My latest addiction! 🖍

Dear Diary,

Hi. My name is Alexa. I’m an Otaku (huge anime fan), an avid video game player (current obsession: Skyrim), and I have a fairly serious addiction to writing in almost every genre (my current favorites being romance, fantasy, sci-fi, dystopian, horror, and erotica).

Oh, and recently I’ve become completely addicted to coloring books. 😅

You think I’m playing, but I’ve even started a Pinterest board and everything for the pictures I plan to color. I’ve been using GIMP to do the actual coloring, and it’s amazing how relaxing and absorbing the entire process can be.

I completely blame Anne.

She has this app on her phone that she uses to color all these cool pictures, see, and it baffled me how consumed she would get. I mean, I bounced things off her head and she barely even noticed. So, during my lunch break the other day, I decided to check out some uncolored pictures on Pinterest and play around a bit. Time whizzed by. I now understand why coloring is so relaxing: it’s mindless, and the end result is pretty. I am officially addicted.

When I think about it, coloring is a bit like writing. Writing is not mindless, of course, but when you really let yourself go and just immerse yourself into your story, time can whip by, and the end result is beautiful. You can always tell when I writer loves what they are writing: it may not be the most grammatically correct thing, but the feeling, the emotion, the passion exudes from the words. You can see the story unfold in your mind’s eye, and hopefully even relate to the characters as they live out their little fictional lives in the pages of the book.

And, of course, it’s a sad thing, because you know the time you have together is finite. With every turn of the page, you are bringing the character, the story, one step closer to death. To having to say goodbye. And when you really get attached, when you become emotionally and mentally invested in the story you’re reading, finishing it can give you a strange sensation of abandonment. Mourning. Almost as if the story and its characters were real, and they left you.

It’s how I feel when I finish writing a story, now that I think about it. It’s always a sad thing, like one of my children is leaving home or something. When you write, you grow attached to your creations, you watch them grow and evolve, mature and flesh out – much like you would a child. And when it’s all said and done, when you send it out to the world, it’s… well… bittersweet.

Anyway.

Sorry for the rambling.

To think, this all started from talking about coloring. 😅

Thank you for reading, my loves.

I really, truly, and deeply appreciate it.

#Alexa

P.S: Go check out my first public Hump Day post on Patreon, “The beginning of the end!” https://buff.ly/2PSKqVy 🤗

“I’ve enjoyed the opposite sex a lot. Always have. Always will.”

– Betty White

(😳)

Whoring out my insomnia…

Dear Diary,

Insomnia is no joke. It’s debilitating, humiliating, and generally just maddening. It’s also really useful when used correctly, such as to flush out stories or plan future ones. ✊ There are two reasons I’m plagued with insomnia: a series of incidents in my past that I really don’t want to get into here (my Patreon members already know why) and my imagination. See, when I’m having fun writing a story, I have a tough time shutting my mind off. I continuously think of things to add, character characteristics, and elements to, you know, change.

I’m not overdramatizing. This is seriously an issue for me.

It creates some interesting stories, yes, but it also takes its toll on my overall sanity. And my big brother unit. Take last night, for example: I went to bed absolutely exhausted, put my phone at the other end of the room so I wouldn’t be tempted to simply reach over and turn it on (which I do constantly when it’s close), and after who-knows-how-long of tossing and turning, finally managed to bore myself to sleep. When I woke up to use the bathroom sometime later, I felt completely rested and mentally refreshed.

I had only slept three hours.

It was too early to eat breakfast (I have my body on a very strict eating schedule of 6AM/12PM/6PM), too early to harass people on social media, and I was too awake to go back to bed. My mind wasn’t quite lucid enough to write (I needed food in my belly for all that) so, naturally, I crept into my big brother’s room and crawled into bed with him – staring at him quietly and unblinkingly until he woke up.

