Many have asked me to carry the Vamp Chronicles series past my planned 7 books. While I always leave doors open, I have to admit that it’s a pretty solid decision on my part not to go beyond that number.

Some would, and have, asked why. From a business standpoint, why wouldn’t one want to cash in on something that is providing a decent paycheck, right? Well, the truth is, this isn’t a business decision that I’m making. It’s a personal one.

I have read many series that I initially fell in love with, but that have quickly lost steam; series that enraptured me only to fall flat right when I was maximumly invested. I make a point not to drag authors’ names or titles into what I post. I try to categorize books that I dislike privately, books that disappoint, as creative differences, not 1-star review worthy. I’m a writer as well. I know what goes into writing a book. I know the hours behind the final product; I understand the blood, sweat and tears, no matter how dismal I believe their end result to be.

With that being said though, in order to make my point, I must bring in a title and a name. I want to apologize to the author ahead of time as I don’t mean to offend her, shred her work or disregard the amazingness that she’s accomplished. Admittedly, I aspire to accomplish all she has.

For those of you who don’t know, I love True Blood. Before True Blood though, I enjoyed the Sookie Stackhouse series. That is a series that I was captivated by in the beginning, but, around book 5, it started to fade for me. (I won’t get into the reasons why, as this is merely my opinion and doesn’t contribute to my example usage.) I held in with the series, but started waiting longer and longer to purchase the books because they are usually higher priced in the beginning. When I found out that the final book was going to be released in the series, Dead Ever After, I rushed to finish the last few in time to purchase it. For a series that seemed to drag on so long, this was a big deal for me. In truth though, this book was my worst nightmare realized. This book was my very reason for ending the Vamp Chronicles at book 7.

I was disappointed. In many ways, the book didn’t even have the same “feel” as the previous ones. Characters were out of character, and it wasn’t entirely because they had been through something traumatic. It was, I’m sad to say, the author. And as much as I desire her success, I don’t desire her final product.

What went wrong? I feel like what went wrong for Charlaine Harris is what I’m facing now with Mel: mute characters. She had one thing that I didn’t though, one major differentiating factor: a publisher with a hard deadline. Dead Ever After reads, from my writer perspective, as a writer writing what she wants, rather than what the characters actually devised. If I had to guess, I would say that Charlaine Harris wrote the book under a deadline with no grace period, and sadly, no cooperating characters either.

Vigilante and The Break of Dawn are running behind because my characters aren’t talking as often. One of the perks of being an Indie Author though is I don’t have a publisher breathing down my neck with an ironclad contract saying make them talk or lose a big paycheck. So, I’m taking my time with them. I’m not pushing for something to happen. That’s how I’ve always written and always will. If I ever signed a contract with a publisher (again), I would ensure that the book was written, almost finished, or ensure I had a very nice cushion before the agreed upon completion date for any of my work. I value my readers, and I feel like offering you anything less than the best, than the truth, the true story from the characters, would be me failing you; I would feel like a sham, like a theif, a deceitful hypocrit. Anything that I release to the public, I make sure it feels right from beginning to end. I have several books that I’ve written and completed, but never published because I didn’t feel that they were “finished,” that they were told the way the character(s) intended. In the end, that makes me a slow author, but a genuine one. It will never be about the paycheck for me. I won’t sacrifice my soul, my conscience, for the almighty dollar at any point.

The truth? I feel like the Sookie Stackhouse series was meant to be a 5-6 book series, not a 13 book one. I feel like certain story lines were dragged out, some were far-fetched, even for a fantasy series, and others had a lot more potential. I feel like the author grew tired, possibly even bored with the series, at certain points. I feel like the author was no longer vested in certain characters the way she was in the beginning. This series sadly became what I fear the most for mine if I push beyond 7. (If I end up not writing Mel’s book, as in, she refuses to cooperate, then beyond 6.) I don’t want readers to read my series out of obligation. I don’t want readers to read my series because they feel like they owe it to the characters to at least see what happens to them in the end. I don’t want readers to walk away disappointed because I dragged the character’s journey out, fabricated their experiences or took it one step too far. In truth, I don’t think the characters do either. The truth? Sadly, I have come to enjoy the show more than the series, which is odd for me. Most of the time, I enjoy the book(s) more than the movie(s) or TV show(s).

This is merely my opinion though. It’s one of the examples behind my reasoning.

