Now Ingénue, Not Awake in A Sweet Unrest

Now appearing under a new title!  Awake in a Sweet Unrest was a working title that I grew used to. It turns out familiarity is not the best method to use when naming a novel. Especially when it is the book you have put your heart (not to mention your soul, tears, hopes, and self-worth) in to.

Ingénue, nouna naive girl or young woman, an innocent girl or young woman.

My sweet, naïve Sara. I actually used the word ingénue in the book I am currently writing, and it hit me like the proverbial ton of bricks! It was the title I had been searching for! The cover art quickly followed – and! I got to use my well-dressed man in sexy dishabille on the back cover of the paperback. When a thing falls so easily into place, you cannot possibly be wrong.

Now Ingénue, formerly Awake in A Sweet Unrest
Sexy, isn’t it?

So, my renamed, rebranded novel is Ingénue. A sexy title for a sexy story. I wish it had come to me when I first released the book, but better late than never. I am usually near infallible at naming correctly (children, pets, cars, etc.) so I don’t know why this eluded me for so long.

I have learned one thing – I will not release my next book until I am damn sure I have the right name!

$2.99 from Amazon!

The Stunning Wit of Dorothy Parker


I am in love with Dorothy Parker this week. I like to think she and I would have been great friends. It’s said she sharpened her tongue in the morning after brushing her teeth. She was a wise, witty woman. A bit ahead of her time, perhaps, but her words transcend such constructs.

Dorothy Parker on writing:

I can’t write five words but that I change seven.

If you have any young friends who aspire to become writers, the second greatest favor you can do them is to present them with copies of The Elements of Style. The first greatest, of course, is to shoot them now, while they’re happy.

I’m not a writer with a drinking problem, I’m a drinker with a writing problem

I’d like to have money. And I’d like to be a good writer. These two can come together, and I hope they will, but if that’s too adorable, I’d rather have money.

On sex:

Take me or leave me; or, as is the usual order of things, both.

Brevity is the soul of lingerie.

It’s a small apartment, I’ve barely enough room to lay my hat and a few friends.

Ducking for apples – change one letter and it’s the story of my life

On love:

Look at him, a rhinestone in the rough.

By the time you swear you are his, shivering and sighing, And he vows his passion is infinite and undying- Lady, make a note of this: One of you is lying.

On life:

I don’t care what is written about me so long as it isn’t true.

That would be a good thing for them to cut on my tombstone: Wherever she went, including here, it was against her better judgment.

The cure for boredom is curiosity. There is no cure for curiosity.

I shall stay the way I am because I do not give a damn.

And my all-time favorite:

The Allure of a One Night Stand


Sometimes you meet a guy, and there is an instant flash of desire. It is obvious when he feels it too. But, you’re just getting over a heartbreak, or your schedule does not permit time for dating, or you just do not want to be in a relationship right now. It doesn’t mean you don’t want sex! And here is this hot guy, right in front of you, making your thoughts wander, and your juices flow.

You have options. You can ignore his kissable lips, and the tight tug of desire you feel between your legs. You can flirt, and nothing more, satisfied simply by knowing you are still desirable. You can tease him (and yourself), and indulge in some heavy making out – in a secluded corner of whatever location you find yourselves in, or maybe even in your car. Any of these choices will surely lead to a satisfying encounter with your vibrator when you get home.

There is, however, another, better option: Invite him to your bed or accept an invitation to his. Get a hotel room if there is one close by. One night stands are so hot, so sexy, so satisfying! You are under no obligation to do anything except enjoy yourself. Sex without emotional and attachment expectations allows you to be free and open with your sexuality, and to be as little or as much of yourself as you

While mutual pleasure is the goal, there are no requirements when you hook up like this. Don’t feel like giving him a blowjob? Don’t. Want to be on top? Push him back on the bed and ride him to a mind blowing orgasm. Only keep in mind, that it is the same for him, so he may not go down on you, and he will want to take you from behind (don’t they always?), but it’s fine. This is not true love, the only commitment is pleasure. He’s not going start or end the evening by saying, “You never wear a garter,” because it isn’t a relevant statement.

