Extra! Extra! Read All About It!!!

In August of this year, I woke up to a reality that said to me, “If you want it, you must do it.”  For as long as I can remember, all I have ever wanted was to be three things: a wife, a mother, and a writer.  I had achieved the first two so I realized that it was time to go for gold.  No more waiting.  No more worrying.  Just doing it. 

When I say that I woke up, I don’t mean that in the literal sense.  LOL. I mean that an epiphany struck from nowhere, stealing my breath and shaking me awake.  I didn’t want to spend my whole life not taking a chance on my dreams just to protect myself from the things that scared me.  It would be far worse to be the little old lady in a rocking chair on the front porch mumbling about the what-ifs.  Honestly, I was petrified.  This possible future scared me far more than taking the actual risk.

I don’t believe in regrets.  At all.  Nor do I believe in changing the past.  Life is a gift that we only get one shot at it.  It is for living – not in the past, but in the present.  After lots of soul searching, I accepted that this is the only thing that I knew for sure I would regret if I didn’t take the leap.  So, I jumped. 

Yesterday, I found out that my dreams are coming true.  My first story has been accepted for publication by Siren Publishing.  WOO-HOO!  (Sorry, I couldn't control myself.)  Right now, I have very few details because I have known for less than twenty-four hours, but I had to share the awesome news!  Hope everyone is having a good week.  I’m so excited for Thanksgiving.  It is shaping up to be the best holiday season ever!

-Mia

                        Just For Good Measure.  Wouldn't want you to miss out on a juicy picture.



Living A Love Story...

            In my blog today, I am going to deviate from the usual format.  No sarcasm.  No joking.  No whining, bitching, or moaning.  Today is about what I write about:  Love.  I will warn you right now that there is going to be sappiness and sentimentality in the following blog. 

            First, I think that I should give some background to my whole hopeless romanticism.  I am from a broken family.  My mother was ill for the first few years of my life, and my father was not supportive.  He didn’t do the things that a person should do for his/her partner.  He didn’t help her.  Or comfort her.  Or love her.  A year passed before my mother kicked him out of the house when he told her that he was going to work; but, in reality, he was visiting his mistress.  He ended up marrying that woman and having two children, but I didn’t see him anymore.  From the time he moved out until the day he died, I saw him less times than I could count on my hand.  But, I digress.

            My parent’s marriage had a profound effect on my views on love and marriage.  I had this one part of me that fantasized of falling in love, getting married, and having children.  I wanted the HEAs that I always read about.  But, and this is a big but, I didn’t believe that they existed.  All I knew was that marriages ended and kids got hurt.  Who would ever want to go through that?  This internal conflict was driving me insane.  My heart and my head couldn’t come to an agreement.  They were in constant discord.

            Then, I fell in love.  He snuck under my radar, never giving me a chance to realize what I was doing.  I didn’t think, I just felt.  Don’t misunderstand, it was a long, hard road.  After coming from what I did, I had anxiety attacks and mild freak outs.  I would attempt to push him away or cut myself off from him.  This came later, of course, when I realized that it was too late, and I had done the unthinkable.  Instead of giving me demands and ultimatums, he just gave me enough space to breath but never wavered.  He gave me what I needed even when I didn’t realize it.  To this day, he has an uncanny knack for reading me.  I don’t have to say a word or make a gesture.  He just knows.  He makes everything okay for me.  It is not that he fixes my problems or anything.  He is just there and that is all I need.

            His love transformed me in ways that I never knew existed.  For the first time, I wasn’t alone inside.  I wasn’t this person or that person.  I didn’t have to be what he wanted me to be because I was what he wanted.  Just like he was what I wanted.  Unconditional love is a beautiful thing.

After a decade together, I love him more than I thought was possible.  Our love grows every day.  Our friendship strengthens.  We grow together.  This is the kind of love I want to write about.  This is the kind of love that I want everyone to experience – whether in real life or in a book, movie, or song.  Obviously, I want people to have everlasting love in their daily lives.  But, if that isn’t working for them at the moment, I want them to experience it through any means necessary. 

To me, love is the most important thing in life.  The day I started breathing wasn’t the day I was born.  It was the moment that I realized I was in love.  I can remember every, single detail of that day.  That is how powerful it was for me. 

