Cruel & Unusual…Yet Sociable.

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Authors are the most anti-social, dry, and sarcastic beings in the world. They hide away and avoid the sunlight while creating worlds and killing anyone that may have crossed them in the past in cruel and unusual ways. Okay… not all of that is true.

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  I was tagged in a blog post by a fellow author, Shelly Picarella. The challenge is to answer the following questions and then tag other authors. Because we can be quite the ornery sort, this is a vehicle to pull authors away from their imaginations and get them to tell the world about what is going on in their heads.

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Kat, what are you working on right now? Right now… what am I working on??? Yes. Okay. I am working on a few things. First- I am working on a stand alone novella about the life of Shu, the steampunk revolutionary tattoo artist from Steamfate/Imbroglio. It is mainly her childhood and a steampunk underground railroad of a world wide secret society. Second- I am working on a possible series about the life of a single M.E. after an affair with a narcissistic, yet adorable emotionally constipated prosecutor. (This is where you are free to….scoff.) Third- That is a surprise for now….

How do your stories differ from others in its genre? Steamfate and Imbroglio- There is a lead female, Zona. She is the head of the steam revolution. She is beautiful, damaged, strong, snarky and then there is Adam… Adam is smart, artistic, royal law, and timid. By accident, fate, or higher planning, these two meet and the click is instant. And yes, it is physical, but not the bulging muscle or heaving breasts, physical… that click is never possibly described by the flesh, the mind, or the heart. It just is. They are the worst and best thing that ever happened to one another. There is no love triangle for Zona to choose between Adam and someone else as she saves the world. She can save the world. The hard part is pulling the hero out of Adam. That is what could kill her. As for my other stories, publishing and coming…  I like real people. I don’t like the supermodel male sorts and I won’t write them, not seriously. I like strong women, but I like them real. Any woman can do anything, but how does that phrase go?? A real man won’t let her.

Why do you write what you do? The start of writing what I write was a joint effort with a writing partner. We wrote a short for an anthology that is now published as a solo short, I wrote another short alone as he wrote one alone for another anthology which were also published together…and then we started writing Steamfate. Oh, that was fun. As for why I write what I write, because it sets my soul on fire. It awakens every nerve inside my flesh and makes me feel like I can save the world… or the man… whichever needs me most at the moment. I write from the heart, from experience. I write the darkness of the raven. I write the fire of phoenix. I write the pain of the lone lovebird. They say, write what you know…

How does the writing process work? This is the funny part. In the past, it actually seems that all my works were started with my on again/ off again muse/lover/best friend, whatever you want to call him, and when he vanishes again, I get the full rights to finish. Some things were near done, some things are still in my inbox closer to the start of fruition. As talented, gorgeous, smart, and funny as he may be, my dear suffers from a near-tragic case of emotional constipation and it leaves our plans and promises, basically, full of shit. I have some grand ideas that we pondered into existence together on the back burner, not waiting on him, per se, but waiting on me to do my own thing. So as for my personal writing process, on the non-erotic side, all I need is a glass of wine, a great pen, and some paper. Once the idea is there, it has a way of flowing faster than my fingers can translate.

Now, the fun part. TAG!

Here are three authors I think you MUST know and I want to know the behind the scenes of their books. Click, like, follow, and buy books from these authors and soon, I hope to see a similar blog post from each of them.

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  Terri Reid is one of my literary idols. If you haven’t read her books, odds are well that you know the name. She is a wordsmith to the highest degree and has a way of wrapping your imagination into a scene you literally have to snap back to reality. She is what every reader wants and what every writer aims to be. Check her out on facebook or her Amazon page.

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Chrissy Moon is one of my favorite new authors on the scene. She has an indescribable edge to her and it shows in her books. Her debut, Surreal Ecstasy blew me away. Her second novel was just as wonderful and I was lucky enough to be published with her on the short story collection, LINGER from 7DS Books. Check her out on facebook or her Amazon page.

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John J. Higgins is a puzzle to me. He will laugh while reading this. He is talkative, yet mysterious. He is bold yet a haze when he wants to be. He is just like his writing. You think you know, but ah, alas, you do not. Check him out on facebook or on his Amazon page.

Two mommies obvious “gayness” ruins Disney.