This is not the first time I’ve done this, of course. Hell, that wasn’t even the first time I did that this week. Instead of his usual reaction of growling and pushing me away until I fall to the floor, he actually reached out and pulled me to him, and we cuddled for a bit until he finally threw the covers off and got up to turn some lights on. We playfully smack-talked for a bit, watched the latest episode of Dancing With The Starson Hulu (how the fuck did Tinashe get eliminated?! I am so sorry, girl! You got robbed! 😳) and wasted the rest of the morning keeping my brother by my side via death lock and watching Sabrina The Teenage Witch reruns on Hulu.

It was nice. And set the tone for the rest of my day. After prying myself away from the brother unit I made some black-as-my-soul coffee, turned the lights off, threw on my headphones, and cranked out a ton of verbiage.

It was beautiful.

On that note.

I stumbled across a review left for Please Don’t Get Me Pregnant! (Quickies), and I’ve been smiling about it ever since. Here it is in its entirety:

Attila

5.0 out of 5 stars First story in the “Alexaverse” chronology

October 11, 2018

Format: Paperback | Verified Purchase

The writer excels at erotica with an edgy, contemporary, and generally fearless ambiance. In crafting her stories she reflects an understanding of the connection between erotica and the psychological and/ or emotional motivations of her characters. Not everyone can do that. In doing so, she writes in a unbound, expressive style which underscores a sincere, positive global attitude towards sex in general and the common humanity in us all.

Please note that most of her short stories and novellas feature many of her characters, situations andrelationships at different points in time. They inhabit a world of the author’s creation called the “Alexaverse”. The first book in the chronology is “Please Don’t Get Me Pregnant!”. The stories do not need to be perused in sequence to be enjoyed but reading them in sequence enhances them. That said, I started them out of sequence and enjoyed them. Highly recommended.

For all of you who have left reviews on any of my works: thank you. They mean so much more to me than you know. In that vein, do me a favor and drop by Twitter and tell @lamarjackson2 to get well soon (he just got out of the hospital), not only because he continually leaves thoughtful and touching reviews for my books but mainly because he’s an awesome person. And the only boo boo I got. Tell him Alexa sent you. 😉

Thank you for reading.

I love you.

I really, really do.

#Alexa

“But the point of using the number was to show that sex was a great part of my life as basketball was a great part of my life. That’s the reason why I was single.”

– Wilt Chamberlain

A moment of seriousness…

Dear Diary,

It occurred to me while I was in the throes of writing this week (feverishly making up for lost time from being on vacation) just how lucky I am as an author. I mean, how many authors do you know that can get away with working a light part-time job and dedicate over eight hours to writing every single day because their readers financially support them enough through either Patreon or from buying their eBooks, paperbacks, and audiobooks?

That support drives me, pushes me, makes me not only want to be better but to be more proliferate as well. It’s an amazing symbiotic relationship that I never knew could have existed.

All of this, my entire fledgling career, is because of you guys.

You are more than mere readers to me. You are my friends. My confidants. In some cases, my digital baby daddies. 😅

You are more than just financial supporters though. You are my little virtual community. Some of you even act as impromptu therapists whenever things get a bit much for me to handle. That is invaluable to me. I have grown so much as an author – as a person – because of you guys.

I genuinely believe that I am the luckiest author on the planet.

My readers are fucking amazing.

I love all my #Alexaliens! 😊

This is a strange, emo Diary entry, I know, but in an online world where everyone seems to be condescending someone or complaining about something, sometimes it’s important to remember that even though we’re all on computers, there are people at the ends of those computers. Real, living, caring, valuable people.

And people matter. Even the ones we don’t like or agree with.

People don’t have to be your friends. They don’t have to like you. They definitely don’t have to buy your works.

So for those of you that do:

Thank you.

Seriously.

From the bottom of my heart.

That is all.

