Inside the Mind of a Writer

Since  I was a kid, I’ve had stories in my head. I realize that makes me sound a bit like a crazy person. The jury is still out on that one.

My poor Barbies took the brunt of it. Most Barbie dolls probably went to prom or married Ken and had a bunch of little babies. Maybe they were princesses or models. My entire bedroom used to become a world for them to live in, explore and ultimately act out the intricate, dramatic and gut-wrenching stories in my head.

We should all take a moment of silence for my Barbie dolls.


Then came my teen years. Bands like The Cure, Depeche Mode fueled my angst-ridden soul. I shudder to think of the poetry and short stories I wrote back then. Let’s just say they were beyond dramatic and move on.


Moving into early adulthood, I stopped writing. I’m not sure why really. It’s not that they weren’t there – the stories – I just didn’t know what to do with them. I was more focused on trying to get into design school in Southern California and I won’t lie, I was living out my little Baywatch fantasies of living on the beach and being all tan and blond…trust me, I’m dying to laugh at myself over it.

Someone introduced me to the Sims. Yep. The Sims. And the stories came back. I played out story after story – and finally sought out other players who also played out stories and shared them. Laugh if you will, it got me writing again. It got all those creative juices flowing: character creating, background setting, world building and piecing things together to create a cohesive story.

It was those people who convinced me (finally) that I was a good writer.


So here we are today. I have so many characters and stories in my head. I have the outlines of probably enough books to last me a couple of years! Some may get started and put on hold, some may never see the light of day. Sometimes a story will come to me so fast and hard, that I can think of nothing else until it’s done.

Case in point? I was busy writing a follow-up to The Island so I could expand on Michael’s story. Michael is my baby, and I was dying to write about him more since he is less explored in The Island than Gabe is. Then suddenly in bed, after a conversation with my mother, the entire storyline for Rocking Autumn came to me. Two and a half months later, it was complete.

I was halfway through my revision of Girl Harbor, and not only did it come to me in meditation that it was not the right time for that story to be told – but another one came crashing through that the need to write it is stronger than the need to write anything else.

So, other stories in my head:



And until then,



The Problem With The Alpha Male


We love them. The confident hero. The alpha male. They make our heart go pitter patter and our knees go weak.

So why do I have a problem with the alpha male? In theory, I don’t. I have a problem with what the alpha male has turned into in SO many romantic fiction books.

An asshole.


I’ve been on a reading bender lately, and I’m just….ugh. I’m so sorely disappointed at what my favorite hero has become. Since when did Alpha become synonymous with an asshole?

The alpha male is confident. Brave. Fierce. Unwavering. Protective. He’s a sexual powerhouse. Sometimes cocky and his ego can get the better of him. He’s in great physical shape. He’s a natural leader, and someone people find themselves drawn to. When he tells you he loves you, he means it. The alpha male is a man’s, man. He probably eats a shit load of steak and loves beer, scotch and whiskey. The alpha male has purpose and drive. He has values, he knows how to treat a woman and above all else – he is true to himself no matter what because he knows who he is. He’s the kind of guy that most often gets described as smelling like tobacco and cologne, or smoke and spice or…whatever bonkers but super masculine scent combination us writers like to come up with.

I would date that guy. Hell, I’d want to marry that guy and have a million little alpha babies with him. If you wrote that guy in a book, I would swoon. Hard.

I bought a bunch of books recently. Books with GLOWING reviews going on and on about these swoon worthy sexy men. These alpha gods, right?

Moody and brooding almost 70% of the time. Hyper jealous, insanely possessive and controlling. Complete assholes…oh, to make up for some traumatic event in their life most likely. They disappear only to reappear and the woman takes them back…because he’s just an alpha and that’s what they do. Ego’s bigger than Texas, and acting like overgrown babies when another man even dares to speak to “their woman.” I’m surprised some of them didn’t toss the heroine over their shoulder cave-man style and carry them back to their lair so they can have over the top sex, and she doesn’t complain because he’s just so darn irresistible.

I wouldn’t date that guy. I certainly wouldn’t marry that guy. And I cannot swoon over him in a book. Because in real life, we call those red flags.

In the most recent book I read, in the “dark –  all hope is lost moment” he sleeps with another woman and then kills her. Yeah, you heard me. Kills her. (I guess we were supposed to forgive him, he has demons from his childhood. Apparently, this justifies homicide) Um, I call that a psychopath. And this book had a thousand 4 and 5-star reviews. I’ll be honest, the book was decent. It was a fun read, I didn’t hate it. But the “hero” wasn’t a hero and it made me question the heroine for looking past his bad behavior. I guess he was just that hot…you know, with his massive twelve-inch psychopath alpha cock and all.

(Don’t even get me started on the cock size of these dudes. Twelve inches? Really?)

Now, certainly, this is just my opinion. But why does the alpha male have to be so over the top?

On that note, I’ve read some great books with wonderful alpha hero’s. The ones who make me swoon and go weak in the knees. Call me crazy, but when I find a book boyfriend, I don’t want to be looking over my shoulder to see if he’s gone mental. But hey, that’s just me. I’m also a huge fan of the often over-looked beta male.