Lessons In Control and Poetry: News Round Up!

Hi everyone! It’s been awhile, but I have lots of news I wanted to share today, both about the Lessons In Control series and a new mini-project I’m embarking on! Woo hoo!

I’ll start with Lessons In Control, specifically book one—I am delighted to share that The Assignment is a finalist for the Pauline Reage Novel award from the National Leather Association – International (NLA-I). Holy cow! The NLA-I is a leading organization for activists in the pansexual SM/leather/fetish community. Their annual awards are named after activists and writers to recognize excellence in writing and publishing about Leather, SM, bondage and fetishes. Whoa! This was some majorly happy news, and I’m thrilled to be a finalist. In the past, the award has been given in various categories to some seriously awesome authors. Here are this year’s finalists for the Pauline Reage category:

Risk Aware by Amelia C Gromley (Riptide Publishing)
Heart’s Master by Elizabeth Schechter (Circlet Press)
The Viscountess Interrogates: A Dominion Erotic Mystery by Cameron Quintain (Circlet Press)
Skyscraper by Scott Alexander Hess (Unzipped Books, an imprint of Lethe Press)
The Gambler’s Lady by Angela Hamm (Blushing Books)
The Assignment by Jade A. Waters (Carina Press)

I cannot express how honored I am to be on this list! The winners will be announced at the National Leather Association – International’s Annual General Meeting on April 23rd. Fingers crossed!

Okay, next up: book two, The Discipline. Wow, do I have a lot to say about The Discipline! First, there have been a few excerpts from the book if you haven’t checked them out. One happened right here, another over visited Lady Smut a couple weeks ago, and finally, one appeared just yesterday over at F. Leonora Solomon’s place. I was so happy to get to tour the book around at these stops!

Official cover of The Discipline by Jade A WatersNow for some extra fun—if you’re in the mood for a LIVE excerpt from The Discipline and happen to be the in LA area, then I hope you’ll join me next Sunday, April 9th, at Lady Jane’s Salon OC. The event takes place at The Ripped Bodice, 3806 Main Street in Culver City, from 4 to 6 pm. I’ll be reading along with Pamela DuMond, Sabrina Sol, and Allison Morse. The entry fee is one gently used romance novel or $5, and in exchange you’ll hear some sweet and sexy excerpts. Please come out and say hi! I’ll have all sorts of series swag to giveaway there, too.

If you want to find out more about The Discipline, or even the overall series and my writing process, I wanted to point out an interview over at Lady Smut that happened a little bit ago—the fabulous Rachel Kramer Bussel interviewed me about my writing over there, and I had a good time answering her questions. Check it out if you missed it! Also, on a related note—I will forever celebrate my connection to Rachel since she is the very reason I ever got published in the first place. That said, I encourage you to check out her newest calls for submission. She is always on the lookout for new work!

All right, I can’t very well talk about Lessons In Control without mentioning book three, The Reward. I’ve got to say, I thought at first that book one was my favorite. Then book two was such a bear to write, I thought I liked it most. But…after all the editing of book three, I can officially say it is my favorite. I’m happy to report that it’s not only available for pre-order (out June 12th!), but that we have official back cover copy! Check it out:

What if the fantasy never had to stop? 

It’s been a year since Dean Sova turned Maya Clery’s world inside out. There isn’t a secret fantasy that Maya and Dean haven’t explored—each one more tantalizing and mind-blowing than the last. But while their relationship may be stronger than ever, taking the next step pushes boundaries neither one of them is prepared to face.

Dean couldn’t care less about Maya’s background—all her choices made her the woman he wants to tie to his bed and never let go. But not even a Dom as strong as Dean can keep the past at bay. When a threat from Maya’s old life surfaces, she’ll have to choose once and for all: fight for freedom under Dean’s command, or lose the reward she’s worked so hard for—the chance to be happy with the man she loves.

