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10/30/2016 Where does the rainbow end, in your soul or on the horizon?” ― Pablo Neruda, The Book of QuestionRead Now I look out my window a lot. It’s just one of those things that keeps me grounded in this weird, one-with-nature kind of way. I hate curtains. They only gather dust. And I hate alarms even more. I enjoy the natural light to whisper across my face in the morning with gentle fingers, not some man-made sound that jars me into life with a harsh slap. It is the quiet moments of the morning that I savor most, in bed, looking out my window. It’s when I write my best work. Yesterday morning, I awoke to a brilliant rainbow. At first, I marveled at the sky’s pink hues, and I thought how soothing it was. I haven’t had that feeling in a long time, that feeling of being at peace with myself or my life. I got out of bed to stand to pull the obligatory curtain further, the color peeking through the leaves of the oaks outside my window. Where I had been seeing grey for quite some time shone now pink. The color is hard to describe accurately. It was pink; but it bordered on a light red. It told me to come look at it.   And then. There it appeared. A rainbow. I will share it with you here, but my phone didn’t do it justice. I don’t believe in god as my early catechism taught me. I think I’ve written that before. But I do believe. In something. Energy? Connection? Karma? What Star Wars describes as the Force? The Transcendental Oversoul? I don’t know. But whatever exists outside my understanding, I think it was trying to speak to me. I tried to listen. You see, rainbows were a thing with my dad and me. When he passed, I saw them all the time—yes, I was in Hawaii at the time and they were more prevalent--but whenever I see a rainbow, I can’t help but think, “Hi, Dad,” and that there is something in the universe speaking to me. Is it my dad? I doubt it. Is it his energy? I hope so. But each time I see this rare beauty, I try to ask myself what it might be trying to tell me. I read a book once that argued that there is no such thing as coincidence, only our ignorance of the universe around us and the messages it tries to feed us daily that we refuse to acknowledge.
I heard from an old friend the the other day, someone I hadn’t spoken to in quite a while. It’s a terrible memory, and yet, after speaking for just a bit, I somehow got closure. I felt at peace. My heart that had hurt for such a long time, stopped hurting. And I think that rainbow told me that it was okay to finally let go, to move on, and to stop blaming myself.
I guess I owe my dad yet another thank you. Closure comes in many forms. I guess this time it took a rainbow to get me there. The rainbow clearly doesn't end on the horizon for me, but in my soul. And for right now, my soul has found a little peace.
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10/9/2016 I. Am. Me. "It don't matter what my name is. I'm not famous and I don't hate it."Read Now I wanted to share another teaser with you today from the second book in my Thorne series, Rose’s Dark Secret, really my favorite in the series so far. The first I loved—as it came out of another series I had published on literotica that was quite popular--but the second, for me, really starts to unravel the complexities of the characters, their psyches, their layers. Nothing is ever what it seems, is it? True. And neither am I. Please don’t laugh at me. "I'm not famous...It don't matter what my name...and I don't hate it." But I have a confession to make. Okay. It’s not really a confession per se (but now that I have your attention), here it is: I’m kind of sort of just a little bit proud of myself. Yup. There. I said it. And I don't care how small my accomplishment is. I'm going to embrace for one moment. Only a few short months ago last February I started my journey into self-publishing. I had absolutely no idea how to do any of it. Rewind a year before that. I signed with a small epublisher to share my story of Natalie with the world, and I was even a bit more clueless then. No Twitter. No Facebook. No website. I had to start all of that myself. Slowly but surely, things grew. Add in a newsletter, a blog, a writing support group known as the WPW, and now video teasers, I truly have come a very long way. Some of it has been super rewarding. I’ve met great people and friends, have seen my audience and fans and sales grow, and have a safe outlet to explore my kinks, my fantasies, and my creativity. I look forward to creating teasers, writing posts and tweets and blogs, and working to write my next work or if I’m being honest, works. Some of it hasn’t been. I’ve met some real louses. Some liars. Some narcissists. I’ve watched people come and go out of my life who were so-called friends. Won and as quickly lost in love. I’ve been betrayed. Stomped on. Crucified. Depicted unfairly. I’ve even suspected that a few “friends” have ripped off some of my writing almost verbatim (why they would want to is a mystery). See my former blog post about lying: rbobrien.weebly.com/blog-posts/lying-cheating-deceitoh-my And a friend I recently made told me to tread carefully, to always wear a mask, to be sure to never, for one second, let that mask drop. That RB is a character. Just like the characters in my fiction. She is? I asked. Yes, he said. She is. But she isn’t. And maybe that’s where I get into trouble. Everything I feel, think, do, write, believe, share. It’s all versions of me. So what that it’s presented under the name RB?  My real name is not RB. But my hopes, my dreams, my love for romance and the erotic and Shakespeare and EE Cummings and Hemingway and Plath and Nin is me. My sense of loyalty to friends and commitment to supporting them is me. My love for dance and music and family is me. My penchant to question and fear the unknown and to ask too many questions and suffer from grave insecurities is me. My sexual appetite is me. And my ability to smile and love is, indeed, me. Regardless what name I am. I. Am. Me. For better. Or for worse. And right now, the need to absorb happiness is me. I want to bask in this small, ephemeral moment--this feeling of pride. For that too is me, just as surely as I know that tomorrow the clouds may very well roll back in to steal this moment away as if it never existed at all. For I am a writer, a soul tortured by that inner, nagging voice that never sleeps. And that, too, is me. "It don't matter what my name is. I don't got one. I'm not famous.: ;) What is it that makes a woman go all gooey when she hears certain voices? Is there just something aesthetically inexplicable in certain timbres? In cadence? Is there something scientific that happens? When we think about the old adage--Beauty is in the eye of the beholder--does the same apply to voices? Does what sounds sexy to one, grate on the other?  I, myself, am not sure about my own voice. I'm from Massachusetts. I have a gravelly voice that I find anything but mellifluous, the word monotone is not in my vocabulary, and I was kicked out of the radio program in college because I couldn't keep the needle in the middle of the Richter scale. Some say they find my voice sexy. I wonder about that! But studies have shown that males with deep voices are the most coveted. Erotic writer translation: Deep voices melt the panties right off of heterosexual women. Just look at one of the most sought-after narrators like Morgan Freeman, who admits: "The lower your voice is, the better you sound.” Throw in a British accent for we American women and all bets are off. Suddenly, even the reading of a grocery list can make one weak in the knees. Eyes roll into the back of our heads, our legs cross and uncross trying to become comfortable against the little pulse that suddenly starts to beat in that one place, our faces flush with a heat that consumes us, and coherent, intelligent chit-chat? Wait? What were we talking about? Exactly.  Like any of our senses, the more we engage each one, the more aroused we become, women especially. We are sensory people. Give me a British accent, a spicy, masculine scent, the right touch in all the right places, a taste of sweet torture on my lips, and thoughtful, mysterious eyes, and I'm a goner. To illustrate the point, I recently had a small teaser read of Thorne: Rose's Dark Contract. I dare you to stay still while listening to it. And you just wait! He has done a full 10 minute scene of my next book, Thorne: Rose's Dark Awakening. My advice? Do not, I repeat, DO NOT listen to it on the way to work. You just may turn around and call out sick. ;) |
I LOVE to write and read. I particularly enjoy reading erotic romance that has tons of emotion in it. I hope you will ask me questions and share your favorite authors and novels. I welcome all feedback.
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