NEW JOURNAL

I've moved the whole operation over to my new website:

http://www.ameliajune.net

I have a blog and other things over there. This blog remains as kind of a placeholder as well as a way for me to comment on other blogs. Come visit me in my newer digs!

--Amelia June
http://www.ameliajune.net
http://www.wickedwhispersauthors.com

The Great Move

I've moved! I'm settling in here:

LiveJournal

I *think* this will be a good move for me, several reasons why. There may be some construction dust around.

If you want to read protected entries (largely dirty), please let me know in an email and I will put you on the list (you need a LJ account, free).

Email me here: ameliajunemail@yahoo.com

Ciao!

And It's Official

I officially did NOT win.

Oh well. I really didn't expect to. It's kind of like gambling, you know you are going to lose, but you get a little excited anyway at the possiblity of winning.

It's ok, I'm not devestated or even really discouraged. Give me a few more rejections, then we'll talk. But this is something I want to do, so I'll keep plugging away. I've already found another place to submit The Jason Factor, so I'm keeping my fingers crossed and I'm going to keep plugging away at new stuff. Someday...heh. I have a hard time putting fingers to keyboard as it turns out. I'll get to it, though, I'm not giving up on this dream. No way.

The Contest

I entered announces the winners tomorrow. Here's what I wonder--if I won, wouldn't they have let me know by now? Advance notice and all that?

Well. I'm a bit anxious to find out, even though my chances are slim. Still, it would be great to win--to be published for the very first time. Thrilling, really. I think I can submit The Jason Factor a few other places if I don't, though. May as well, I'm quite fond of the story and the feedback I received was positive as well.

I have a new story idea for an anthology being published about women on top, so to speak. It involves the dentist--big shock since I've spent more time in the dentist chair lately than at home...I think it will make a good story, just have to appeal to the muse. Wonder if she likes coffee and chocolate.

Right Then

I got some pretty bad news last week, the kind of news that makes you go "Oh."

The kind of news that makes you not know what to say or how to react or how to be supportive or loving to the people involved.

I hate being intentionally vague in my own space, but I have to, because it isn't really mine to share--it is about my husband's family.

Anyway, I've been thinking about the triviality of life.

I've definitely fallen into a little low grade depressive episode. Sex drive is the first casualty, followed quickly by self esteem. I've started stressing over my body image, worrying about how clean my house isn't, and being generally unable to follow through on things. I scheduled a dinner visit with a friend at the same time as a client (TWICE). Hope she doesn't hate me! I keep forgetting all the errands I have to run, despite keeping at least two or three to-do lists about. I get like this when I anticipate change and am freaked out about it.

One would think that my job would make it worse, but in fact I love working because it gets me working on something with purpose. House cleaning, while valuable, just has no ending, ever. My work has attainable goals, at the very least.

But worrying about all this stuff is pretty petty when faced with more powerful situations.

I'm trying to remember my skills--take it one day at a time, one foot in front of the other, lots of positive self talk, stay on task and be productive. Hence--blog entry! And other writing! I have a few errands to run, and I will run them today.

Oh, I forgot to add that I am finally done breast feeding. It's been three days of no nursing at all, and before that he was nursing once in the mornings, and it has just faded away. He did fantastic. I find myself surprisingly sad about it. Probably because he is my last baby, and I know just what the passing of his infancy means. No more, ever. Strange. I don't want more children, I am quite satisfied with two, but something about the ending makes me feel very sad.

Lots going on, nothing overly clear or manageable. I hate that out of control feeling, but then again, that's another lifelong struggle...

Last thing--the most important thing for me to do is get over it and support the people I love. Yeah.

Yay

Two stories for the writer's group finished, just under the wire.

One is called High Noon, from the POV of an addict. An interesting experiment in first person present tense (HARD!). I found this one very difficult to write on many levels, so I am pleased to see it in the universe.

The second is basically a fictionalized version of my year in review, nursing a baby at midnight. I really like both stories, they bookend each other nicely.

I am interested to see what everyone else came up with.

And the reward for finishing trumps all--a trip to the faire! Woot!