Book three of Lessons in Control 

This book is approximately 89,000 words

One-click with confidence. This title is part of the Carina Press Romance Promise: all the romance you’re looking for with an HEA/HFN. It’s a promise! Find out more at CarinaPress.com/RomancePromise.

Oh, wow. I’m so pumped for you to read this one, guys! Be sure to pre-order your copy at any of the following places:

Amazon US   Amazon UK   Carina Press   Barnes & Noble   Google Play   iBooks   Kobo

So…that’s all on the series. Now, I have just a little ditty to share about a new mini-project I’ve taken on. To be honest, life has decided to throw some pretty big tragedies my way at the moment…and writing has become tricky with all of it going on. But, I caught a very light wind the other day, and I wanted to run with it. You see, April is the official month for the Blogging A to Z Challenge, and I’ve long wanted to take advantage of this on my poetry site. It sort of clicked the other night that I could spin some of the rockiness I’m feeling and poetry together, and still take part in this challenge through a poem every day (excluding Sunday)—except with a twist: each poem will be part of one continuous, month-long poem. I hope you’ll join me on this adventure, which is titled “A Love Affair, From A to Z.” It’s a bittersweet thing that I’m hoping to be able to continue (without tearing my eyeballs out), so if you’d like to read along, be sure to start with today’s “A – Always.”

News, news, news—and I think that’s all of it! Happy weekend and reading to all!

XX,
Jade

PS Have you signed up for my newsletter? Subscribers will be getting a free preview of book three, The Reward, before it’s released. Don’t miss out!

frosted window image by Вадим Захарищев ©123RF.com

Flash Fiction: “Winter”

This winter will be a cold one, she thinks.

She pulls the covers up to gather the thick layers of down beneath her chin. Once, she threw back these covers even on the coldest of nights, because she needed them aside to draw him into her arms. The two of them would curl up together so that the touch of their bodies could fight the chilly winter’s embrace, letting the heat between them grow forever hotter, and deeper.

frosted window image by Вадим Захарищев ©123RF.com

Вадим Захарищев ©123RF.com

Here though, now, the chill suffuses her lungs and heart. It drains out into her veins in sharp bursts of ice, consuming each organ, every cell. When she exhales, she swears she can see the puff of air against the stillness of her room. The blinds are open, the sun beyond her view, but the glimmer of its light reveals the frost covering the glass and the snow-tipped trees outside. The sight makes her shiver, the cold bone deep when she thinks of him.

It was so much warmer with him here.

She clenches her eyes shut and tucks her face under the blanket. It doesn’t feel as secure when she expels breath after breath to warm her naked flesh. Security was the trace of his fingertips over this skin to fill her body with fire, and her heart with love. When his arms held her tight in the cold of this room, she never felt a chill. The blackness behind her eyelids is fitting for winter and still, such a contrast to what she knew before, with him. She knew lightness. Pure lightness. Joy. She imagines his smile, hears his laugh. Feels the trace of his breath over her ear before he whispers into it.

I love you, he says.

The memories flow fast through her as she breathes, and breathes again. She tries to channel them into heat, replaying them like a dream she needs not to end. She recalls his kneel over the broken couch he fixed for her, and the grin he kept flashing her direction as he did. She holds her belly at the thought of the endless dinners he made for her, the easy scoop of her hand into his, or his gentle brush of her hair off her neck before he kissed her. She pictures the messages he’d send to cheer her on the worst of days, and his amusement when she stroked his thigh in her quiet listen to every little word he had to say. She remembers how hard they’d laughed midway through fucking on the kitchen table after a chair fell over to scrape her wall, a staggering interruption to one more blissful, earth shaking moment shared between them.

Since he’s left, she’s stared at that scrape one hundred times. Each time, she imagines his kisses. His thrusts. The laugh echoed throughout her kitchen like the cold does in her bedroom now. She craves the sound of his voice again. She aches for him, close, once more.