So why will I not be carrying the Vamp Chronicles series beyond my planned amount of books?
1.   I don’t want to overstay my welcome.
2.   I don’t want to reach a point where I can no longer connect with my characters.
3.   I don’t want to end the series on a low in desperation to put something out.
4.   I don’t want my books to drag.
5.   I don’t want to ever reach a point where I hate a character.
6.   I don’t want my books to lose their emotional edge.
7.   I refuse to publish something that doesn’t feel organic to me. From the beginning, I have always said it would be a 7 book series. Compared to some series, that is a lot. It is what has always felt right to me, from the input of the characters.
8.   I refuse to publish fluff. Any book beyond the seventh would be a short story because all of my characters’ story lines (barring Mel cooperates) will be rounded out by then, or at least showcased well enough for the reader to feel satisfied with it.
9.   I refuse to do anything simply for the money. I could throw more series out there to prove my point with this one, but some books just shouldn’t be published. Some series should stop while they’re ahead…
10. I feel like stopping at book 7 would be me stopping while I’m ahead. I feel like readers will have had a complete journey with my main characters by the end of book 7. I feel like my writing journey with them will be complete at book 7. I’m not God. I’m not a god. I don’t know what the future holds. I only know what feels right in this moment. And, in this moment, after reading Dead Ever After, I feel like pushing beyond that number would produce the same emotions that book elicited in me in many of my readers. I wouldn’t wish that upon you.
11. But, most importantly, I wouldn’t wish that upon my characters. There is nothing more detrimental to the integrity of a character than to dishonor them, than to disregard their demeanor, their intent. There is nothing more sorrowful as a reader than to read the demise of a character, than to read something you wish you hadn’t – something that spoils the character and all you regarded them as until that point.
12. I don’t want my worst nightmare to be realized. While I’m not opposed to picking up where I left off in a series I thought ended, it will only be at the insistence, the pestering, of the characters. While I’m not opposed to a spin-off series, my experience with other authors and even TV series is: the original is always the best, and what person in their right mind would want to compete with themself like that? So, while I’m not saying a hard no, I am saying a hard I don’t plan to.

I hope you all can respect that. And if you can’t, I’m sorry, but I’m not willing to sacrifice my conscience or my characters to appease you.

There are two of my adult books, well, a short and a novel, that has received some harsh feedback. (Don’t worry. I wasn’t lying when I said that I don’t read reviews.) These books have garnered e-mails and messages directly to me with said feedback. The negativity was to a point where I considered pulling the books. Controlled Instincts was said to be too short with too many questions left unanswered and Two Times the Charm was said to be too long with too many flash backs and not enough to keep it moving while “revolving around a whining, pathetic main character.” (Yes, that is a quote from one reader, grammatical error included.)

I combed over the books several times after receiving those messages. Seeing the lower star ratings beside the books had me obsessing over them at one point. In the end, I added one paragraph to Controlled Instincts and left Two Times the Charm exactly as it was.

Controlled Instincts was meant to be a short. It is meant to read like a fantasy. What if I really did let loose just once? It is what it was meant to be: a quick, satisfying daydream of sorts.

Two Times the Charm is what it is meant to be: a genuine journey that anyone who has been through domestic violence, or who is open minded enough to allow themselves to experience the true repercussions one who suffers from it, experiences. This isn’t a light read. DV isn’t a light journey. There are days when all you have are flashbacks. There are days when you beat yourself up, wondering why you stayed, why you put yourself through that, why, why, why… This book is a book of truth. Anyone looking for a light, easy read, will be disappointed. And I think, perhaps, because of the other books in the Alpha Doms series, many were disappointed; Two Times the Charm took an abrupt righthand turn. It is part of a series that, until then, had been quick, light reads with some supernatural sexy. Perhaps it was my fault for not making the book a standalone, but, after scouring it from beginning to end many times, I’m confident that there is nothing wrong with the story itself, and there is nothing wrong with the characters.

In the end, I stand behind what I release. I’ve always stood behind what I release. And I feel like if I pushed for anything more than 7 books in the Vamp Chronicles series, that I would reach a point of regret. And no writer ever wants to regret a book. (For what it’s worth, I’m sorry to say that I feel like Charlaine Harris will probably look back with regret at some of her literary choices with the Sookie Stackhouse series…) Once a book is released, even if you pull it, the book is out there. Some things are permanent. The last thing I want is for my nightmare to have staying power.

I appreciate all of your enthusiasm over the series and my books. I can’t tell you how excited I get, how my heart flutters, when I receive your messages, comments and e-mails saying such. It is because of your investment in the characters that I stand behind my answer, and I want to thank you all for that.

And now I’m stepping off my soap box. lol
I hope you all have a wonderful evening!
Much love,
~ Christin

Hey everyone,

I just wanted to drop in and let all you Kobo users know that the entire Vamp Chronicles series (until Reflections) and the Future Alphas series is now available on http://www.kobobooks.com in all territories. I will be uploading my adult titles in the next week or so.

I hope you enjoy them!

Have a great day!
~ Christin

So, as many of you know, I’m a pantser, not a planner. I write as it comes. I don’t outline, synopsis, draft 1, 2, – 1,000,000, etcetera. I simply write. I allow my characters to write their own fates. Anytime I’ve gone in trying to plan or map something out, my characters turn it on its head and completely crush it. So while, I have a general idea going in, it’s often so far from my launching point that I don’t even bother writing blurbs until the end. It’s why things seem so last minute with me…because they are. Because my characters have proven themselves unpredictable.