#Alexa

P.S: The paperback edition of Daddy’s Girl is now available. If you feel so inclined, go get it. 🤗

“Sex appeal is in the workplace every day of the week. I’m not saying that’s the only calling card, but it’s a whole crayon box.”

– Barbara Corcoran

Take my hand…

I want you to silence your mind for a moment. Clear out all your stress and worries, all your doubts and fears. We have a trip to take, you and me. But first, you need to wipe your conscious of the mundania that clutters it, that no doubt stagnates in it like a cesspool or quagmire of soul-killing manmade reality.

Take your time.

It might take a while.

I’ll wait beside you patiently, watching you, soothing you. It’s hard, I know, but worth it. So very worth it. And on this trip I’m about to take you on, luggage (even – especially – the mental kind) is prohibited.

Are you ready yet?

Good.

That took longer than I thought, and we have places to go.

Well, one place actually.

But what a place it is…

I move to stand in front of you. You see that I’m wearing a white summer dress, and my long red hair is bound snugly in a ponytail. I look you in the eyes and reach out, taking your hand in mine and gently squeezing it, reassuring you. You worry a bit, because you know that wherever it is I’m about to take you must warrant such reassurance.

I smile again, almost as if I can read your thoughts.

Which I can, of course.

And you’re right.

I turn and keep your hand firmly in mine, making you follow me, and though you could probably resist my insistence, you don’t want to. You’re curious, after all.

And you know me.

I’m usually not the enigmatic type, but today I’m being uncharacteristically quiet and mysterious. I look back at you and smile, and my smile puts you at ease a bit.

But just a bit.

Within moments we arrive at a house. There are so many elements to it that its impossible to completely take in with one glance. Your mind demands to process every aspect of it individually, so you allow it to. It’s not like you have much of a choice.

The first thing your consciousness registers is the sheer size of it. It’s massive. More mansion than house, it only has two floors but looks as if it could be used as a hotel or a club.

Or an asylum.

I gently squeeze your hand.

Bingo.

When I finally speak you jump, because my voice has a different tinge to it than usual – a quality that is hard to pinpoint but impossible not to notice. Almost as someone is speaking with me, their voice just a pitch lower than mine and a tiny half second off.

It could merely be your imagination, of course.

It most likely is.

Right?

“What you’re looking at, my love, is The Lent Mansion. It is referred to in whispers by the locals as Death Mansion, and it has been vacant for nearly three decades. This has recently changed. Relatives of the original owner have returned to reclaim the property and hopefully scrub from it a long, sordid history that would chase away any ordinary, sane mortals.”

I smile at you, checking to see if you’re following me thus far. My smile widens as I see you are. I continue.

“It all started when the mansion was built in 1860 by Travis Lent on top of an Indian burial ground. Mr. Lent was a successful doctor who ended up committing suicide in 1904 after the youngest of his four sons, Trevor, died. A few years later, his wife succumbed to cancer. Then, in 1922, Mark Lent shot himself in the same room his father Travis Lent killed himself.”

Your eyes widen and you look at me. Why would I bring you to a place such as this? Why would I tell you this? I wink.

Have patience, dear reader. I’m not done quite yet.

“Shortly after the house was transformed into an asylum that housed a little over 250 patients when it opened in 1894. Fast forward to the 1950’s, when the facility reached its peak and had more than 2,400 patients living in overcrowded and inhumane conditions — some even kept in cages. In 1977 the asylum closed.”

I hold up a finger, stopping your questions. I still am not done. Almost, but not quite.

Patience, my love.

“Roughly 10 years later, descendants of Travis Lent, Jedediah and Angela Lent, were murdered, along with their four children and two friends who were spending the night. To this day the crime remains a mystery. Death Mansion has been universally accepted as one of, if not the, most haunted houses in the country.”

I look at you, curious as to how you are receiving the knowledge I imparted. I can see the questions in your eyes that your mouth has yet to speak: is all of this true? The house certainly looks the part. Even if it is all true, why would I tell you this?

