ly/LKMC11_Kobo Universal Link: books2read.com/u/3R1eyB With her by my side, my reign is complete. Then, one uncovered truth shines a light on the throne of lies I’ve been sitting on for years. A revelation with the power to test the bonds of brotherhood like never before. My ruthless obsession to protect what’s mine burns hotter than ever. Promises I’ve made to my brothers I burn to keep. Vows made to my wife I swear to honor. Through the web of tangled truth, one thing remains clear. Hope is embedded in my soul. Together, we’ve built something beautiful, significant, and ours. A love so rare, I will spill blood to protect it. #comingsoon #LostKingsMC #RockandHopeForever #readsoon #HEA #trueloveneverdies #heaandbeyond #booksofinstagram #tbr #series #mcromance #bikers #brotherhood https://www.instagram.com/p/BqAUF0DFd61/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=179acfte5sbdb