As you all know, some of my most unpredictable characters are in the Vamp Chronicles. I’ve been writing book 6 & book 7 at the same time, piece by piece, scene by scene. While, again, I have a general idea of where the books are supposed to go, what is supposed (in my head) to happen, my characters are totally kicking, screaming and fighting me on this. In fact, Mel has totally stopped talking. (She’s always been a little stubborn…) But, as she went silent, a new development completely knocked the breath out of me: I wrote the ending to the series.

Dear, sweet mother of all things holy…I balled my eyes out. I did NOT see this coming. How do they do it? I’m the author. I’m supposed to be the one in control. I’m not supposed to be surprised. I’m not supposed to be hacking up a lung and trying to breathe between sobs. It was so unfair. I thought having “writer’s block” with a stubborn Mel was bad, but having the words flow the way they did, the way they are, was almost worse. Because…how do you write everything that comes before the end, when you know the end is going to completely overshadow whatever you put down?

However you can, I suppose.

So, that’s what I’ll be doing. Working on working…between coughing and praying for my ears to finally pop.

Have a great day!
~ Christin

Somehow, in the last year or so, I’ve become a major fashion whore. Despite working at home – where no one ever sees me – unless you count fish, a pair of parakeets and an ugly, yet somehow super cute dog (pictured above) – I’ve become more and more obsessed with shopping. Don’t get me wrong. I’m can’t afford big benders, but I look. Boy, do I look.

Online shopping has been my vice lately. More so, being a plus size girl who feels limited by Lane Bryant and Torrid in the US, I’ve branched out and looked at several UK based companies, like Asos and SimplyBe (love their stuff!) If I didn’t have three children and a sense of responsibility, my wardrobe would be amazing, regardless of my size.

Most recently, I discovered that I’m slowly but surely becoming obsessed with shoes. While I would kill for a pair of red-bottomed Louboutins, or sexy yellow pumps from Saint Laurent, they are WAY out of my budget. So, I’ve been browsing places like Just Fab, where when you snag the shoes during a B1G1 promo deal, you’re paying $20 for some super nice shoes.

Beyond mentally shopping online – I say mentally because while I’ve created a wish list almost everywhere, I’ve splurged on all of 2 pairs of B1G1 shoes from Just Fab and 2 clearance jeans that I’ve been dying to arrive from SimplyBe for over a week… – I’ve been looking into body wraps and detoxes. Don’t get me wrong. I’m comfortable with my excess sexiness, but I’ve been getting sick so often lately, plus all the meds and traveling, I’m feeling like I need a cleanse of some sort. There is no point in loving your body the way it is unless you feel good loving it. And I don’t feel so hot lately.

So, while lying in bed, being supervised by my adorably ugly pooch, I’ve been reading reviews, bumping through some rather humorous sites with horror stories on body wraps and cleanses. (Here is a link to one of my faves...though she’s not plus size.) While reading those entertaining bits, I came across a place that does body wraps and spray tans, because apparently when you lose inches, you want to top it off with a spray tan to emphasize your new now-toned physique.

In case you didn’t know, I’m a white girl. I’m not talking Caucasian white; I’m talking my-legs-could-pass-as-ghosts white. As a result, every lump of cottage cheese shows. I’ve gotten used to it. But lately, I have been thinking more and more about a spray tan. (The machine one, not the one where you have to strip and show some poor stranger your personal bits.) It is true that they do make you look thinner and more toned somehow…

That got me thinking about Plus Size models. Every plus size model I’ve seen is miraculously plus size and toned. They have curves but flat, never-been-preggo bellies and thick thighs that are smoother than a baby’s bottom. And, somehow, I have to envision every outfit the model fashions on real me, who definitely doesn’t have a flat tummy, has more hip than Texas and nothing sleek about her. Top it off with the fact that I have whale arms (most shirts that fit my bust, waist and hips are tight on my arms) and there is something slightly depressing about shopping online. It doesn’t stop the rush of adrenaline from clicking the ‘Add to Wish List’ or, even better, the ‘Check Out’ button. Coincidentally, it also doesn’t prevent allegations brought against you if you so happen to stalk your mailman…

So, what have I learned in my week of sickness? That if I had Ivanka Trump’s bank account, I’d be a plus size fashion queen with a closet full of shoes and a perpetual spray tan. While on one hand I want to rejoice in my fatshionista attitude, on the other hand, I open my closet and get royally depressed at the dim selection. I own a handful of Capri sweats, a good 10 pair of Forever 21 plus leggings – the cheap ones, and a gazillion tanks, most of which I’ve owned since I was pregnant the last time, and a handful of maxi skirts. I have a set set of silver jewelry to wear and a set set of gold jewelry to wear; one purse for brown based outfits and one for black based outfits. I’m really rather boring, though I’ve ensured my boring is still flattering. And while I dream of walking around in sexy high heels, the truth is, I’m not cut out for them. My feet start screaming 60 seconds in. So, alas, I have the basic borings with… flip-flops. When I receive my shoes from Just Fab though, I’ll have some cute flat sandals instead of basic brown flip-flops. (Where is that mailman?)