So, when I write, I don’t want my stories to be about mere lust or superficial love.  That isn’t something that interests me.  My stories are about people who fall in love – no matter the odds.  They aren’t perfect characters who lead perfect lives.  Love is messy.  Love is crazy.  Love is scary.  But, love is worth every damn thing.  One of my largest beliefs is that “Nothing worth anything in life comes easily.”  It just doesn’t.  Part of the whole business of love is bonding emotionally, spiritually, and physically.  If you face nothing but candy and roses, you aren’t going to connect on every level which is essential to everlasting love. 

My characters are flawed because we are all human.  There is no perfect person out there.  When you love, you love everything.  I don’t believe that a person who truly loves will say to themselves, “I love him/her unless _______.”  My hubby and I don’t always see eye to eye, but I wouldn’t change anything about him.  Ever.  He is the man I love and that is that.  My characters are the same way.  They accept the other person with their whole heart, not just the easy parts or the likable parts. 

I, also, write characters that don’t always pick the partner that would be expected of them.  My husband and I are polar opposites.  If someone had given me a pen and told me to write down what I wanted in a man, he wouldn’t have fit the picture on the surface.  Fundamentally, yes, we are a match.  But, I saw myself with someone very different, someone who had zero chance of making me happy.  He knows this and feels the exact same way.  It, in our opinions, makes our love that much more special.  Therefore, when I write, I let them follow their hearts.  When I first started writing, I talked and argued with them about who I thought they should be with.  In the end, one character really put the screws to me and made me see all kinds of things about the three characters that I never anticipated.  Now, I just don’t fight them.  I do question them so I can understand, but I do not waste my energy trying to force something that isn’t going to happen.  People don’t choose love.  Love chooses them.

The moral of this whole blog is that love is everything.  I can’t write a story that isn’t about love because I don’t want to be in a story like that.  I live a love story, and I hope you do.  Or will.  Or have.

-Mia

"True love is a wonder that has no end or beginning." - Unknown

"When we love, it isn't because the person's perfect, it's because we learn to see an imperfect person perfectly." - Unknown

“Love isn't blind, it just only sees what matters.” – Unknown

“Gravitation cannot be held responsible for people falling in love.” – Albert Einstein

In Honor Of My Hubby....



Never Forget: You Are Fucking Perfect!

This is one of my favorite songs in the world.  I wanted to share it with everyone because it goes hand in hand with what I discussed in my last post - loving and accepting yourself.  Enjoy, my friends!

To Masturbate or Not To Masturbate, That Was Not a Question!

“We know that more than seventy to eighty percent of women masturbate, and ninety percent of men masturbate, and the rest lie. – Joycelyn Elders

Okay, people.  It’s been a while since I have posted.  I know, I know.  Bad Mia.  I am going to have to work on it. 

Today’s post is going to touch on a very touchy subject.  Yes, that was intended to be a pun.  LOL.  Anyway, I think that masturbation is something that is very important to the overall health of a person (Before you ask, yes, I was told this by a person who is an expert on sexuality and health – both physical and mental!) People like to trash it, joke about it, or treat it like some dirty, little secret.  Well, you know what?  I have a secret that I must share with anyone who will listen:  PEOPLE MASTURBATE! IT FEELS GOOD! GET THE FUCK OVER IT!





Well, that was more than one secret, but you get the general idea.  I was raised in a home where masturbation was bad.  I don’t mean a little bad.  I mean Mia will get her ass whipped – and not in a good way, bad.  It was not discussed because it wasn’t done.  It doesn’t exist.  When it did come up, it was always, “Only horny teenage boys masturbate, Mia.” Or “You’ll go to hell if you masturbate.”  Or “It doesn’t feel good.” (That was my personal favorite)  Seriously, this BS was peddled to me – for years! 

“The only thing about masturbation to be ashamed of is doing it badly.” – Sigmund Freud

 

If you are told this crap for years, you will get a complex about masturbation.  You are not going to want to do it.  Well, at least, I got that way for a while.  I felt like someone was watching what I was doing and they were going to arrest me for being a “dirty” girl.  That is a major mood-kill.

As I grew older, I grew wiser.  What a novel concept!!!  I discovered that I do like to masturbate.  Let me rephrase that – I love to masturbate.  No one is watching me, and, if they are, I better give them one helluva show. Hehehe. 