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Disney is finally ruining pure christian family entertainment with the entrance of a child with two moms. At least, that is the claim by highly conservative website, Now the End Begins. “Now that Walt Disney Corporation has spent the last few generations getting you hooked on their “wholesome, family entertainment”, they are now using that relationship to teach your precious children that the LGBT way of life is just a preference. The bible says that it is an abomination before God. What do you say?”

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Feel free to read the complete bashing blog by clicking a link directly to them above. And by all means, take the time to read some of the comments–

“If you look into the history of Walt Disney himself, you will see that he is a twisted sinister perverted freak.

His legacy lives on.”

Some ramble on about Obama because, you know, as much as I really could name one hundred other people I’d rather see as president, eventually, won’t people get tired of finding a way to whine about him no matter what the story topic is? But my favorite commenter posted this:

“Once upon a time we could count on Disney for wonderful entertainment. Looks like that’s a thing of the past.”

Yes, commenter… This just happened.. Thanks to that horrid gay agenda. The pureness of family entertainment has just NOW been tarnished. First off, let me refresh your memories of what happens when Disney stars grow.

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First, I will say some of these Disney stars do not openly go wild until they are adults. Some just become sexy adults. But parents choose to allow kids to follow the fame of their favorite Disney stars as they grow, and act shocked when child stars go wild. Because, we know, that hardly ever happens. I will spare the list of photos dating back into television history of this, but the point is. Save your gasps.

Next, let us address Disney shows… Let’s even get a bit old school here-

Wasn’t Kids Incorporated a show where a group of kids meshed together to always fix the problem of the week, then dressed as hot rocker kids singing in a night club sort of setting? Yeah.

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Then we have a bit in the future- That’s So Raven. Basically a sweet child, sassy, talented, and she had this secret.. Oh yeah, she was kind of psychic. But she couldn’t let many people know her secret because it would cause her to be judged. So she kept it in the closet to make everyone else comfortable with what they consider normal, right? Rock on teaching kids morals.. But wait, that is what mainstream anti-gay rights proper Christian values mean, right? Come on, it is not like she is gay… just psychic… Oh. What? Wait.

thats-so-raven-memeLet’s take a moment and sum up some other shows:

Hannah Montana: We get it, she has a hard time being raised without a mom. A teenage girl supporting her father and brother living double lives that keep her on a constant schedule, stopping normal teenage events, losing friends due to the secrets keeping her rich and famous and living in a bit of a beach mansion. Then throw in the lies, the tantrums, and how she always goes against the rules and when she gets busted, it is either daddy’s fault or she pulls the “no mom” card. Hug and cue credits. No. Morals? No.

Zack & Cody- Two twin boys.. little trouble makers, always snooping, never listening, a straight single mom that dates various men and woos a dorky hotel worker to do what she wants or the kids want with flirting and sexuality. No wonder the boys are running around chasing everything in a skirt.

Jessie: A young girl with dreams of making it big in the music business become the nanny for two super rich people- a straight couple- that has adopted a bunch of sassy multi-cultural kids they are hardly around to see, much less parent. They scheme, plot, sneak, make life hell for any bit characters that may live in the same area or be in anyway involved with these kids. She takes care of a bunch of kids in skirts too short to bend in and high heels, chases her dreams, dates, and saves the day from whatever happens while she is not watching the kids. Wow.

And then the show this is all about… Good Luck Charlie: We have the main older sister, recording a journal for her little sister, Charlie. She is smart, pretty, and her only competition in life, is her mother. She bows down in almost every episode to give her mom the spotlight. It is sick. It is the worst parenting ever. Then we have the dad, the man that always seems to be bothered by the fact that he has a family and protects his wife from others, but always complains about her, lies to her, ignores her. Then, the two sons… The oldest, an idiot and treated as such- the younger, a scam artist, trouble maker, and general annoying side character. OH, and now the couple has ANOTHER baby. Wow, married, straight, white well-to-do parents, and that must mean quality family television. If a play date involving a family with two mommies ruined this show or Disney’s “ideal” of proper christian family entertainment, you need to step outside of your church gossip circle and spend some time talking to God.

Rock on, two mommies. Rock on!

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If you want solid true blue family entertainment, shut off the t.v. and take your kids to the park.

Attention Book Reviewers & Book Clubs IMBROGLIO needs you!