“I’m telling you this, my love, because we are going in.”

You try to turn back. You can’t. My hand has a much stronger grip than you initially thought. For such a small, unassuming female, I’m strong. Immovably strong. You have no choice but to follow…

Do I have your attention? 😉

I took a brief break from writing the latest book in my Nephilim series to churn out a quick little erotic tale about a patchwork family with zero inhibitions. I figured it would be a short, simple little story, one I could basically just sit down and write without even having to outline it. Cause, you know, standard basic stuff, right?

Sigh.

25,000+ words later (so far – I’m not done revising), and I’m beginning to see how little self-control I actually have as an author. See, this story didn’t start out the way it ended. A longstanding joke (acute observation) of mine is that I can’t write a simple smut story to save my life. Even my Quickies series, which are supposed to be unapologetic erotic romps, always have other elements woven within – whether it be romance, psychological, paranormal, magic, or violence.

This was supposed to be my first true foray into straight smut. I mentally drafted out a story that was supposed to be a simple little tale of inter(step)family lust. Stepsister, stepbrother, stepmother. That’s it.

And then ideas started erupting in my head while I was bathing. Things like: Wouldn’t it be cool if maybe the stepmother was a little bit… off? And What if the reason she was off was that the house was haunted?And then Maybe the house is haunted because it has a horrific past! And then, of course, Maybe the stepbrother and stepsister wouldn’t just have a simple string of fuck sessions. Maybe he’ll be reluctant, and turn her down repeatedly, and she’ll want him in the worst way but can’t have him. Maybe their relationship will morph into a romantic one… etc.

Yeah, I have a twisted little mind. And things only got worse. My Patreon subscribers, who are privy to my entire writing process for every book I write (from outline to rough draft, then my various revisions) get to see all this up close, as I post everything once a week so they can comment on it and maybe give their suggestions/critiques on the way the story is going. So they already know how creatively chaotic my mind is, and how drastically my stories change as they progress.

So if any of them read this, they won’t be surprised at all.

I like the way it turned out, however. Hopefully you guys will too.

Here’s a sneak peek at the cover:

Which, of course, doesn’t go at all with how the story ended up. But fuck it. It was an enormous amount of fun to write, and at the end of the day, isn’t that all that truly matters?

Thank you for reading.

I love you.

“I’ve never had to pretend to be having sex with somebody. I’m like the queen of the foreplay dissolve.”

– Julia Roberts

I’m back!

Dear Diary,

To write that it’s good to be back is a massive understatement. For those of you who don’t know, I’ve been on a weeklong vacation from not only work and writing but social media as well. And it was lovely. I watched a ton of anime, read both manga and novels until my eyes bled, and spent some much-needed quality time with everyone important in my life.

It was refreshing, enlightening, and invigorating.

And a lot of fun.

I did a lot of introspection during this time as well. Mostly about being an author, what it means to me, and how I can improve myself on every end of the spectrum. I came up with a lot of interesting ideas that I filed away to process after my vacation ended, so don’t be surprised if you see some major changes in the way I handle things in the next few weeks. Like more frequent Diary entries, for example. And a ton of Patreon content. My author task list looks insane right now, but that’s a good thing. The day it’s complete will be the day I start seriously questioning my title of author.

There is so much more I want to write about right now (things like recent romantic entanglements, my fight with addiction, and my current relationship status), but my goal is to put out more focused, quality entries. I’ll go into detail about all of those things I listed in future posts (and much more), don’t worry, but for now: I’ll see you all soon.

And thank you for reading.

I missed you guys so motherfucking much…

#Alexa

“I love drafting like I love eating ice cream or having sex; I love revising like I love doing logic puzzles; I love line-editing like I love perfectly organizing a bookshelf; I hate reviewing copyedits and the second round of proofreading because, by then, I’m getting pretty tired of my own words. They all have their own challenges, though.”

– Tim Pratt