 

So, what exactly is wrong with masturbation?  Why does it have such a negative connotation?  Why must society treat it like something so taboo?  I know a little about the taboo, and this is not it, people!  Move on.  If I want to touch myself, it’s no one’s business but mine (and anyone reading this post). 



“Don’t knock masturbation – it’s with someone I love.” –Woody Allen

I have no answer to a single one of these questions.  No clue.  I’m not even sure that I want to know because the answers are going to come from someone who is narrow-mind and will not listen to my thoughts or beliefs.  I will be the first person to have a deep, in-depth conversation with someone, but they must at least respect me enough to hear my side too.  Maybe that is what always bothered me in my household.  I was never given enough freedom or respect to explore who I am in every way.  Maybe that is why it is so liberating to be the way that I am, now.  Maybe that is why I’m such a pervert.  No, not that one.  This is inherent.  Just me.  Anywhoo, I’m getting off topic.

The point to this post, other than getting to rant and rave about something that pisses me off, is that no one should be ashamed of masturbation.  No one should be ashamed of anything about themselves.  You are who you are.  You are what you are.  No one can take that away from you.  Don’t let them. 

As I walk down this writing journey, I find myself more every day of my life.  Writing is something I love, but it has transformed.  It is about me loving me.  It is about me accepting me.  This is mine.  Period.  Exclamation point.  That’s all she wrote. 

Don’t misunderstand me, once I have completed a story (and hopefully published it), it is no longer just about me.  I won’t claim that I don’t want to share it with all of you and anyone else who wants to read it; however, when I’m going through the actual process of writing, my focus is on being true to the characters and to myself. 

So, in essence, masturbation is symbolic.  I guess.  When I’m involved in self-pleasure, it is about me (and the luscious fantasies in my head).  The moment that I’m done, it is about sharing the wealth.  Don’t be dirty, people!  LOL.  I’m referring to the fact that masturbation does have a drastic effect on my mood which affects people around me.  Wow, this is a bad analogy.  I’m just going to shut up before I dig my hole any deeper.  Anyone got a shovel?  Oh, good! There is one.

I am going to wrap this up, my friends.  Hopefully, everyone is having a great Thursday night.  If not, I am going to throw in something gratuitous in honor of an upcoming movie.  Here we go, Kellan Lutz in all his glory:



 Love,

-Mia

“Play with yourselves.  Play with each other.  Just don’t play with the squirrels, they bite.“ – Unknown

I couldn't resist.  This is very appropriate. :)

(For Good Measure)



You might be a pervert if…Hell, I am a pervert. No ifs, ands, or buts.

Today, while talking with my husband, I was struck by something.  Not an object, a thought! :) What makes a person a pervert?  How does society decide that Joe Blow is a perv, but Jane (“Won’t Blow”) Doe isn’t?  In this case, I would say the fact that Jane doesn’t blow eliminates her as a possible pervert candidate, but that is another debate for another day.  Seriously, though, is there some set criteria that people use to determine if a person is or is not a pervert?  Maybe, someone has a checklist or a quiz.  I know, it’s a multiple choice test like we all used to take in school! 

The whole thing was started when my husband was chatting with me about our broken lawn mower.  Yes, my perverted self went there.  Let me paint the picture for you.  We are driving down the road when my hubby starts telling me the pros and cons of building a motor for the old mower versus replacing the entire mower.  So, he starts talking in that male mumbo-jumbo that goes completely over my head.  I tuned him out (a little, anyway) because it was confusing.  Then, I hear the word shaft.  My attention now latches onto his key words.  They were: side shaft, bottom shaft, various sizes of the shaft, different orientations of the shaft, length matters in choosing a shaft, and pistons.  So, pistons might not be too perverted to some, but it always makes me think of other things… ;)  Anyway, he then says, “Finding a used motor that isn’t worn out is hard.”  I swear.  That is verbatim.  At this point, I am laughing so hard that my cheeks hurt and my eyes are watering.  Now, let me ask you this, how many people would be laughing hysterically about lawn mower motors?  I will not answer this in fear of incriminating myself further.