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The stranger wrapped his arm around Isabelle and led her toward the nearby door. The dust and rubble filled the atmosphere of the once elaborate building. Adam kicked debris from his path as he drew closer to the thickest clouds of smog. The faint grip of a struggling hand wrapped around his ankle. A gurgling rasp called for help below him.

Adam dropped to his knees. The fog lessened near the floor. He removed the hand from his ankle, placing it inside his palm. A warm dampness coated his skin. His eyes burned as he struggled to focus through the dryness.

“Adam,” the voice gurgled heavier, “Adam, get the hell out of here.”

His eyes focused on the face. His neighbor lay before him burned and bloody. The left side of his body appeared shredded by one of the bombs. Adam fought faintness at the horrid sight. There was no doubt in his mind that his neighbor would die in a matter of moments.

“What can I do to help you, Henry?” he forced an optimistic smile.

“Find her,” blood drizzled the side of his face with his words, “Find Mary. Make sure she is safe.”

Adam gazed the small range of vision he could obtain along the floor. Mary lay a few feet away from them. Most of her face had been blown away from a blast. He recognized her tight silver curls through the blood. Fear resonated through her one remaining eye even in death.

“I will find her, Henry. I promise.”

“Find her now, Adam,” he coughed as the rush of blood flowed freely from his lips, “Leave me and find her.”

Adam squeezed his hand and humbled him with a look of promise before he stood. He wiped the blood into the fabric of his jacket as he swallowed the urge to cry. His anger and resentment grew. He stepped but a few steps before he stopped in his tracks. He caught the sweetness of her scent.

His foot pivoted to turn when he heard it: the clicking sound of a gun echoed by the right side of his head. He stood solid and took in her scent through the smell of fire and destruction. His heart raced.

“Turn around,” she demanded.

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My next release will be a bit of something new and the credit goes directly to my daughter. IMBROGLIO is not my normal novel genre. It is “NEW ADULT”- It is also the non-erotic version of STEAMFATE. Steamfate is my literary love. I speak of this book daily. I am sure my family is sick of my obsession with these fictional characters. But it turns out, one issue of my adoration for Steamfate was the limited reading scope. My daughter was sick of hearing about characters she already loved without reading—and could not read because I am not giving my daughter an erotic novel, obviously. ENTER IMBROGLIO. All the revolution, lies, secrets, scandal, and politics are still there. The airships and steampunkery inventions are still there. The love and passion remain. The in-depth details have been altered for all eyes “NEW ADULT” and beyond to read. Maybe this can spark a great duo for book clubs. Like salsa- choose your heat.

I am currently in search of reviewers for pre-release ARC reviews and book clubs interested in intermingling the reader choice of Imbroglio, the new adult version and Steamfate, the erotic romance version. Emails of interest should be sent to dan@twistedcorepress.com

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Life is about change. A SteamFate Update

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You can’t judge a book by the cover. I never understood this as a child, reading my favorite books, loving the covers and getting excited as I passed my favorite ones in the library like family photos on display.

The memories.

I was usually right. The ones I loved the covers of, I loved the words. The ones I gave a go just because, I passed along the displays of the libraries as if I were looking at the photo of an aunt or uncle that seldom came around- and I appreciated the seldom seen person for being seldom seen.

Steamfate.

A good amount of people followed Steamfate from the start. For those that did, not only do I thank them, but I appreciate them. So much of me has never existed in the world as I do inside this book.

The entire book was fully plotted- scene by scene- and as most people know that likely read this blog- it was not a solo effort.

In the blink of an eye, life’s plot changed. When I was able to come back to a half-written book, it was obvious that the plot changed for it, as well. Not that I wanted it to, but it simply could not be as is.

Looking back, it was a good thing for the book. It had a rushed ending, not thought through as well as it should have been. It left gaps and wondering. It was beautifully guided on impulse and passion, but the love of a book has to be just right. It takes time and when you get it just right, you know it, because that plot twist, that surprise, and that ending- when it comes together in the right time, you get to savor it forever.

No spoilers but….

The way this book ends, it was right. If you read it, you’ll know. I’ve had beautiful readers tell me they have even had to read it again soon after the first time. That makes me happy. It really is a beautifully real story.