She knows that she needs him more than anything—the weight of him above her, the press of him inside. His arms, his heart, his love, and the fleeting memories that try to slip from her like the air coming from so deep within her chest. It’s cold and heavy to remind her this winter will be a long one, and this bed has never felt so alone.

When she tugs the blanket over her head, tears sting her cheeks like the ice freezing her heart. She pulls her knees into her arms, knowing, somewhere inside, that spring will come. She only hopes it will come faster to light her world in the blossom of their love.

But for now, she merely thinks it again.

Winter will be a cold one this year.

 

*

Cover of The Assignment by Jade A. Waters

It’s Nearly Release Day—And Deal Time!

It’s almost here! Tomorrow is the official release day of my debut novel, The Assignment—and I couldn’t be more thrilled!

As you may have cCover of The Assignment by Jade A. Watersaught on, there have been a lot of events leading up to today. The blog tour kicked off about a week ago, and it will continue for almost two weeks more. Yes! You’ll have plenty of opportunities to find out about the book through guest posts, behind-the-scenes reveals, interviews, and other ditties along the way. Tomorrow, in fact, I’m scheduled to be stopping at not one but THREE fabulous sites! That’s right, you’ll be able to find a smokin’ hot excerpt of The Assignment at Rachel Kramer Bussel’s Lusty Lady blog, a guest post I’ve written about BDSM over at Underneath the covers, and also a review of The Assignment at Books Reviews Etc. Whoa! Will that be triple the fun, or what?

Speaking of extra fun…in celebration of the release of The Assignment, I’m offering a special deal. Anyone who purchases my debut novel within the first three days it’s available (so by 11:59 pm EST December 15, 2016), will get a free, never before published short story of mine. Hurray! I’m super excited to share it with you, too…all you need to do to get your hands on it is…

1. Buy your copy of The Assignment (by the above deadline) and

2. Email a copy of your receipt to me at jade@jadeawaters.com.

It’s that easy! You can find the book at the following locations:

Amazon US     Amazon UK      Barnes & Noble      Google Play      iBooks      Kobo

Once you grab it, don’t forget to email me your receipt. I’ll be sending the story out to you by the end of the week.

Have you already pre-ordered the book? You are awesome—and it’s no problem. Just email along your receipt showing you’ve made the purchase, and ta-da! This short story will be available to you, too. It’s a thank you for your support!

In the meantime, please keep an eye on the Official Tour Post so you can follow along and check out all the stops. Don’t forget to visit past stops, either—my favorite so far was a super fun interview with Rose Caraway (which included a sexy snippet read by me in-studio!). Good times! But there’s definitely more to come…you won’t want to miss a thing. 🙂

For now, thank you so much for joining me on this fantastic journey, and in advance for picking up your copy of The Assignment.

Happy reading to all!

XX,
Jade

PS Want my “autograph” for your ebook? Be sure to request one on Authorgraph if you do! 🙂

Friday Flash Fiction: “The Wait”

She waits for him outside the bar. It feels longer this time, a slow crawl up a steeper slope. Above her, the neon sign glows like a halo she doesn’t deserve—an interrogation lamp under which she omits something, as easily as “Cocktails” flickers on, off, on… It’s a faint buzz trying to be there, but not quite. Another man asks her for a smoke; she shakes her head, because she can hardly see him.

It’s hard to see anything when she waits for him.

Photo of a neon cocktails sign against black sky

The bouncer nods at her, mouths, Coming in? She isn’t ready. Not yet. They’ve been here one thousand times before. Everybody knows them, their laughs together. They talk secrets of the world, and anecdotes from here to the galaxy over so many drinks and smiles. Those smiles she always sees: in her dreams, in the songs she writes. In her heart.

She can’t quite get him out of her heart.

This, she knows, is the problem. It’s the reason she stands here now, though there’s so much more to it—the way he speaks to her, often, or answers the phone to be sure she’s all right. It’s how he looks at her like she’s his comfort and the answer at the end of a hard day. Like she’s the one he’s been waiting for this long.