Progress! It’s all about progress. And I’m optimistic that one day I’ll be the fatshionista I envision myself to be. Until then, don’t be surprised when you see me in sweats, leggings or a maxi skirt and a tank… Because as much as I hate my arms, it’s just too darn hot to cover them up! I’m in Florida after all…

I hope you’re keeping cool, wherever you are.
~ Christin

I am back from Texas, but sick…still…again. It seems like I am always sick these days. The flights back from Texas were so unbearable on my ears that I couldn’t sleep when I got home. I rocked on my bed until the walk-in clinic opened. Turns out I have a double ear infection in both ears and a cold. I was promptly given prescriptions and sent on my way to rest the remainder of this week, as my balance, equilibrium, will be off for a while.

I don’t know about you, but I haven’t met anyone who feels sexy when they’re sick. Lying in bed in pajama pants and a tank at times, a hoody at others, as I cuddle a box of Kleenex tissues and force myself to stay hydrated is not my idea of fun. The fact that I’m shivering sometimes and sweating at others only amplifies my ick factor and makes me feel worse. Make-up is the last thing on my mind, though it would cover my Rudolph nose…temporarily, and my hair, despite getting a make-over, is in a permanent pony tail as long as a z-pack is my friend.

BTW, for those wondering, traveling when you’re sick isn’t a great traveling experience. Though I was taking medicine the entire time I was away, if you so much as sniffle, your fellow travelers will profile you. Add to it the fact that I’m a plus size girl on a plane with rows and seats built for kids, and it’s a wonder why no one wanted to beside me unless forced. (I flew Southwest. Open seating policy.) I wasn’t offended though. I went through Kleenex and hand sanitizer like they were water. I turned my head and covered my mouth when I coughed, and merely smiled politely when others speculated over what germs I was spreading.

Did it make me uncomfortable? Heck yeah! It was embarrassing, but unchangeable. But that’s where it stopped.

I’ve been overweight most of my life. I noticeably started gaining weight after my parents passed away. (My dad when I was seven; my mom when I was eight.) I know to any psychoanalyst that was a trigger, as, according to most of them, fat people are not eating food, but rather eating their emotions.

That is not what I’m focused on though. I’m focused on the fact that I’ve spent most of my life in the husky, plus size, big women’s section of the store. I was there back in the late nineties when the section was small and matronly, and, ironically, didn’t even look good on the matronly. I was there when it consisted of two racks in the back corner of a store, you know, the place where anyone who dared tread back there beneath the flickering light was looked at like the evil stepchild who’d suddenly developed a contagious disease.

But I withstood the stares of disgust, the catty phrases teen girls said in passing loud enough for me to hear on purpose; I ventured into cobweb ridden territories with hope, with innocent social aspirations, because I wanted stylish clothes. I wanted to ‘fit in.’ Beyond looking good, I wanted what everyone wants: to FEEL good.

That seemed impossible though, insurmountable, especially when my own (adoptive) parent seemed to perpetuate the stigma.

Every day, I heard that I was a fat, lazy –curse word-, that I wasn’t good enough, that I needed to lose weight. Every day, I was put down, and, most of the time, my size was attached to the insult. So I did what everyone does at some point: I hit a wall, I shut down; I gave up. I didn’t have the confidence I do now; I couldn’t find clothes that were affordable or fashionable for my size and I had a mother figure who never deemed me good enough. If my own parent said I wasn’t good enough, and parents are supposed to be biased, then I wouldn’t be good enough for anyone, I thought.

So I hid my curves in oversized t-shirts and ill-fitting pants. I met my children’s father in my only pair of jeans at the time, that I was outgrowing but couldn’t afford to purchase a size up in, and a supersized, red, Aeropostale hoody – from the men’s section mind you.

Essentially, I’d been told by the fashion industry that fat people didn’t deserve to look good, that I ought to be ashamed of my body and hide it beneath an unflattering, navy blue, Amish style dress. My family re-enforced the silent message by commenting on what I ate between verbal blasts from my grandmother (my adopted mother) and sister. Society pounded the same message into my head, deeming me unfit for social integration into the popular, mainstream crowd. I was an outcast. I was told I would never be good enough simply because of my size.

It didn’t matter that I was smart. It didn’t matter that I was a talented artist taking an honors course no sophomore had ever taken. Nothing beyond my shell mattered, and the fact that my shell was being smothered in blankets rather than draped with class multiplied their ammo.