So the cover had to match. It did. Judge it. Although the cover, it haunted me. It has since release. Not that I am unhappy with it. I love it. Never doubt that. But the beauty in tragedy. Twisted Core Press allowed my artistic wishes and the cover is but a sketching. A stunning sketching of the original design idea for the cover. I was left with it, and I loved it and not a single other cover would do. Readers agree, the cover is perfect…after you read the book.

But what about that judging a book by the cover?

That’s right. I know. And as much as this cover is loved and embraced when the story has been read, the story must be read.

Life and Books

Both have this way of plot twists and of change. Sometimes, you think the end cannot possibly be, but it is. Sometimes you fall to the ground in defeat and turn the page to see another chapter.

Always. Another Chapter.

And with that, never judge a book by its cover….but never wear your heart on your jacket sleeve.

Steamfate Original steamfatekindlecoverSteamfate Make Over steamnewcoverRead it NOW on Amazon kindle & paperback.

Enlightening Word Choices

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“I can’t stand getting lost at home. I should know where I am. But, in new places it never bothered me. It was always alright to get lost in new places. If you don’t freak out, you’ll find yourself eventually.”

“Enlightening word choices. You said find yourself, not find your way or find what you’re looking for.”

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This was an interesting portion of a conversation I had with a personal Yoda I call Dorothy.  Actually, it is a bit more than interesting. This conversation has been chipping away at my mind since the moment the words were spoken. I usually choose my words carefully but with her, I run with my thoughts and sometimes, I blurt.  When you take the time to choose your words, you have a certain control. You get to rest knowing you wrapped your mind around what other people might think about your feelings, emotions, fears, and hopes.

When you stop thinking and speak, sure, sometimes you might regret saying things you wish you hadn’t. But even worse than what other people may think of your words, is when you allow them to flow and you have to step back and decide how you feel about the words you didn’t censor or evaluate their depth before spoken.

I’ve been mildly frigid on social media lately. Not hiding. Not emotional. Not sad. Simply, scattered. I’ve been writing a decent amount. I’ve had another short story released in a 7DS Books Collaboration. A nice scary story. A haunting tale of a girl and her encounters with The Lady on Fire. There are many great authors on this book- to the point I smile each time I see my name with them on the cover. Look at those names. Yep, I’m smiling.

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I am working on a few novels at once. I thought it would be near impossible to focus on more than one premise at a time. It isn’t. I’m able to toss ideas around for one while rolling in the words on another. It seems this process allows my plots and characters to evolve without the stress of not writing while the story mentally stews. I dig that. Hopefully I will have several releases soon. That’s the plan, and everything seems to be following the right path in the right time. I usually plan everything out in fine detail. I like knowing time frames and every little detail before I even dive in. It is how I’ve always worked. Like home base. But it seems every aspect I apply that same tried and true logic lately, it is tried but not so much true. It seems to have caused more chaos and I have felt very lost in the ways I set my own roots.  This is trying something new. This is taking a deep breath and rolling with the flow of how things unfold, slower, with less details plotted, and with me not time-framing every single thing.

It turns out, it actually rather sucks for my sanity. It feels like I am staring at the ocean looking for a perfect shell. The funny thing about that- the treasures of the ocean always roll in with the waves. You just have to hold the patience to wait for the next wave to crash and then grab the shell before it’s pulled away.

I guess I do find myself better venturing in new places… Eventually.

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Leap of Faith- A STEAMFATE Teaser