Too long.

The air feels colder tonight, but it often does before he comes. It’s not right that he can warm her through with the sound of his laugh, or the bite of his lip while he ponders a response to some moralistic question in the middle of their third round. She thinks of this now, the bite of the lip, how he does it without realizing the catch of her breath, and she crosses her arms over her stomach, waiting. Waiting. Why is nothing more important than him?

“Hey.”

He’s behind her, fingers sliding through the strands of her hair in a gentle caress over her neck. She wonders if he sees the flutter of her eyes when his skin meets hers, if he hears her sharp inhalation as he leans into her ear. His is an aura of confidence and love, and that scent he always wears, making her wish she could tilt her nose against his chin to breathe him in, feel the stroke of his fingertips up her thighs or over her naked back like she used to. His body is firm and protective. Close—before he remembers maybe he’s not supposed to touch her like this. His fingers slip from her skin, taking with them everything that makes her heart skip.

The “Cocktails” sign flashes on again. It lights their faces, and the ring on a finger almost tucked in his pocket when he comes around to face her.

“Have you been waiting long?” He gestures toward the door, and she shakes her head.

“Nope. Not long.” She smiles. He smiles.

Bites his lip.

Once they go inside, their bodies are close.

*

The above flash story was inspired by lovely F. Leonora Solomon’s “Friday Flash—Cocktails” meme. Click on the badge below to read other stories inspired by her fabulous photo!

Friday Flash meme image

Image of woman playing with panties over fishnets; Denys Siryk ©123RF.com

Erotic Fiction: Fishnet Queen

We called her the Panty Princess.

Every party we held, she’d show up with that huge smile on her face, wearing an adorable little frock that skimmed the tops of her thighs. She was a costuming fiend, really, because Laney loved any opportunity to dress up. And whenever she had the chance, she’d flash us the panties she’d made that afternoon, or the weekend before, or any old time—she had a gift with lace and bows, satin and cotton.

I know everyone else loved her attendance at our costume parties for her sweet words and the quick glimpse beneath her skirt, her sex adorned so tastefully by her latest creation. No one noticed the marvelous thighs and hips she had around that panty peek, nor the way she dressed them beneath the black strip of velvet draped over her nakedness, or the pink swatch of silk clothing her mound. But for me, that was the true show. She bundled herself in two layers of tights, the bottom one nude and constricting, and the top a coarse fishnet mesh that hugged her legs. Along the trim of her panties, the tights teased me, taunted me, and every time she’d lift her skirt and show us her ingenuity, I’d feel a rush of arousal claiming my groin.

Laney knew this too, I think, her smile greeting each of our friends at our monthly club gatherings in the woods before she settled her gaze on me.

Image of woman playing with panties over fishnets

Denys Siryk ©123RF.com

“Do you like them, Archer?” she’d ask.

Our friends were generally too busy commenting on her masterful use of thread to notice that, or the fact that she always wore her panties on top of her tights to better showcase them.

“You’re such a Panty Princess, Laney!”

“How do you make all of these?”

“Make some for me!”

“And me!”

But her eyes were locked with mine, always, with mine.

“All of it,” I said, my voice a hiss broken by the surge of longing that swarmed my limbs, “is lovely.”

And Jesus, it was. She was.

Tonight’s party had gotten a bit rambunctious—twenty of us frolicking and dancing, drinking like the idiots we were to celebrate nothing in particular except our hedonistic desire to run about the woods. The crisp night air bit at me, urging me, and Laney twirled around with all of our friends, her skirt lifting to show the crescent of an ass cheek.

They loved the panties she flashed, but I couldn’t stop staring at those fishnets.

Eventually, the wind shifted. Laney paused her dancing to grab a beer from one of the coolers, and I spun to watch her go. She didn’t stop at the cooler. Instead, she grinned back at me and lifted the edge of her skirt. She was forever the tease—no one to my knowledge had ever taken her out here, only gossiped like schoolboys and girls over the endless flashes of those panties and how good she would feel beneath one of us some night—so I held firm in my stance.

