Sometimes you just have to say I'm sorry.

Hello, Friends.

As always, I currently have five different books and stories in varying stages of complete; not to mention the future stories constantly sparking around in the lunatic asylum I call my mind.

In between laboring over those, I had a chance to go back and look over a few of my earlier works. Before I continue on with my public apology, let me just say that I have, since The Tenderfoot’s Guide and The Paramedic, learned a great deal about all those important things I appear to have been lacking at the time of the writing of those books: namely punctuation, syntax, spelling and a whole host of the more important ingredients required to create an enjoyable experience for the reader.

To all those who purchased those two well intended, yet poorly edited works, I offer you my most heartfelt and sincere apologies. Ignorance is my only defense.

I’d like to think I’ve come a long way since those two bell ringers. The Tenderfoot’s Guide was written back in nineteen-ninety-nine, and The Paramedic in twenty-oh-four. In that time, I’ve taken my desire and passion to write-and write better-a whole lot more seriously, and have been on a never ending quest to alleviate the error of my ways. That’s not to say that I now consider myself a walking version of the Chicago Manual of Style. Far from it; although I do adhere to it much more closely these days.

I recently had a colleague, far more versed in syntax and punctuation than I, read through a polished copy of one of the books I’m currently working on. I also asked her to read over The Paramedic. She chose to review the Paramedic first. God love her and her newly acquired drinking problem and self induced baldness, but she persevered. Thankfully, she was nearing the end of her edit when she threw noose over her dining room chandelier and stood, inebriated and bald, on the chair below it.

Ok, it wasn’t quite that bad, but suffice it to say that she was, at best, appalled. She suggested I pursue a career in the telemarketing extended auto warranties and be forever banned from ever putting words to paper again. If there were a writer’s prison, with readings from the style and basic English rule manuals spewed forth at an earth shattering volume twenty-four-seven, she would have sentenced me to life there at that very moment.

Then I passed her the latest book I’m currently in the finishing stages of. To say she was both amazed and relieved would be an understatement. According to her, now on a prescription for a mild mood altering drug, my work has gone from unintelligibly psychotic to smooth and somewhat polished. Of course, her bill for services rendered was written in crayon so you decide whether her critique was credible.

The point of this self inflicted diatribe is that, regardless of the fact that I felt, at the time, that I was putting my heart and soul into those books, I didn’t have all the tools I needed to make them worthy of the readers who bought them. I let them down. Again, my deepest apologies.

Oh a high note, I have since gone to great lengths to correct my shortcomings. I’ve attended classes, seminars, read more books than I care to remember and learned to pay much closer attention to detail. I’ve even joined a writers group. Simple things like punctuation, in the wrong places, can change the entire thought you were trying to relay…and leave you wide open for some very insulting and spirit killing comments! Trust me on this.

To atone for past transgressions, I’ve decided to revise The Paramedic to correct the multitude of faux pas and to ensure that my first effort isn’t understood to be a harbinger for the doom of the following two books in the series, Cast Adrift, written in twenty-ten and The Never Ending Nightmare, written in twenty-eighteen. Neither should be immediately looked over just because of the nightmare of editing The Paramedic was. I humbly state here that both were written with a much higher understanding of the craft and far more attention to detail. Both are much more heavily polished and edited with a much improved understanding of the aforementioned elements that I so desperately lacked in nineteen-ninety-nine and twenty-oh-four.

Let ye without sin cast the first stone! Mistakes are always forgivable, if one has the courage to admit them. The quotes for forgiveness are legion, which tells me that I’m not the only transgressor. Wait. One more. To err is human….. Ok, I’m done.

My heartfelt gratitude to those of you who suffered through the terrible editing job I allowed into print with The Paramedic. I pray that hasn’t caused you to shy away from the two sequels. I can assure you that the saga continues, and is, without question, much easier on the eyes and the mind, and they’re well worth the read.

So in closing, keep an eye out for the revised Paramedic coming soon, as well as a couple of others, not related to the series, soon to follow. The muse has been upon me of late and I’ve taken full advantage. Given my predisposition to psychoses, I have to get them out of my head before that big iron door slams shut and I end up wearing a helmet and licking bus windows.

As always, I wish you peace, love and happiness all the days of your lives.

Brian

The Struggle is Real.

Hello, and welcome.

After putting some finality on The Paramedic series with The Never Ending Nightmare, and with a continuation of Born Bent Over still on and off, I took a little time away from the laptop and did some home remodeling and worked in my workshop to try and clear my head and come up for some new ideas for my next cloistered adventure in my office. God bless my understanding, saint of a wife. She suffers my peculiarities with just the occasional shake of her head.

After about six months, plenty of splinters and some unique, permanent paint stains (including a few on our two Dachshunds) a few sparks started firing around in my aged gray matter. Stay tuned for future information on those.

Determination ruling the day, I assembled a new playlist on my media player and made the requisite trip to the office supply store; known as both Mecca and Purgatory to most writers, and filled my cart with the standard office supplies: pens, legal pads, pencils, Twizzlers, spice gumdrops…the standard supplies.