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“Stop over thinking. That is your flaw,” he caught his breath.
“My flaw?”
“I do hit moments of silence. I am not like you. I do not throw out every thought as it tings inside my mind. I process. I plan what I want to say and word it into what needs to be said.”
“I can handle any thought. I cannot handle your silence. Silence is doubt and regret. I refuse to be either.”
“Silence is not bad. Sometimes silence is comfortable. I enjoy it.”
“Adam if we were on a sofa cuddling, if we were in a bed reading, if we were in a hot tub together, silence would be heavenly,” she rubbed her hands down his chest, “While I am trying to see if you love me….if you love me enough….if you want me…want me enough, silence hurts. I need words. Real words. Thoughts. Fears. Hopes. Fantasies. Words.”
“I love you. I want you. I will spend forever with you. This is my promise. How are those words?”
“Don’t say it if you don’t mean it.”
“I said it. I mean it. Consider it a verbal contract. Take me to court should I not keep my word,” he smiled.
“And where would I find a good lawyer in this town?”
Adam leaned his towering body down to kiss her. She lifted to her toes to meet his lips. His tongue twisted the core of her own tongue. She moaned. His kisses were the best.
Gunfire startled their moment. The moonlight revealed a handful of soldiers on the rooftops following them. She led through the dim night. Hand in hand they began claiming their fate together.
She was uncertain of their surroundings. This was not a district she was familiar with. She darted and weaved and second guessed every move she made. Adam squeezed her hand. She always found comfort in that. She found comfort in him simply existing.
“Woah!” she yelled.
Adam grabbed her and pulled her back a step from the rolling rooftop. He peered over. They had reached the final building. They were on the waterfront. Only a narrow railed walkway of cobblestone separated the building from the depths of the water. He rubbed her head knowing the water was her weakness. She looked faint.
“I will go first and show you. It is plenty of space to jump, darling. Plenty,” he kissed her forehead.
She resisted as he let go of her hand. Adam jumped with ease onto the walkway. She looked down at him. His hands motioned for her, fully open. He waited to catch her. She trusted him. She didn’t trust the what ifs that could interfere. What if she knocked them both into the water? What if she knocked him in the water and was too afraid to get him?
“Darling, we jumped together, “he smiled, “I will catch you. I promise. I promise.”
Adam found her simple fears adorable. Seeing tragedy behind them made him love her more. She had hurt so much in her life. She deserved safety. His sweet muse deserved a fairy tale.
She deserved a man she could trust, without limits, without walls. She looked down at him again, with the timid eyes of a child. He nodded to secure her faith in him and smiled. Over and over, she took deep long breaths and focused only on his eyes and those perfect lines in his face when he smiled at her. He didn’t get them when he smiled in general. Those deep lines only etched into his face when his smile was for her. She closed her eyes, continued breathing and started to count inside her mind.
One. Two. Three. Four.
The door of the building swung open before Adam. It was Isabella and a man he did not know. They equally looked shocked to see one another.
“Come here, now,” she whispered a growl.
Out of habit, he listened. He scurried up the steps and inside the building. Isabella grabbed his arm and led him down a vacant hall.
“What are you doing here?” she snarled, “Are you following me now?”
“Isabella, no,” he panicked, “I have to go.”
“You aren’t going anywhere until you tell me what you are doing here.”
“We are over. I am in love with someone else. My mind is made up. I have to go.”
“I will be damned if you are going to do this to me. After all the years by your side I have supported you!”
Five. Six. Seven.
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We are the legacy we leave. Nothing more.

We are a species so quick to self sacrifice.
It seems shocking to hear that considering what we show to the world.
We are quick to judge those we do not understand.
Our tongues are sharpened with hate towards anyone we do not agree with on any given subject.
We blame others, groups, systems, leaders- anyone we can before we will accept blame for something we have done or something we have not done.
We boast to our friends, family, and coworkers with details of every single accomplishment, even if it is something materialistic or trivial.
We cover and deny anything that is not worthy of boasting.
It hurts us to bend on the brand of water, coffee, or clothing. We hold our noses in the air if we are around the wrong cut of meat or in company we consider less than ourselves.
All of these things make us out to be the most vile and offensive creatures on this planet but…
We so easily brush aside our own dreams and needs for fear of what our peers or surrounding society may think.
Those needs and dreams- we make excuses as to why we are selfish for the thoughts, much less the actions of obtaining them. We push them aside as simple daydreams until we long for free moments in the day to escape to daydreams that could just as easily be our reality if we stop caring about those things that do not matter.
We wrap our hearts in silence to mask saying what we want and need that may only make us richer in soul, not finance or image.
If we changed that one thing; If we became the dream chasers and jumped for our truest desires, one by one, those things that make us these vile creatures would vanish.
Can you imagine the world if we only had the guts to live our short lives based on the legacy of dream chasing and not the legacy of our estate?

Why is a raven like a writing desk?

