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Vampire/Werewolf smut, wooo!

It’s here! My very first self-published e-book under the A. Rhiannon pen name. A nice little bit of werewolf/vampire MMM smut for your afternoon

It is available on Amazon, Smashwords, and a bunch of other places. Because of Amazon’s weird-ass system, it is cheaper on Smashwords. (I do get slightly more money if you buy it through Amazon, but I don't mind if you'd rather get it cheaper, I actually think nearly $3 for a short story is a little silly, but it's what Amazon wants me to do, so...)



But if you buy it either place, you will quite make my day!

This entry was originally posted at https://bladespark.dreamwidth.org/1497727.html.

You don't want to do it how I do it.
People always ask me how I write so much. I have a prodigious output and I have for years, and so I get asked, how?

"Madness!" I reply with a smile, and then I deflect off to other things, but the smile is very hollow and the answer is all too terribly, horribly, painfully real.


It's a disease. A sickness. A worm that crawls in my brain and vomits out words. It's always been there. It grows stronger all the time.

I can't not write.

The writing happens. I live life and I spew out writing, and people go "Wow, I'm so jealous," and NO YOU ARE NOT. It is a twisting, writhing terrible dream that is a nightmare that I cannot escape, and every time I think maybe I can it lures me back in and I write and I write and I write and I pour my heart and soul and guts and things even deeper than that out into the ether and I get back pain and anguish and tiny sparkling bits of hope that sink the roots of the sickness even deeper and make it grow even stronger and then it twists into nightmare again and I can't get away and I can't stop and I have to write.

And then for one tiny, shining moment I actually got somewhere, and the dream seemed like it could be real and not a nightmare after all, not the fountain of Tantalus, always promising, always thirsty still, for just that instant I believed in the dream, that I might actually leverage having people who like my fanfic writing into the writing career I've wanted since I was six years old but the dream is dead, the moment passed, there is no more hope, and yet its rotting corpse still shambles on, insisting that it can be real, insisting I try again, insisting I throw myself against the bloody wall and batter my head just a little more, just a little more, this time it will work, surely, this time you will succeed, people do, people do it all the time, people who are terrible, bad, awful writers succeed, surely you can but it was a LIE, it was not a dream, it was only the nightmare where I scream and scream and scream into the void until my throat is raw and nobody hears, nobody cares, because I am nobody, I will always be nobody, I will never be somebody, never be known, never have more than those tiny, sparkling scraps of almost-success that sink the roots deeper still, the worms gnawing there, and I will never be free, I will always end up giving in, sitting down, writing again, maybe this story will be the one that works, maybe this story will be good enough, maybe this story will be what people want to read, maybe this piece of my soul will finally satisfy somebody, somehow, maybe this time I will be lucky and that shiny moment will come and stay...

That's how I write so much.

Madness. I smile when I say it, but it's not a joke.

Be happy if you don't write like I write.

This entry was originally posted at https://bladespark.dreamwidth.org/1498099.html.