When it’s over, send him home, or dress and leave. No need to worry about drooling while you sleep, nor be disturbed by snoring. No awkward morning moments worrying about smeared mascara, morning breath, or whether or not you pee too loud. On the other hand, you don’t really have to worry about any of that if you choose not to. If you both think it would be great to wake up together and do it again, by all means, go for it. You can even cook him breakfast before sending him on his way. If you want.

That’s the point. The liaison is a series of choices you make, with none of the compromise or considerations you have to make when navigating the dating, leading to a relationship path. Because really, who cares? The plan is to never see him again anyway.

Do not, under any circumstances, expect him to call you and ask you out to dinner. Think very carefully about how you respond if he asks for your number. Sometimes the sex is so good, and the euphoric afterglow is so pleasant, that your initial reaction is a desire to recreate the experience. Remember why you did this in the first place. The second you give him your phone number, you are creating an expectation. What if he doesn’t call you? What if, later in the day, you realize what you wanted is what you wanted – last night. You may well be completely happy to leave things just as they are.

It is not impossible to have a string of hot, sexy nights in the same vein, but there is risk involved. Preparing for such an encounter can begin to feel a lot like dating. The initial thrill was that there was no preparation – it just happened. These passionate moments cannot be orchestrated. Spontaneity is the key.

Everyone likes good sex! I’m not suggesting that you should rule out a repeat performance as a matter of course. Just be sure you both know what you expect / want / need out of any further meetings. At this point, there is an obligation – that you be honest with him, and with yourself, about what you are doing, thinking, and feeling. He needs to be forthcoming, as well.

Sometimes, one night of unbridled passion is exactly what you need. A lust filled connection, that leaves you smiling and feeling sexy is good for your ego. It’s probably good for his, too, but who cares? This was for you.

WARNING! One night stands are not for everyone. Some people need an emotional connection and/or a relationship to be comfortable getting naked and intimate. You want to feel good, happy and satisfied after the impromptu bout of hot sex with a stranger. If you think you would be uncomfortable, or think it would cause you any guilt or shame, don’t do it! There is absolutely nothing wrong with your vibrator.


Writer’s Block Cleared – The Words Are Flowing Once Again!

Oh my God! Finally! After six long months of writer’s block, the words have started to flow again! I don’t know if I was ignoring Claire and Aaron, or they were ignoring me, but we are reunited in blissful inspiration. It’s strange, and kind of sad, the way this monumental block was cleared. An unpleasant experience triggered some negative feelings in me. As I struggled to regain my equilibrium, Claire appeared clearly in my mind once again.

“Yes,” she whispered to me, “you know how I feel. Write it down.”


3000+ words poured through my fingertips last night! I am having trouble typing fast enough to keep up with the story as it is unfolding. I am excited to be writing again. I hope my surge of happy doesn’t negate the unhappy thoughts that provoked this flow of creativity. It would kind of suck to require melancholy throughout the writing of this book …

… Nope. Writing definitely makes me happy. The next chapter is being transcribed in my thoughts even as I type this blog post. Thank you, I guess, Pierce, for being such a disappointment.


Stormy Passion

The loud clap of thunder jolts me from my sleep. I look at the clock. 3 a.m. Too early to wake up. I turn in the bed, hugging a pillow, willing myself back to sleep. Another rumble, punctuated by a sharp crack informs me that slumber will elude me for now. I shift to my back, my eyes adjusting to the flashes of lightning illuminating the room like a strobe.

It is an intense storm.


You stir in your sleep at the next big burst, but you have always slept deeper than I. You sigh and push your head in the pillows as the lightning plays in the dark room. I listen to the rain whipping at the windows, and to your breathing, low and steady.

My attention has shifted now, from the storm to your warm body next to me. I can feel the electricity from the storm fill the air as I gaze at you sprawled naked on the bed. Gently, so as not to disturb you, I reach out to touch you, the heat that radiates from you makes my hand tingle as if there were a storm all it’s own between my fingertips and your supine body.

