Sad Stories, Escape Books And an Excerpt: A Monday Lesson
I’ve learned my lesson.
And it finally stuck today.
I cannot write sad stories.
I think about it.
I wonder about it.
Sometimes, I even dream about it.
But I can’t do it. I don’t have it in me.
I see authors I know and love writing these epic, emotion-twisting romances. I see them create these soul-gripping tear-jerkers that make you want to call you friend and cry for the better part of a half-hour (or three).
I see them write these amazing sad stories.
And I just can’t do it.
To write a sad story, to me, would be pretending to be something I’m not. And how often do we do that in our everyday lives?
Pretend for our co-workers? Or sometimes close friends? Pretend for our bosses, for our parents, for our boyfriends?
Good God, it feels like we’re pretending all the time. I’m sure I am (unconsciously).
But I can’t pretend for my readers. Not this time. Or ever.
I had to come to grips with myself as I planned out my writing schedule for 2020.
I. Cannot. Write. Sad. Stories.
And that’s okay.
I like writing escape books, twisty bedtime reads–the books you take to bed. I like writing funny scenes, hot ones, action-packed ones, twists and turns and all the things that make you laugh, smile and swoon.
I don’t have a sad-story-writing bone in my body.
And today’s Monday lesson?
I’m going to stop pretending I do.
And while I’m planning my next steamy bedtime read for my readers to enjoy, I decide to share one of my favorite escape scenes from my last release in the Manhattan Nights Series, THE BET.
As you can see, there’s no crying in this escape book. (Though you might tear-up a time or two).
If you’re reading this, READ a little further to get a better glimpse into the stories that do speak to my soul.
The funny, heart-filled, steamy, suspenseful stories like this enemies-to-lovers Romance below:
—
The scent of sweet strawberries and cream.
I can practically taste it—taste her.
The rising elevator to my penthouse seems to take forever. With Violet cuddled closely under one arm, we walk slowly to the front door of my luxury apartment, each step agonizing, the long walk nothing but a wake-up call that this—what I have with Violet—is real.
Realer than anything I’ve ever had with any woman.
I insert my key into the entry’s opening, turning the lock. But before I can push the door open, I spin Violet in my arms, brushing thick auburn-red strands off her shoulders, my fingers sliding down her back to follow. I gaze into her gorgeous face, finding lust.
Finding all the answers I need.
I bend down to her, my fingers grazing across her tiny waist. My gut tightens.
“You don’t have to do this, Keats,” I probe. “You know that, don’t you?”
She smiles slowly. “Call me Keats one more time and I’ll have to kill you.”
I return her smile. “I’m trying to be a goddamned decent person here.” I raise an eyebrow. “From what you’ve seen since I’ve been back, you must now know how hard that is for me…”
She laughs softly. “Yeah, I definitely do.”
“It’s just… I don’t want to rush you into anything you’re not fully ready for.”
“Is that you talking or is that Mr. Tequila talking?”
“Unfortunately, it’s me,” I say, shaking my head. “Definitely me. If it were up to Mr. Tequila, he’d be taking your panties off with his teeth right now.” She scoffs on a laugh, and I hug her close, wrapping her in my arms as I stare down at her. “Mr. Tequila doesn’t like to do a whole a lot of talking if you haven’t noticed.”
I watch as Violet’s grin falls from her pretty face. Her stare turns serious. Glancing up at me with a gleam in her celeste-blue eyes, she talks to me without words, and as my gaze travels the length of her body—up her stilettos, over the pencil skirt that’s a perfect fit on her sensuously curvy figure and over the blue blouse covering her breasts, I know that I want her more than I’ve ever wanted a woman.
No, not want. Need.
God fucking help me… I need this woman.
And she knows it.
She clutches me back, her gaze sinking to my lips as they grin at her. I smile at a sudden memory.
“Do you think I didn’t hear you in your office that first night?” I eye her carefully. “You were whimpering.”
I hear Violet’s breath hitch. “My feet were hurting from being in heels.”
“Your clothes were disheveled.”
“They usually are after a sixteen-hour work day.”
“You moaned my name.”
—
Yup. After re-reading snippets like that, I know the sad stories aren’t meant for me.
I’ll leave those to the ladies and gents that knock them out of the park.
Now, excuse me while I go work on the next escape book in the Manhattan Night Series, THE DEAL.
If you’re curious about THE BET, click any of these below and catch up before the third stand-alone in the twisty series releases.