Fast forward a decade and plus size clothing companies with fashionable offerings are bursting from crevices around the globe. Fatshionistas, as they’re called, are rocking the runways beside their thinner counterparts, working the hell out of the latest trends. What did it take for that to happen? Confidence.

It took a team of confident, headstrong women demanding equality over their unified passion to make it happen. It took determined, curvy pioneers willing to make their own clothes before sharing them; it took persistent, plus size divas who rejected the rejecters to make this happen. Shadowing the details, the one bold adjective that surrounds every single person who turned the fashion world on its head is CONFIDENT.

Fashion and confidence go hand in hand.

Stand next to a standard runway model in massive, misfit clothes meant to hide your body and you will undoubtedly feel less than, undeserving in a way. It’s hard to defend your beauty when it’s hidden from the world.

Stand next to a model in a bright colored frock that highlights your assets, skims your excess sexiness elegantly, and is on target with the latest trends and I guarantee you would be able to hold your head high. It doesn’t mean insecurities won’t peg you, but when the playing field is even, then who is more beautiful becomes what beauty always was: subjective, and confidence becomes what it was always meant to be: a deep rooted enhancement.

I wish they had the clothes they do now back when I was in high school. I wish I had loved myself unconditionally back then. While I would still have scars, they wouldn’t run as deep.

Today, I am confident enough to say that I am what a medical chart deems obese, I weigh far more than my family is comfortable with, and I am, at times, embarrassed by my size. But the moment I dress my curves stylishly, my mood lifts and forgiveness returns. No, I’m not forgiving myself for being fat, because being fat is not a sin. I’m forgiving myself for momentarily becoming who all those plus size vixens had to fight past in order to dress me this way: a nonbeliever.

You have to believe that you are worthy of fashion in order to wear it. You have to trust that you are beautiful enough to wear fashion in order to rock it. You have to be courageous enough to try fashion in order to fall in love with it.

Fashion is a risk, a chance, a flurry of fabrics and styles meant to enhance one’s beauty, not dismiss it. To welcome fashion, regardless of your size, is to welcome confidence.

While, admittedly, I am a casual queen, I make sure I pick pieces that show off my curves rather than hide them. And, surprise! It turns out, dressing your curves up actually slims them down most of the time!

These days, I’m dressed in confidence, even when I’m wearing sweats. If I wear oversized pants, I’m rocking a fitted shirt or tank. If I’m wearing a loose, free-flowing top, you’ll find me donning leggings or skinny jeans to balance it out. I am always highlighting my curves these days in some way. Yes, I have days when I feel like a fat blob, like today; ironically, when I force myself to dress nice on those days though, I tend to feel better.

Investing in fashion is investing in yourself. Embracing flattering fashion is embracing confidence. You can’t hate your body and dress it beautifully at the same time. Somewhere in your conscious mind, you must admit that your body is deserving of that silky fabric swaddling it, that you are worthy of the hippest trends that work for you, whether the popular crowd says so or not.

Don’t take for granted what is available to you. Had I been given the chance to dress myself in confidence at a young age, my life would be completely different. I would have learned to love myself much sooner, and realized that anyone not able to love ALL of me the same, my fat included, doesn’t deserve to be in my life, regardless of their kinship.

Those who have something negative to say about my figure often have issues with their own. For bigger women snarking on ‘Skinny Minnies’, jealousy often runs deep. For my thinner counterparts with a quick cut, I am often their biggest fear in form.

Believe it or not, I’ve found a pattern in how I respond to them based on what I’m wearing. When I hide my body beneath huge clothes, I tend to cower as my mood plummets; I give their words power over me. I gave my grandmother’s and sister’s words power over me. 

When I’m dressed in clothes that I feel confident, sexy and beautiful in, while their words can sting a bit, I’m more likely to stand up for myself; I don’t treat their words like the veil being lifted before the public, but rather dismiss their words as a personal issue, not my own. For when you embrace fashion, embrace fashion around your curves, you embrace confidence. And I don’t know about you, but I’ve never met a woman who wanted to dress themselves in doubt, clothe themselves in shame or cloak themselves in insecurity. Regardless of your size, you should wake up each morning and dress yourself in confidence; I’ve learned to never leave home without it.

So, all you people who traveled with me on those four flights I took, sorry you were exposed to my germs. But that’s where it stops. I’m a curvy girl who dressed super cute on the flights and accessorized perfectly. I couldn’t smell myself, but I was dolloped in Bodycology’s gardenia lotion, which I adore the scent of, and therefore know I had no foul odors wafting forth. My extra wide birthing hips miraculously fit in my tiny plane seat and didn’t spill over into anyone else’s space, though my plump thighs ached at the end of each flight from being forced to squish together when they wanted a wider stance. I will never apologize for being who I am, the size I am, the way I am because I’ve learned to love myself. And on those days when I feel less than confident, I know I can dress myself beautiful again. When my nose clears, my ears stop hearing through a bubble tunnel, and my cough doesn’t make me sound like a chain smoker, when I’m ready to give up the tissues, the humidifier and the vicks vapor rub, and finish my prescriptions, I know that I can take a shower, put on something nice before I curl my hair and cover any traces of insomnia with make-up and instantly restore my confidence. And that level of security, that level of body acceptance, is priceless.