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When someone can enter your life and show you the beauty inside splattered eggs against the ground and sees the fire within your eyes, you have to expect a certain level of madness to follow. Is that a horrible thing? What is madness? Is it something that sets the wild aside from the tightly woven? awhyisaraven I suppose the root of madness is judged by nothing more or less than the view point of the eyes in a position to oppose your emotions, thoughts, dreams or actions. When we connect with a like soul, we do not see their madness within and if we do, we embrace it. It is only those that carry a different madness that we consider truly mad.

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Not horribly long ago, but not terribly recently either, “a friend”  stalked me out to call me crazy. Now, call me crazy but you have to be slightly crazy to prowl on someone and pounce to openly announce their madness. I wanted to be offended, but as I was warned of her being a total wrecking ball of sanity by others, I could not help but to giggle. I have a rather cute giggle. Ask around. I’ve also heard that fire in my eyes sparkle when I laugh. Maybe a sign of madness, for those that consider happiness to be madness. Some people wish to be miserable, you know?

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All in all, maybe the madness inside, I was delighted to hear this friend had the need to attack me. For you see, this queen was holding my heart captive by holding the one that owns it. To know she needed to growl reassured my assumptions that she could likely see me each time she looked into his eyes. How very maddening that must be. To spend each day with someone knowing they were aching for the them they were with others that were banished for fear of heads rolling. To see a soul burn dreams to keep the peace. To know that the way life once was, will never be again, replaced by nothing more than an illusion of what illusion of trust and happiness once existed.

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I had the view of strangers as well as those that knew her nodding along in understanding that this person was simply, totally, unmistakingly- mad. But, my own madness shown, and I began to question the authenticity of my own emotion questioned by the queen of hearts.  As per her advice, you know what I did? You got it. I went to a professional. If anyone was going to call me crazy, it was damn sure going to be someone certified to do just that- if I were to take them seriously, anyway. So I did just that. I have done it and done it and done it and done it. And I will keep doing it, too. I do it rather well. Most things I do rather well. I do not sew, nor bake. Because I do not do either well. Beyond that, I amaze myself sometimes in my much muchness.

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So after much digging, chatting, opening up in total emotional nudity, I was made to separate emotion from fact. You see, emotions have a way of creating illusions in your mind, your heart and your path. If this was the case, I surely wanted to know. I backed up as I told the story, when emotions muddied the facts. I reworded events in a way that erased the emotional pull and only allowed the black and white of it all. The black and white of it all was truly a hard pill to swallow. My eyes were opened to the possible core of my need to feel safe and submissive, how I was only submissive in one aspect, the rest of me is a total dominant force, which I held solid on when it came to my wants and needs until the end, when it mattered, and I curled up like a sub, how I have a history of impatience and where the need to make things happen a..s.a.p. spawned from, how I cover pain with comedy to make people laugh before they can see me as weak in any aspect of life, and how I truly, deeply, allowed my walls to be torn down completely to only one man since the passing of the man that raised me as his own and kept me safe from the world. There was no doubt of my love. No question. But I had to ask, I had to know. Was I insane? I asked, bluntly, out of the two women in this story, was I the one holding on to illusions?  If I improperly held on, I wanted to know so I could try and figure out why I could not let go.

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But no. Only the facts, that black and white shows not only no closure for me, but for many. Not typical. Not the norm, not what one would consider, of grounded mind. Throw in emotions, and it turns out, professionally seen, I make a rather good bit of sense, and- for the first time in my history, I was executing a huge amount of patience, which also shows the depth of how solid what I had before me really was. BUT, but – always one of those, it seems, an assy but. I rushed. I had everything from my dreams, I had fate in my lap, and in my own maddening fears and timelines, I rushed what was everything I thought never existed. I wasn’t waiting for it, because I never thought it could breathe beyond the pages of a story-book.  But as I also learned, what I considered as my missing piece, was also an entire puzzle trying to figure out the insides, as if the border had always been there, but those tricky pieces on the inside were still trying to find their spots. I was also something he never thought existed in reality, but there I was, and his life plan was locked in, no doubts, he was happy in the well planned mediocre life…until me. Until knowing I existed and in knowing me, he discovered the puzzle of himself held more pieces than he ever imagined, and not only did he not have time to process that fact, he especially had little time to take all the new pieces of him he found in me and connect them smoothly. So very likely, had I not been impatient me, things would not be as they are right now. I would not be just a longing in someone’s heart that reflects through their eyes. I have to swallow my own blame for that. It is thick and bitter and there is no chaser to make it go down easier. But now what? Where do I go evaluating this? My certified sanity. My unknown future. My dominant side pulling me to defend what I see as mine. My weak heart thudding after you take the comedy away that covers the #ache.