My husband didn’t help matters when he says, “Oh, that reminds me. I thought about you earlier.”  This never bodes well for me.  LOL.  He proceeds to tell me about how he had seen an article on the damage to the Washington Monument.  Apparently, some people had made some comments that he knew would amuse me.  Let me back up, though, I have been to D.C. several times.  Every, single time that I have visited, I always get excited to see the “giant phallus.”  Oops, I mean the Washington Monument.  Don’t get me wrong, I mean no disrespect.  AT ALL.  However, for some reason, I cannot seem to help myself.  I giggle and point when I am on the mall.  Most people are ohhhing and ahhhing over the Smithsonian or the Capital Building or the White House or some place like that.  Me?  I am giddy because I get to see a larger-than-life phallus.  That makes me a pervert.  Well, that is one thing that makes me a pervert.  I won’t even begin to go into every reason that I am a pervert.  It would take days. :)  Back to the story, the comments were what some might consider risqué.   One person was discussing how if they rubbed the monument and played with it, it would probably stay up.  This was my personal favorite.  Of course, there were several more comments following this one, but they are pretty much irrelevant to my point which is that my husband read something that could be construed as mildly perverse (yeah, I only classify this as mild on my pervert-o-meter. I could come up with something far more entertaining. Please excuse the pun.  I digress…) and he is like, “I have to tell Mia about this! She is going to laugh her ass off.”  Not the most common reaction for a man to make about his wife.  Of course, he was right on the money. :)

I really began to think about the things that make a person dirty-minded.  Is it the things we say? Or hear? Or see? Let me tell you, I think it is all three.  When I am floating around in my little Mia-bubble, I can find something naughty in lots of things.  It can be people, places, or things.  It can be in person, on tv, on the radio, in a movie, or in a book.  With the kind of books that I read and write, you are pretty much guaranteed a whole host of naughty things.  No wonder I love them so very much.

After we arrived home, I propped up my feet and turned on my handy-dandy laptop so that I could make a list of indications that you might be a pervert.  Like Jeff Foxworthy’s “You might be a redneck if…,” this is Mia Ashlinn’s “You might be a pervert if…”

1.     You might be a pervert if…talking about a lawn mower’s motor makes you think dirty thoughts.

2.    You might be a pervert if…the Washington Monument reminds you of an erect penis, a phallus, a dildo, or any other representation of the male anatomy.

3.    You might be a pervert if…you think of double penetration when someone refers to Dr. Pepper as DP.

4.    You might be a pervert if…you like to eat popcorn while watching porn.

5.    You might be a pervert if…you think of figging while examining a piece of ginger in the produce aisle of the local grocery store.

6.    You might be a pervert if…the clerk at the adult store near your house knows who you are.

7.    You might be a pervert if…you have a lengthy talk with said clerk about the pros and cons of more than 5 items in one visit to the adult store.

8.    You might be a pervert if…you think that tossing a salad is a slang term for “rimming.”

9.    You might be a pervert if…you prefer to use the term “fucking” in place of “sex” at least 90 percent of the time.

10. You might be a pervert if…you have a stash of “goodies” that would make most people blush.  The stash must include no less than 15 items.  Items can include the following: dildos, vibrators, rabbits, bullets, cock rings, strap-ons, clamps, whips/floggers/crops/paddles, anal plugs/beads, handcuffs, rope, blindfolds, gags, and lubes (the exotic one’s – not the generic kind).  Porn not included.

11. You might be a pervert if…you have enough porn dvds to fill a dvd case.

12. You might be a pervert if…you have more than five HD porn dvds. (Due to the expense of these videos, I am a wee bit lenient)

13. You might be a pervert if…you have PBTv on your television and you actually watch it on a regular basis.  This includes watching shows that are not entirely sex-based.  Some of these shows are funnier than most sitcoms…Oops, I guess you know that I meet this one. LOL.

14. You might be a pervert if…you have a stripper pole or a sex swing in your living room. (No, I do not have these in my living room. Thank you very much. I know what you are thinking!)

15. You might be a pervert if…you think a cocksicle tastes better than a popsicle.

16. You might be a pervert if…your favorite number is 69.

17. You might be a pervert if…you are reading this blog. ;)

Well, you get the general idea.  I came up with these in a short time period; therefore, I hope to add to them in the future.  If anyone has some suggestions, let me know.  I will be more than happy to add to the list.  Hell, I would be thrilled. :)

It is getting late, and I have an early morning so I will bid you adieu.  Sweet dreams, my friends.