Have a fabulous night everyone! I’ll be in bed dreaming of sexy cowboys.
~ Christin

I know it’s been forever since I’ve written on here, at least it feels that way. My life has been incredibly hectic, or so it feels, and I know things will only continue to get more crazy as the school year ends and summer comes. (3 kids 24/7!!!)

So, what’s going on in my world? Edits! Formatting! …and more edits!

I am finally editing and re-formatting all of my e-books, starting with Amazon. Many of you, if you purchased the books via Amazon, will be receiving e-mails letting you know that updated versions of my books are available. For most of my books, I am merely editing and re-formatting them, however, Controlled Instincts got a few paragraphs added and Controlled Longings now has a complete epilogue inspired by Delphina from Delphina Reads too Much. (Thanks! Hugs!)

My goal is to finish these edits and formats before I leave for Dallas, TX at the crack of dawn on Friday. I’m realistic though and know this may not be possible. If not, I will continue once I return. In the end, I want all of the books to feel cohesive and fluent. Plus, on the first 2 Vamp Chronicles books, I’ve been aware of many grammatical issues that need to be flooded out.

Periodically, I’ve been writing, but admittedly, I haven’t been consistent. Between doc appointments, teacher meetings, school plays, and much more, I’ve been pulled in too many directions to focus studiously. I’m hoping getting away for a few days will help me re-group a bit.

Getting away is always nice. This will be the closest I’ve come to taking a vacation. I’ve never gone some place to merely relax and enjoy the local. I’ve always gone to visit friends or family. While I’m doing that this time in Texas, it’s my best friend’s big 3-0 b-day, so we’ll be cutting loose. I will be a whole new woman, writer, mom etc. after Friday since we will be doing complete make-overs. Sometimes you need a fresh start.

Just like every other woman I know, I’ve fallen into a bit of a slump lately. I wear workout clothes the majority of the time and my hair has been in a permanent messy knot atop my head. I know once I’ve hit that point that I need to do something drastic. (Hello, shorter hair and good-bye capri sweats…um…maybe.)

Once I return from Texas and finish the formatting items, then I still need to upload my entire suite of books to Kobo. I’ve had a contract with them forever and still haven’t made it around to using it. In truth, I haven’t really wanted to partner with anyone new until my books were polished. And, once they are polished, happy news for Vamp Chronicles readers, paperback books will become available. I will be partnering with Amazon and Createspace to bring the paper backs to you. (Online orders only for now.)

Books I’m working on right now? Vigilante, Mel’s Story (VC 6), Controlled Fire (next in the Alpha Doms series), and The Dom Experience

To end things right, I figured I would do a cover reveal for Controlled Fire. It’s a flashy cover, but trust me, it’s perfect for this title. The heroine, Ember, is a spitfire who’s ready to take on her cocky alpha, Kane. I hope you like it!

And now, I think I’ve procrastinated long enough. It’s back to editing and formatting for me…

Have a great day everyone!
~ Christin

CONTROLLED FIRE

Coming Soon!

They say life isn’t measured by the number of breaths you take, but in the number of moments that take your breath away. What they fail to recognize is that both good and bad, positive and negative, can steal your breath; amazing beauty and devastating pain can equally claim your air, crush your lungs.

Some of you may have noticed that my book schedule has been steadily broadened, my releases pushed further and further apart. The simple response would be to say that life is getting in the way, but the truth is far more disturbing. While I easily admit my faults, while I crack open my shell and reveal personal facts on occasion, the reality is far more than I’ve been able to bare, more than I’m able to bear.

As a mother, you’re supposed to be a role model for your children. You strive for perfection because you want to offer them perfection. Ideally, they would have everything you didn’t growing up. In a perfect world, they would have no battle scars; in a perfect world, you can protect them from the harsh licks of life.

Regardless of your expertise, there are two things you can’t protect your children from: death and heartache.

My mother died when I was eight, the same age my daughter is now. The woman who stepped in and filled that maternal role in my life over ten years ago, my daughter’s grandmother, is losing her battle with cancer. She’s fought so hard over these past two years. She is the perfect role model for my children. She embodies strength. Her courage is medal worthy. Her positive persistence, her determined attitude to conquer everything thrown at her is eye opening, it’s sobering. She makes you realize how great you have it, yet she doesn’t complain about her lot. She simply accepts the new challenge for what it is: another chance to prove herself, to demonstrate what a powerful woman she is.