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This is where the madness of my own self kicks in. What do I have to wait for? Have I spoken to him? Do I know if the wait is worth it?  Is there a plan? Does my story plot end here or is there a happily ever after around the corner. Well, as I drape on my Cheshire smile, I say this: I have everything and nothing to wait for or to hold me back from waiting. I hear his voice. Maybe it is a lullaby- maybe it is more or less. What is better than a lullaby? is anything more soothing? Would I speak of it if there were? Would I open the door to all with my eggs in one basket or would I leave the world to wonder just as much as I have in the past? Would I smile and type away sadness to secure the confusion just as I would weep and speak as if my heart is spoken for and solid? In every story ending there is happiness wrapped in the sadness of completion. The chase ending, the questions answered, the sinister scorned, the everybody-is-where-they-want-to-be syndrome. As a writer, I know this is no end. But where we are in the plot, as it thickens, well, you will just have to wait and see. Enjoy the madness. It is better than silence.

1artravenwritingdesk

 

Welcome to my Wonderland. Would you like some tea?

THE Mother of THE Kat Daughtry. Ever pondered that one?

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Kat Daughtry. Such an exotic creature. Not normal by any means. A button pusher. Bold. Blunt. Steampunk. Erotic. Beyond.

The main question I get is the famous, “What does your mother think of you and your porn writing?”

I love this question. I am sure such a thing like me existing in the bible belt of the South seems taboo. But, darling, all good things are.

First of all, my mother thinks lots of things of me. She has known me longer than anyone. She has seen me at my worst and some of my best. 😉 I was a good child. Spoiled, but good. I was a hell raising, down with tha man goth angry teenager. I am not really sure what I was angry about. My mother provided a damn good life for me. Maybe I was mad because I liked fishnets and leather and happy goths were unheard of in the 90s. My mother was always the definition of classy. She had a grand sense of humor, but she was always just a classy dame. She dressed well and carried herself with this southern Steel Magnolia manner that you just loved her. And beside her was this long hair, miniskirt and combat boots with a Marilyn Manson shirt and dark eyeliner pissed off because I like totally was hanging with my family that did everything for me and loved the crap out of me. Grrrr.

I was very OCD. I could travel up or down the east coast without using a public restroom no matter how clean they were- they were public, but I would demand and tantum to stay with friends that lived in filth. She couldn’t understand how I could do such. It was during these years, I learned to use the bathroom outside and I always carried tissues with me. (OCD, but hardcore.)

My mother dealt with me well. Better than most anyone could. The main time I remember seeing her southern scorn flame in full force is when anyone dared to mess with me. Be it a bully at school, a bad boyfriend or a holier than thou family member. I admit, I loved seeing that side of her- that mother instinct to protect me no matter how bad ass I thought I was. Funny thing, she is still the same now that I am grown.

I would say she thinks pretty highly of me considering I am well into my 30’s and those claws still come out with even the idea of someone hurting her baby.

Now, what does she think of me writing porn? First off, let us get clear on this. I do not write porn. There is not cheesy music or bad plots. I write around the theme of love. I do not believe in emotionless fornication. My first writings in erotica were written with a man I love dearly. I never hid this aspect from her. As a matter of fact she knew of the writing when it was nothing more than a possible idea. She read it and was highly impressed that this fella and I were so in tune, you could not tell the difference between the words each of us created. She became a fan of my erotic writing- a fan of his and a fan of us.

Yes, she is a bit more timid when it comes to the BDSM and the roles of Master and Submissive. Not that she judges my private choices, but my mother made sure she raised a dominant female and the thought of submission concerned her. She is my mother, that is understandable.