-Mia

“Most girls blush at dirty scenes in a movie.  I laugh because I know that I can do it better.”  - Author Unknown

Do What You, What You Want...

                    (I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING. No Copyright Infringement Intended. All Rights Go to Owner.)

I did not intend to add anything else to my blog today (well, tonight); however, I stumbled upon this goodie.  I am a firm believer that songs can resonate within a person.  Well, this one resonates with me.  After my earlier post, I thought that this was very befitting to share with all of you.  I hope that you enjoy the song as much as I do.  :)

-Mia

"Hello, Hello, remember me?  I'm everything that you can't control."  -Evanescence, "What You Want"

Go home, douchebag. It's gonna be you and your hand tonight.

Over the weekend, I was writing this scene that required the use of a pickup line.  Since I am not a connoisseur in the arts of picking up a random stranger at a bar, I went surfing the web.  I was amazed by the number of lines that I found.  There were pages and pages filled with pickup lines from geeky to cheesy, funny to complimentary, disgusting to offensive, clean to dirty, and pretty much everything in between.  I spent several hours reading through as many of them as possible.  By the time I was done, my sides were aching from all the hysterical laughing and my cell phone was dead from all of the texts that I sent to my hubby.  

Of course, I found the line that I wanted and added into the scene.  However, by then, the damage was done.  I was fascinated.  My thoughts were racing with scenario after scenario.  Thoughts about who would be desperate enough to say these things?  What did they look like?  What were their lives like?  What kind of personality they had?  Likes?  Dislikes?  On the flip side, what about the receiver?  How would they respond?  Would it work?  Would it not?  What did they look like?  What were their personalities?  Likes?  Dislikes?  I guess it is a damn good thing that I like to write; otherwise, I would be fucked.  If I didn’t have somewhere to expel all my thoughts, I would probably…*shudders*…I am not even going to go there.

So, I thought that we might play a little game.  I am going to list some of my favorite lines, then I am going to respond from either my point-of-view or from one of my other personalities.  LOL.  Here we go:

 Scenario #1:

Man:  Do you take it up the ass?
Me:  Do you?
Man:  *blank look* Huh?
Me:  Do you take it up the ass?  It’s an easy question.  Yes or no?
Man:  *turns with his tail between his legs and runs*

OR (if my inner pervert is lucky)

Man:  Do you take it up the ass?
Me:  Do you?
Man:  Sure.
Me:  Lucky for you, I have my strap-on in my purse.  Your place or mine.

Scenario #2:

Man:  I wanna put my thingie in your thingie.
Me:  *laughs at him hysterically*
Man:  *annoyed look*
Me:  *batting my eyelashes innocently* What thingie?
Man:  You know, your thingie. *pointing toward my crotch*
Me:  I think that your thingie is referred to as one of the following:  cock, dick, pecker, willy, wing wang, dipstick, snake, one eyed monster, ding dong, peepee, joystick, magic stick, penis, rod, member, shaft, wood, sausage, meat stick, wonder wand, prick, weiner, ding aling, or weed wacker.  My thingie is known as one of the following:  vagina, pussy, kitty, punani, snatch, cunt, twat, coochie, cooter, va jay jay, hooha, honey pot, cho cha, muff, cock cave, cock pocket, cock magnet, cum milker, cum dumpster, and dick dungeon.  Do I need to continue or are we done with today’s vocab lesson?
Man:  Bitch…*storms off, muttering under his breath*
Me:  Just thought you should know the terminology.  If you can’t say it, you probably can’t use it! (I would make sure to be overheard.  Sometimes, a girl just doesn’t realize that she is speaking loud enough that others can hear! Hehehe.)

Scenario #3:

Man:  Hi, my name is milk.  I'll do your body good.
Me:  It’s just not your day.  I’m lactose intolerant.
Man: You’re what?
Me:  I am allergic to milk, dumbass!

Scenario #4:

Man:  I’ve got a pimple on my ass, wanna see it?
Me:  Sure, but first, you gotta check out my third leg. *reaches for the snap on my jeans*
Man: *runs like the hounds of hell are nipping at his feet*

Scenario #5:

Man:  Baby, you must be a broom because you just swept me off my feet.

Me:  I hope you brought a dust pan because I left mine at home.  Sorry.