Admittedly, I don’t remember many details about my biological mother, but I remember everything about this woman. The similarities between the two though, run straight to my heart. I watched my own mother go from an independent, healthy woman to a harrowing skeleton. It’s been difficult seeing and conceding the parallels along the way with my daughter’s grandmother. It’s heartbreaking; it’s crushing to realize that there is nothing you can do. It’s humbling to realize that nothing you do will change fate.

All three of my children adore this woman. They have an undeniable, indescribable bond with her. In fact, they call her Mom 1, and I’m Mom 2, because she was born first. I can’t help but break down at the reality that the same heartache I experienced at my daughter’s exact age will likely be experienced by her. I can’t protect her from it.

It’s devastating to realize you can’t protect them. It’s heart wrenching, soul defeating to know you can’t stop the inevitable…

Holding tight to my own personal experiences, I’ve vowed to be a pillar of strength for my children. I cry in silence, in the darkness of night, so they never feel that they are burdening me or upsetting me by sharing their feelings, so I can be their fortress rather than a flimsy cover that lacks support and stability.

This is especially important with my oldest boy. Kaleb is autistic. I don’t like labels. To me, Kaleb is Kaleb; he is who he is, who he was meant to be. He’s so smart too. He sees so much. He is always the first to notice new scars and bruises on her. He was the first to announce that her hair and eyebrows were growing back after her brain radiation. He was so excited for her. He loved seeing her recover; he celebrated every milestone with her as if this was what you were naturally supposed to do, as if we all were supposed to do this. How do you explain to him that her hair isn’t coming back this time? How do you break his heart, muddle his brain with the idea that she is never coming back again potentially? With great difficulty is the answer, with a heavy heart is the reality.

And my youngest? He won’t even remember her. She will be but a faint shadow in his memories. He’ll only ever know what we tell him, what little photos convey. He probably won’t remember the way she hugged him, the way she cried when he was born because he came right at the moment that all this came. And that will be the association as my youngest ages: his life began when war was declared on hers.

Few recognize the strain the threat of loss puts on relationships. Few acknowledge the burden you accept to remain by someone’s side. Admittedly, many relationships in my life have been rocked and shaken. Openly, I’m failing in so many parts of my life right now. I’ve been rocked and shaken to the core by more than merely unavoidable fate.

I’ve been on an emotional, mental journey all my own throughout these last two years. I’ve had my ups and downs, my highs and lows. Some changes are harder to accept than others. Some fates are harder to accept than others. Some deaths, some illnesses, are harder to deal with than others.

We all experience weakness, but that doesn’t make us a weak person. We all experience pain, but that doesn’t mean we’re living in agony. We all experience loss, but that doesn’t mean we have nothing left.

Despite all I’ve gone through in life, despite my personal challenges and the fresh obstacles regularly presenting themselves, I’m incredibly blessed.

In the midst of all this, I can’t even begin to explain how much you, my readers, have meant to me. Because you bought my books, I was able to make all her dreams come true, before it was too late. Because you bought my books, I’ve been given invaluable time, priceless flexibility during such an unstable time.

I’ll be relying on you all now more than ever though. As of Wednesday, she will be doing two different chemos, with different injection sites, varying strengths, twice a week with the chance of radiation as well. Friday, I receive the results of my own tests.  Regardless of what the doctor tells me, it will be nothing compared to the harrowing diagnosis I received with her this past Friday. And that’s just it, as bad as we think we have it sometimes, there is always someone who has it worse. As hard as my life has been, it’s nothing compared to the life I could have been forced to live.

Knowing all too well how precious time is, being all too aware of the support my children will need as they watch what I did at their age, I am stepping away from work for a bit. I’m not saying I won’t write, because honestly, reading and writing are my salvation; they’re my spot of sunshine in the midst of the storm. Rather, what I’m doing is stepping away from expectations. I’m taking a step back from writing commitments.

Release dates? I couldn’t give you a solid answer for any title. Even if I spewed something out, who’s to say it wouldn’t change. While you all offer me a lot of stability that I’m ever so grateful for, there are too many variables, too many possibilities still right now. In the myriad of emotions that are passing through me, the last one I want to invite is disappointment. So please, don’t ask me for a release date. I’m overjoyed that you are anxious for a release. It means I did something right in the midst of pure chaos. But, the truth is, things have been far too much for me to bare, far too much for me to bear. There is so much more of me in my books than you realize. There is so much more going on than we ever truly share, and I’m no exception.

I will continue to keep you all updated on my writing progress. I promise to provide release dates as soon as I can. I promise to return and be the proper author that I ought to be as soon as I can. 

Thanks for everything.
~ Christin

…many of you have asked about this book’s release date, and I’m happy to say that I finally have one for you

Friday, April 12, 2013

The book should be available on Friday with most online retailers. As always though, iTunes typically takes longer to process, so please don’t expect it there. My books are always uploaded to iTunes at the same time as the other distributors, however their quality assurance process is quite extensive. I promise to let you all know when it does become available on iTunes though.