The tingle spreads, and I feel a familiar tug between my legs.

“Don’t be selfish,” I think to myself as I turn to face you, my hand moving to caress your shoulder. You stir again and reach for me, pulling me into your embrace. I slide closer to you, my arm curling around your neck as I push myself against you. I stop then, and remain still.

I will not wake you. It is enough that our naked bodies are entwined. I close my eyes as the storm continues, each flash of lightning intensifying my longing for you. I cannot help myself – I push my hips into yours, and I can feel that the storm has affected you too. Despite my good intentions, I slide my hand over your chest, then lower still, across your stomach. You catch your breath, and pull me to you, your face nuzzled in my hair, as your lips kiss my neck.

“I’m sorry …” I say, mustering what innocence I can. “The storm … Did I wake you?”

“It must have been the thunder,” you say, just before your lips claim mine.

Our passion rises with the intensity of the storm, and our kisses become more urgent. Familiar touch, we know each others bodies so well, but the storm adds an unexpected element of excitement, as if Mother Nature herself has devised the weather just so we will rediscover our deep passion, this very night. Breathing hard, you push me onto my back. Your beautiful, sleepy eyes, illuminated with each burst of lightning, gaze down at me.

“Yes!” I cry, as I open myself to you. The wind, the thunder, the sound of the rain beating on the windows, provide a symphony and rhythm for our lovemaking. You, and I, and the storm reach a simultaneous crescendo.

As the storm recedes, lying next to each other, languorous, hands clasped, I sigh contentedly in the dark. I turn my head and see, in the light of a distant lightning flash, your lips curved in a smile.

“That was quite a storm,” I say.

“I like thunderstorms,” you say, reaching out to pull me into a warm embrace. I snuggle against you, and feel sleep overcome me as I listen to your deep even breathing.

Deep and Moody, Sexy, Bad Boys

What is it about the bad boys? I’m not talking about the shallow, conceited fops that think they are all that. I’m talking about the dark, brooding type – the self-sufficient, doesn’t need you, or any woman, for that matter, type. The still water that you just know runs deep.


He’s brusque, he’s rough, and a gentleman in his own way. He’ll come over and help you prune your bushes when he sees you struggling on the ladder, but he’ll brush off your invite to stick around for a beer (and whatever) when the job is done. You’ll regretfully watch him retreat, sighing as he walks across your lawn, his firm ass hugged by his tight jeans, inviting a pat or a squeeze.

You see him shirtless, washing his car in the drive on Saturday, seemingly oblivious to the effect he has on you when you see his sweat covered back and broad shoulders glistening in the sun. He goes out for long solitary rides on his motorcycle, and you stare out your window as he leaves, watching him, longing to sit behind him and wrap your arms around his waist, and lean into him. When he mows the lawn wearing only his cut off shorts, well, that is just too much. You retreat to your bedroom and draw the curtains, overcome with lustful longing.

You make excuses to be out in the yard when you think you might catch him. Engaging him in conversation becomes an obsessive goal. You’re sure that if he will just open up to you, he’ll be warm, and sweet, and funny. If he just gets to know you, he’s bound to fall in love with you and sweep you off your feet. He is, you’re quite sure, the perfect guy under that gruff exterior. You bake cookies and bring them to him. The first time he smiles at you, you melt.

You imagine he’s been deeply hurt, and of course, that you can heal him. He just hasn’t met the right woman yet, you rationalize, somehow knowing that it’s you. He was raised by wolves, and simply doesn’t comprehend human social interaction. You fantasize that his wolf nature will overtake him one night, and he will ravage you and make you his own.

If you do manage to get through to him, you find that he is sweet and tender, and loves you better than anyone ever has before. And the sex is fantastic! Yet there is always a part of him that remains inaccessible to you. He can still become moody and withdrawn. It makes you crazy, knowing you will never be able to touch the part of him that drew you to him in the first place. Then the cloud passes, and his mood lifts. You wake up to see him smiling down at you in the sunlight, and all is well in your world.