Flash

Well, I missed the deadline for the Desdmona stiletto Flash contest. That really chaps my hide, because I had a decent little story for it--500 words, no more. I know that professional writers spend a lot of time both writing and marketing their writing, and sometimes I wonder at my level of dedication. I could complain that between a very demanding little one and a job and another little one and a husband and a home that I just don't have time, but I know the best writers make the time.

On the bright side, I still go to my writing group weekly, and I've finished one of two stories due to them so I know I can still write after the 80K or so I wrote in November/December. I don't think I'm a prolific writer, though. I don't churn out story idea after story idea--my writing is a forced struggle every time. I literally have to chain myself to the computer and get it done. I enjoy the product, I enjoy getting the stuff out of my head, but it isn't what I would call easy work. Still, I'm not a quitter, so I'm still plugging away.

For your reading pleasure (whomever you are :), I present my Desdmona non-entry (adult content):

"Removal"
by Amelia June

Sssnick.

That is the sound the knife makes as it leaves its sheath.

Now the voice against my ear, all hot breath and sharp whiskers on soft skin.

“This is what you get, lovely, for wearing those ‘fuck-me’ shoes. I’m gonna fuck you now, and those shoes are gonna stay on.”

He means the five inch stiletto heels, strapy black with my painted red toes showing through the French silk stockings. The arch in my foot accentuated to inhuman curve, the length of my leg enhanced and feminized. I suppose I do have it coming, after all.

Cold blade slides under silk, a slight pull away from my skin, and a swift slice all the way down to my foot in one long stroke. The stocking falls away, split down the middle like some bloated melon. He does the other stocking, and I felt the air rush over my thighs. I freeze, afraid. Aroused. Anticipating.

His stiletto, my stilettos. Weapons of mass arousal.

“I’m gonna fuck you, lovely, gonna give you my cock.”

Zzzip.

That is the sound his cock makes as it leaves its sheath. It flops out of his denim pants, points at me accusingly. It blames the stilettos too.

Large hands paw at my backside. Silk dress bunches over my thighs and hips, exposing me. Gooseflesh raises the hair on my ass, rough hands become suddenly gentle as he caresses me. The shoes raise me to dick level, and the fat head nudges my opening. My own cock throbs plaintively.

“I’m gonna fuck you you fuckin’ fag, and there’s nothin’ you can do about it.” His voice sears my eardrum, his hands grip my hips in a vise. I have no escape. I want none.

At the last second before he enters me I feel the lube spill over my ass crack, even colder than the frigid air. One, two fingers push inside, then without warning his cock fills me. Grunts fill the air around my head. He fucks me, as promised. His cock is large. Familiar. Invasive.

I feel myself come on my thigh, where the stocking would have been. A drop of semen traces down, down, until it slides neatly under my arched foot. I slide forward, toes jammed into the base of the shoe.

He lets out a low moan, then unleashes his own stream of semen on my asshole. I shudder, then sigh. I am satisfied.

A wad of twenties finds a home in my bra.

“Same time next week, lovely. Bring the shoes. They suit you.”

Muse Gone Haywire

Well, I've had little impetus to write lately, and I think, with the help of my fellow writers, I figured out the cause.

I'm trying to write a story from the perspective of a woman on crack, something I have intimate familiarity with (though I have never used crack, no way no how). The story is something I want to capture for many reasons, but I am too close to it. The writers suggest writing outside this woman's point of view, like, the POV of a friend or even a counselor or something. Giving it thought. The story is also cleanly unlike my typical erotic stuff, which may have something to do with the block. Trying to write something "real", that is, something that captures a myriad of emotions and complexity outside the bedroom doors (or whatever, heh), is a struggle. I'd rather just write the fun stuff. But how can I write good fun stuff without pushing myself? Yeah, I have to finish this one, even if it is really hard.

Not that erotica is always clean or easy or basic, just that I am comfortable writing in that space.

Anyhow, the group promises a write in and there is a deadline, so I have support for my blockage. What an invaluable thing!

BTW, it doesn't help that I have a one year old terrorizing the house as he learns to walk and open every cabinet and eat every stray dog hair. Sigh. Beautiful torment.