But then she beckoned me with her finger. Her coquettish grin turned higher, and she lifted her skirt to reveal the top of one round, perfect ass cheek held firm beneath a layer of tights and fucking fishnets.

“Come play,” she mouthed.

There are moments in your life when you’re faced with a split second decision, the outcome of which you may remember forever.

This was mine.

I followed Laney into the woods, leaving the wild calls and frenetic dancing of our group behind. The moonlight was dim enough that I could only make out her shape—the short dress curving along her body, then flapping over her ass. All I really saw were her legs cupped in tights and fishnets. Each time she wore this same combination, the tiniest mesh weave in the darkest nude, kissing every inch of her thighs and knees before disappearing into her knee-high, lace-up boots.

“Hi,” she said. The word was a gasp of air as she fell back against a tree. One single word of invitation, and in the darkness I made out the gleam in her eyes.

She fingered the hem of her skirt. Lifted it. My breath lodged in my throat. I eyed the v that covered her tights before focusing on the stretch of fishnet from her hips down her supple, curvy legs.

“Is this an invitation?” I asked. Two years of watching her, of ogling those fishnets, of seeing the smile on her face when I stuttered.

Laney swayed her knee back and forth. She hooked a thumb under the top of the panties, pulling them down a few inches on the side to reveal she wore nothing but tights beneath. Tights that rested directly against her cunt, which I wanted to bury my fingers in.

She raised her eyes as the panties fell to the ground.

“What do you think?”

The fabric mashed her lips, the tights and fishnets clutching her pussy.

I might have been panting.

I put my hands on her thighs, the rough threads grating like sandpaper. Laney nodded as I ran my palms up to her hip, then back down, over and over again.

“You like the fishnets.”

“They’re so rough.”

“Dancer’s tights,” she said. She closed her eyes as I slid my hand to her crevice. The fabric was soaked there. I followed the curve of her mound, front to back, the pads of my fingertips rolling over the rope-like fishnets and the slick, gritty tights beneath. My cock lurched in my jeans.

I hooked a finger in the netting and yanked, and Laney’s eyes popped open.

“I paid a fortune for these.”

I slipped the fingers of both hands between her thighs, ripping the hole wider. Rubbing against the wet gusset of her under tights. Laney moaned and tilted her head back against the bark. I could have kissed her then, but we both knew what I was after.

I dropped to my knees. I tore a hole in the bottom layer of tights, exposing her to the air. She smelled of roses and musk. I curled my hands around her thighs again, savoring the friction of the tights. I ran my tongue up her left thigh, then her right, and I groaned at the numbing, chafing fabric. Then I stared at the hole I’d made at her crotch. The edges of the fishnets were like a broken grate, no longer shielding her from me. Runs split the tights beneath and stretched down her thighs in long, jagged streaks.

“You owe me twenty-five bucks, Archer,” was the last thing I heard her murmur when I snaked my tongue between her legs to taste her swollen, sweet clit. I kept my hands gripped tight on those fishnets, caressing the fabric while I delved my tongue inside her, then back up to her clit. Soft whimpers spilled from her throat and her torn fishnets grazed my cheeks.

In the distance, our friends danced around the woods, their voices traveling on the breeze while Laney clutched my head and drew me closer. Her moans became cries as I lapped at her, my hands fondling her thighs, numb from the rub of those fishnets. And when Laney came for me, she blinked with the most startled of expressions on her face.

“Holy shit,” she whispered.

She was the Panty Princess no longer.

She was my Fishnet Queen.

Wicked Wednesday Badge

Picture of feet sticking out of car window, parked to watch sunset; Ammentorp ©123RF.com

We [Were] On a Break!