I recall leaving for a divine B&B to meet my former partner and I was supposed to call her when I got there to let her know I arrived safely. I was greeted at our suite door by a tall hunk of man with passion in his eyes and rope in his hand. It was wonderful. Much better than flowers. Some time into this adventure, my phone rang. I feared it was my mom, concerned that I had not made it, so bound to the bed, I insisted he check the phone. He ignored the call, as it was not from my mom- but I knew she would call anytime. I used my sweet eyes and had him dial my mother and hold the phone to my ear. I apologized for not calling her and explained as soon as I got to the room, I became tied up. She understood and went on to talk about things on television. I nodded along for a moment or two and then interrupted to explain to her that I was literally met at the door with rope and he was holding the phone to my ear since I could not move. She gasped and told me not to talk on the phone while doing such things. I told her I loved her and would talk to her soon. He hung up the phone for me and commented on how much more open southern women were than those he was used to. I am not sure all southerners are like that. Just the good ones.

Of course, being the mother that she is, the following weeks were filled with research on proper bondage and making sure I was aware that safe words should always exist and not be something commonly said during such interaction.

My mother is my source for bouncing around plot ideas and possible endings. My mom is the bouncer of my life and will quickly give her opinions on who is worthy of being a part of it and who is not. My mom knows I am anything but vanilla and I think she is proud to know that I have no issue not conforming. My mom is my support and she is my best friend. She is my fan and she is the only person that knows how to keep me in line. My mom is southern, sassy, classy, smart, and sexy. She is everything I thrive to be, only she is more of an old school southern belle as to my personality holds very little back. I am sure she is happy that I use my father’s last name to write the good and dirty, but she would support me even if I wrote under Lickety Dickety or Hickory Dickory. But thanks to her wonderfulness, and I did ask before coming out as an erotic writer, she was just fine with me owning my genetic name.

To wrap up this YAY MOM post, here are a few things I love about my mom:

*She used to wake me on school morning blaring oldies music and dancing at my door.

*I look just like her and I love it when people say so.

*She loves to cry. It doesn’t matter if it is a sad movie or something online about a soldier. She cries for love, for pain, for patriotism, for hope, for happiness. I have never been a crying sort. I pick on her for crying. But it shows how beautiful her heart is.

*She drinks coffee to the point that if I purchased stock, it would be in coffee.

*She cooks better than any southern woman you will ever know.

*She is strong and independent and nobody will ever change that.

*She learns and loves herself more each day and she has taught me to do the same.

Happy Mother’s Day to my mom- the surprisingly normal and beautiful, patriotic, God loving, Native American, hard working, bedroom eyes-having, strong, southern pearl that she is and inspires me to be. I love you.

 

Seven Dwarf Stories- Darling, the Submissive

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authorpromodwarfdaughtryAlas! My dear friends & followers, I am pleased to announce another notch on that publishing belt. If you follow me on twitter or facebook OR have personal conversations with me at all, you know I have been dying to see the final product of the newest 7DS BOOKS collaboration, Seven Dwarf Stories.

The concept of the book- the previously untold tales of each dwarf before Snow White & the diamond mine sucked me in the moment I heard of it. Dark adult short stories about these merry little folk. Well, sweetie, this is not your bubbly princess fairy tale collection. These dwarfs are bad to the bone. Think about it, seven dwarfs- one house- they must have been social outcasts for one reason or another. Ahhhhhhh. Yes. See.

My story, Darling, is the twisted tale of a quiet little fellow- but how did I give a dwarf a Kat Daughtry brand? Mmmmmhmmm. Darling is living his life, out and about, when out of nowhere, fate drops him to his knees with the sight of the one he calls Divine. You guessed it, little Darling is a submissive. An eager to please, quick to protect, natural born sub. He is collared and trained and loved by his sweet Divine. Of course, through in some true dark fantasy, some steam, a magic mirror and you have the tale of love, devotion, sacrifice and you learn how Darling may be the only hope of freeing a soul from a magic mirror for his sweet Divine. That is a mighty tall order for a dwarf to deliver. That’s all I give you. Just that tease.

7dwarfcoverI must say, this book, working hands on in a collaboration, building a world with other authors compared to the normal submission = accept/reject- the end- Has been a most enlightening experience. And speaking of working with other authors- I had the pleasure of working with some of the best Check out this collection and discover each dwarf as you have never imagined, but will never see in the same manner again thanks to the genius imaginations of A.T. Russell, Michelle Horst, Quincy J. Allen, Michelle Anderson Picarella, Dawn Jayne and Everett Powers.

Read it, share the word, and show author love- review it!

-Kat