Scenario #6:

Man:  I hope you know CPR because you took my breath away.

Me:  Oh, no!  I missed class that day.  I’ll go get help!!! *runs away and never returns* (I am a cold, cold bitch.  Gotta love it – unless you are lying on the floor, gasping for breath, due to my apparently deadly beauty.)

Scenario #7:

Man:  Do you wash your panties in Windex because I can really see myself in them?

Me:  Yeah, I love to wash my panties in Windex and bleach.  Wanna sniff?

I hope some of these scenarios put a smile on your face today.  I know they did mine.  If it didn’t rub you the right way, I won't keep you hanging.  This man should put a smile on your face and a hop in your step:

-Mia

 “There’s no such thing as good girls gone wrong, only bad girl’s found out.”  -Unknown

“When I’m good, I’m very, very good but when I’m bad, I’m better.”  -Mae West

Who Needs Conditional Love? Love Me for Me or Don’t Love Me At All.

    “It is better to be hated for what you are than to be loved for what you are not.” –Unknown

                In past posts, I have pulled out my soapbox and climbed on it to spout off about things that I feel are injustices by others.  I talk of how this person or that person judges me.  People like friends.  And neighbors.  And even acquaintances.  I talk about how I am who I am, and I don’t particularly give a fuck what people think about it.  I am not gonna change to please some asshole that I don’t give two cents about.  But, what happens when it is someone that I love?  How do I handle when the person who is shunning me is a member of my family?  Unfortunately, in my family, it is not one member but the whole lot of them.  Outside of my husband (and a daughter who loves me, but is not at the point in her life that she can understand certain aspects of my life), I have not one single member of my family who will support me.  No one.  That’s absurd.  Its pathetic, too.  A family is supposed to be loving and supportive.  What do you do when you don’t have that in your family?  How do you deal with the animosity that builds inside?  Its not like a person can just cut off their entire family.  Well, at least, not easily.

                Since I started writing a few weeks ago (really writing), I have been forced to hide everything from my family.  Most of them do not even know that I have started to write with intent.  In actual numbers, three people know.  None of those three know anything about my writing or any other details. Beyond that I am writing.  NOTHING AT ALL.  It is better for all parties involved that it remains this way. 

Everyone else in my family knows that I love to write.  I cannot hide that, and I wouldn’t want to.  However, I cannot share anything about the world I am immersing myself in. I don’t want for them to try to make me feel bad about who I am.  Not because they will succeed, but because they will only increase the tension between all of us.  They are not going to try to steal my dreams.  Not anymore.

I have this overbearing, controlling family.  They have never allowed me to be an adult.  In a week, I will celebrate another birthday, but no one seems to get it.  I understand that I will always be my mother’s baby, and I can deal with that if she wouldn’t treat me like some fucking moron who is incapable of pretty much anything.

In my whole life, I was always that girl.  The brownnoser.  The girl with the good grades.  The girl who was in all the school clubs.  The girl who never missed church and volunteered at every place she could.  I was the person who did what everyone said, was what everyone wanted.  It was the only way that I believed that I could get someone to like me.  My mother impressed upon me this obsession with being well-liked.  To a degree, it is normal to fit in.  However, my need grew into a compulsion.  I spent years having no clue who I was because I was whoever other people needed me to be when they needed me to be.  I was so many damn different things that I couldn’t have found myself with a map, a compass, and a GPS receiver.  Of course, this gave my family certain impressions about me and who I am.  Unfortunately, they cannot really look at me and see who I really am now.  They don’t know me.  They don’t want to.  To them, I am still that girl in high school, begging for the affection of others.  No brain.  No personality.  No dreams or ambitions.  Just a shell of a person.  A fucking robot. 

I hated that person then, and I hate it now. 

Luckily, I have had years to grow into myself and my skin.  I don’t need people to love me.  In fact, I don’t want people to love me when they don’t know me.  I love me and that is all that matters.  I am no longer that girl who hated herself so much that she wanted, and needed, others to care for her because she wasn’t strong enough to care for herself.

BUT (and this is a big but) – As I have grown stronger, my relationship with my family has grown weaker.  I generally don’t get along with them anymore which is very painful because I do love them.  However, I have become the kind of person that doesn’t need someone in her family to do everything for her.  Or tell her what to do.  Or how to live.  Hell, sometimes, I wonder who they think gets me dressed in the morning.  If I am the person that they think then it’s a bloody miracle that I can even survive in the big-bad-world. 