But between the last spinning contest in my desk chair, and the last blue streak of curses spewed after the ever present, poorly aimed hammer injuries, poorly measured cuts and paint spills, I bought a few ebooks from other writers who write in the erotica-love story world to get an idea of what others were doing to advance the growing interest in, and diminish the age old stigma of, the erotica genre.

Let me state here that some of you have some very vivid and far flung imaginations! And, not surprisingly, some of you are truly sick and twisted. And to all of you I say: write on!

It has, unfortunately, been my experience that while diminishing somewhat, erotica writing bought by sane, rational, normal people are still kept in secret files on tablets and laptops in folders named “recipes” or “taxes.” Our puritanical roots still runs deep in much of our society. The stigma of the dark, sleazy, sticky floored movie houses of Pee Wee Herman fame, and the curtained back rooms at the video store where the evil porn flicks were hidden from their unintended audience still seems to keep those petrified by the fear of being a known as an erotica fan behind closed doors.

While even I do have a certain line I don’t cross in my writings, I fully support and defend those who choose to go somewhat beyond that line in their reading and writing tastes. I look forward to the day when the stigma is lifted as more and more readers aren’t afraid of, or could care less if their Alexa is reporting back to the porn police that they’d purchased a racy erotica novel to read in front of the fireplace on a cold winter’s day.

Contrary to what your mom told you, it won’t make you go blind.

From the reading I’ve done, I have determined that there truly are vast, far flung differences in the genre, yet all books with any kind of explicit love scenes are required to carry the dreaded adult content, scarlet letter. From the more graphic parodies of The Hunchback of Notre Dame to the imagined antics of the crew of the Star Ship Enterprise, they’re all still lumped together in the dank bowels of the online book sellers.

On Smashwords, where I initially sell my work for distribution on Amazon, Apple and others, no one who is just perusing the site, looking for a good read, without being a member and signing in, is allowed access to any books with the aforementioned adult content, scarlet letter descriptor. It’s done to keep those under the age of eighteen from purchasing a book or story they’re not legally allowed to purchase. I can understand that to some degree. But come on! Graphically vivid, free porn videos for every taste and fetish are available all over the web for anyone with a mouse to view. The adult content rating limits access to my work and the work of others who write stories involving explicit love scenes between consenting adults to those who bite the bullet, request membership on the site and subject themselves to the constant string of pesky emails from the site and the third party minions they sell your email address to. You know the routine. Sign on to a news feed and you’ll soon be inundated with scads of those sales offers for everything from copper cookware to quirky tee shirts that foul your inbox numerous times daily . As we have all learned, surrendering your email address on any site on the web is a guaranteed prelude to hours spent deleting junk mail. Sadly, just logging on to Facebook these days makes you a target for ads for anything you’ve purchased online since the advent of online sales.

Along with the sites’ ban on things like erotic works containing child porn, bestiality, rape, etc., (a limitation I do support and understand-all of which are far, far over that line I never cross) the behind the curtain, backroom, dank leaky basement placement erotica is relegated to needs to end. The stigma needs to be lifted with, of course, the above referenced limitations being adhered to.

While I consider myself a writer and teller of love stories with plausible plots and, yes, some steamy love scenes, I don’t believe I’m destined to eternity in asbestos underwear, dodging the piercings of Satan’s pitchfork. Nor do I believe those who read erotica will suffer that fate. While discussions regarding sex still bring about blushes and giggles from the immature, (and lawsuits or professional ruination for injured sensitivities in certain circles) in my many years on this earth, in many, many varied social situations, I have never met anyone who didn’t look forward to participating in the sweaty, mood altering, mind blowing, adrenaline filled , toe curling act of coitus. If they don’t, they’re obviously not doing it right!

As a disclaimer here, I fully admit to choking up during Hallmark Christmas movies and any other cinematic marvel that has a happy ending. Wherever the underdog prevails, (of if there’s a dog involved) I’ll be reaching for the tissue box.

On that same note, I have sadly accepted the fact that I’m not the premiere writing sensation of our time. However, I’d like to think the sentiment and feelings I try to put into words does manage to shine through for many. The intimacy I write into my stories, in my humble opinion, is intended to deepen the emotion of the scene and spark a certain something in the reader; drawing them intimately closer to the character I’m trying to depict. It’s never done to shock and awe. My days of spewing the dirty word in the classroom to gain admiration from my classmates never ended well for me. As a matter of fact, my name was mentioned across many dinner tables back in my blue word phase, followed by parental edicts to steer clear of that kid! I was a highly misunderstood child.

More to the point, writing and reading erotica is not a crime. And while I realize that it is often depicted as the cause of depravity, lewd acts and the ruination of society from many Sunday morning pulpits, I think it’s fair to say the occasional voyeuristic readings into the sex lives of characters conjured up in the minds of erotica writers will not buy you a ticket on the express train to eternal damnation.

And it may even spice up those snowy afternoons when you’d just planned on reading a book. (wink wink)

Whip out those debt cards, read the latest terms of agreement on PayPal, visit Smashwords and take that final step into what the puritans call our seedy underbelly and proudly take advantage of your right to buy and read a steamy piece of erotica. It might even give you a few new ideas on spicing up your love life.

Until next time, and as always, I wish you peace, happiness and fair winds.