Sophie and Dominick’s story was a process to write. They took much longer than expected and their story was much longer than I anticipated, but I am pleased with the end result, and I hope all of you will be too

Mark your calendars, and enjoy!

*Just as a reminder, I still have a few more eye tests. The time I do have will be spent finalizing Curves & Courage to ensure it makes its release date.*

Thanks for your patience and understanding, with everything!
~ Christin

Hey Everyone,

I just wanted to remind you all that I am on, and will continue to be on, limited comp time through this Wednesday. I have been having a lot of eye tests done that are strenuous and also limit my vision at times. I know quite a few of you have messaged me and commented, I promise to get back to you all as soon as the doc gives me the clear!

And now, it’s back to my pen and paper for now.

Have a great day!
~ Christin

Occasionally when you’re writing, you have a shiver moment. A moment almost too profound for your conscious to handle, prompting a physical reaction.

Well, after a night out last night and lunch with my sister, to shake the last of my negative Nancy disposition, I came back with an uncontrollable urge to write on my newest book: The Dom Experience.

Don’t worry Future Alpha readers, I’ll be moving onto Curves & Courage in a bit. I’m determined to pull those characters back out, even if I have to cowgirl up and lasso them

As most of you know, my Doms aren’t hardcore Doms. They are “light” on the BDSM. They don’t push limits and break records; for them, it’s more of an attitude. They want the control more than the full Monty in discipline and submission. The Dom Experience breaks the mold a bit. It’s a melting pot on this topic that I feel is SO relevant with the current book market. I can’t even begin to tell you how excited and, yet, unbelievably nervous I am about this one. It feels different. It truly is different, from what I’ve written on the subject prior. It almost has a could-be-reader-biographical feel to it. It… I don’t even have the words for it. lol

Taking on something from a new angle, disrupting the traditional feel of what you’ve written thus far, is scary. This one is actually giving me stage fright. I can’t put my finger on it, but there’s something about this one that has me so enraptured, so captivated by what’s unfolding on the screen as I type. It’s one of those: I can’t believe I actually wrote that, sort of books. It’s one where I know it’s going to be genius or an utter literary failure. There will be no meh reaction I don’t think…

So, without further delay, I’m introducing you to The Dom Experience with an excerpt. It’s actually a preface within a preface, something I’ve never come across, and I’ve certainly never written prior. lol For clarification purposes, Alyce Anders is the heroine, the main character of this book, and she happens to be an author as well

THE BELOW TITLE AND EXCERPT IS FOR READERS 18 & OLDER ONLY! No Exceptions!

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Do NOT keep scrolling unless you are 18 or older!

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NO EXCEPTIONS!

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By continuing to scroll, you are acknowledging that you are 18 years of age or older.

I will not be held responsible for you continuing to read if you are below the suggested age.

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Last chance! Click X now if you are under the age of 18!

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The below intro to The Dom Experience, an 18 & older title, is unedited.

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I HOPE YOU, the ones 18 & older, ENJOY IT!

~*~

EXCERPT: The Dom Experience

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The Dom Who Scarred Me
Alyce Anders

Preface

I was easily lured into the net of proclivity. I was a victim who chose to be a victim.

You see, I was fascinated by the composition of balance. I was captivated by the feud for power. I was beguiled by the hype. I was hypnotized by the thrill.

I, too, wanted to feel like a vixen; I wanted to be the sexually free Cleopatra portrayed in the books. I wanted to be strapped and stroked. I wanted a Dom who unveiled the constrained woman within, for certainly there was one.

The fancy plays of words were alluring. The lines and chapters unleashed a novel need within me. The Doms I read about magnified a longing I wasn’t aware of; they awakened to the dormant sex goddess within me.

They aroused my love for a little pain. They opened my eyes to the beauty of discipline. They broke open my soul and caused a new rhythm to harmonize it, a cadence of change, of chance.

They single-handedly and simultaneously challenged my definition of trust, for, surely, there is no greater proof than to offer one’s self unto a man, to be bound by him, to surrender all of yourself to him without consideration.

I trusted the fictional Doms, and I frivolously believed reality offered the same security. I ignorantly assumed my safety was never an issue. I unwittingly, blindly, depended upon the power of a safe word. I, scarily, hoped for success, without certainty of it.

There are hard lines between reality and fiction. There are boundaries characters are free to ignore that a real woman never ought. There are nightmares to be faced when one disregards the warnings. There are tragedies to endure when one foolishly dances with the devil.

There, now, are permanent scars on my very real body, from a fictional fantasy I fought to make a reality.

Enraptured by the eloquent interactions of every fictitious BDSM couple whose story I devoured, I sought to write my own beautiful story of surrender. Little did I know I would end up losing far more than I gained, and I alone was to blame.

For I was a victim who chose to be a victim.

I was a starry eyed reader who determinedly sought the Dom who scarred me.

~*~