I have already had to face two problems:  1. If I tell them that I am writing then I will not be able to tell them if/when I get published because they would be horrified. Then, Mia is a failure.  2. If I tell them that I am writing and get published, I cannot tell them any details because (yet again) they would be horrified.  I shudder to think of the hell that they would rain down on me when I refused to divulge the information that they wanted.  I would probably have to go into the Witness Protection Program. 

So many other issues have popped up as well.  I have no one to turn to in my family.  I cannot call up my mother and say, “Hey, Mom!  Guess what I wrote today.  I wrote (BLANK).”  No, I have to keep it locked inside.  I have no one to bounce ideas off.  No one to read my stories.  No proofreaders or someone to just tweak it.  It is me, standing alone in the middle of the room, feeling stripped bare and alone.  Its scary. 

The problems have started escalating especially with my mother.  She knows that I am writing, but not much more.  Today, we had a very large argument.  This is VERY, VERY rare because I was also raised with the belief that my mother was always right and I was wrong.  She is the be-all-end-all about anything and everything.  I don’t believe these things anymore, but it is difficult to break old habits.  Now, I do try to be respectful as much as possible because she is still my mother; however, a girl can only take so much.  I am no saint.  Shocker, right?

During the argument, she told me how I was this mean, horrible person.  I am a bitch. I am going to Hell. Blah. Blah. Blah.  Most of this didn’t bother me.  I lost my temper, though, when she brought her negative beliefs about my writing out into the air.  The basic gist was that she hoped that it never got out what I wrote or that I even got published.  I think she generally refers to it as “THAT” stuff which is ironic since she doesn’t exactly know what I write.  She has some inkling, but that is about it.  No denials. No confirmations.  I understand that Erotic Romances are not exactly acceptable where I live especially ménages, BDSM, and M/M or F/F stuff, but I cannot live a life that pleases everyone but me.  Those are what I want to write.  Its what I love, my passion.  My mom chose to pull out the big guns.  According to her, if it gets out who I am and what I write, then my husband and child will suffer – not me.  I don’t work or go to school.  I can hide from the fucking world.  People will taunt and torture my daughter.  They will shun my husband.  What if they try to fire him?  She seriously believes this horseshit.  I am apparently being very selfish.  She then moved to the “Mia is going to Hell” portion of the conversation and it just spiraled from there.  Who would say these things to their child?  I sure as hell would never want to crush my child’s dream even if it was not something that I agreed with.

The thing that struck me is that the woman who that gave birth to me actually doesn’t love me for me.  She loves me, yes, but with conditions.  I don’t believe in love being on conditions.  If you must place restrictions on your love for me, then you can damn well keep it.  I don’t want it. 

Now, I am in the midst of something huge within my family since I don’t generally put my foot down.  I think that my mother was actually trying to manipulate me into backing off or even quitting.  She is notorious for her passive-aggressive nature with guilt trips as an added bonus.  I can generally deal with this because I love her, but I am so tired of not being able to show who I am, tired of being the bitch in the family.  I can’t live my life the way they want, and they are going to hate me for it.  I feel lost at sea.  I know that if I pursue this dream of mine there is a large chance that I will lose my mother (and in extension the rest of my family).

Do you know what the worst part is?  I know that I am not going to stop doing what I love.  I can’t.  I won’t.  Damn the consequences.  This may make me the bitch that my mother called me, but at least I will be one happy bitch. :)

I hope that you have read this entire post, but I understand if you haven’t.  It is way long – even for me.  I just needed to vent somewhere.  So, thank to those who did let me cry on their virtual shoulder.  As a reward, I will try to post something a little more upbeat today or tomorrow.  My pity party is receding and is about to be replaced by filty, feisty, frisky Mia.  Look out world!

-Mia

“Don’t let anyone steal your dream.  Its your dream, not theirs.”  -Dan Zadra

 “When you cease to dream, you cease to live.”  -Malcolm Forbes

“Don’t try to fix me, I’m not broken.”  -Unknown

 “People think I’m crazy, but actually, I’m just bored.”  -Unknown

 “Nothing risqué, nothing gained.”  -Alexander Woolcott.