I am the worst at taking a break. I’ve been this way my whole life—relaxation is a thing I enjoy, but most of the time, there has to be something else going on simultaneously. Hell, it wasn’t until recently that I took up watching some TV before bed while needing to talk myself into lying still on the couch (because, sadly, reading revs me up and makes it impossible to pass out). I have a friend who describes me as being incapable of slowing down, but I often correct him to say that I can, I just prefer to have my wheels spinning at all times, if not in person, then at least in the back of my head.

The slowing of the wheels is something I’m actively working on this year. I’ve been going through a lot that I’ve mentioned on the blog, but there’s been other off-site stuff, too, which has made my series-writing ride quite the adventure. Add to this that moderation is a concept lost on me (just give me a pile of candy and I’ll blow your mind, swear), and the fact that I’m still pretty good at pushing past pain…well, put all this together, and you’ve got a flashy sports car that eventually has a major break down and stops working.

Obviously, that, in the middle of a 3-book series, simply will not do.

Picture of feet sticking out of car window, parked to watch sunset

Chillin’. Ammentorp ©123RF.com

Which is why I’ve set up various rewards to honor the need to slow my roll in this already unique process. Since I just typed “The End” and closed off the draft for The Discipline, book 2 in the Lessons in Control series, the one I greet you with today is a deal I made with myself long ago: two full weeks off! This is a time for me to not only not think about the book while it simmers, but to essentially take a mini-writing-pseudo-vacation. Yes, writing is my passion, my sustenance, my love—but revisit that moderation in all things clause, and eventually, one can overdose in love, too.

Plus, a “vacation” always brightens the landscape of pretty much anything, so here I am, taking one!

What does this mean? Save for the potential of my copy edits showing up during this rest time, I’m not doing a lick of writing beyond a blog post or two, and maybe even a little revise of a poem and a piece of flash I wrote a while back, since it’s high time I get some fiction up in this joint. But beyond that? I’m practicing chilling out interspersed with moments of handling a short To Do list I avoided while staying focused on the series. This last weekend, for example, I swapped between bills, taxes, and major social time with friends. I even kicked off Saturday morning with pancakes, bacon, and a coconut milk latte in front of a TV show while still in my robe. Guys, this sort of thing hasn’t happened in years. And you know what? It felt pretty good.

There are other cool things happening in this two-week break, too. One, I’ve got a slew of awesome social encounters I’ve delayed: karaoke, luncheons, dinners, happy hours, and, hell, I might even take myself dancing and then sleep in this weekend! Whoa! Also, I’m finally reading a book. I know this sounds like a no brainer—but between being all up in this series and not being able to read before bed lest it keep me awake, I’ve pretty much been catching only blog posts here and there, and thus haven’t touched a book since, oh, late August (shameful, I know, but it’s the truth). Oh and extra chill-worthy: I’m rewatching Fringe from start to finish. This is my favorite series of all time, right before the wicked tie for second between The Tudors, Dexter, Friends (bonus points if you caught the show reference in the title of this post), Grey’s Anatomy, and the first six seasons of The Vampire Diaries (don’t even talk to me about the current season). I have tons of other good things planned for this time, too, but let it be said: there will be some real relaxation for me. I’m excited!

On top of that, I’m not going to feel guilty. Not at all. I know my lovely little characters can wait for me, and everything—life, series, etc.—will return to normal when I’m back.

We are, after all, on a break. 🙂

XX,
Jade

B/W still vintage image of typewriter

THE Process

Okay, here’s the deal: I kept fooling myself into believing I have a systemized process, and it’s become abundantly clear I’m full of shit.

As some of you may have noticed, I’ve been fairly quiet on both this site and my poetry site. For the most part, I’ve had my head down working on the Lessons in Control series. I’m getting more and more excited to talk about it as we get closer to launch in December, but for now, I’m tied up (heh) in edits for The Assignment (book one), the drafting of The Discipline (book two)—and later down the line, the drafting of The Reward (book three).

The process has been thrilling, shocking, and terrifying, all at the same time. My editor, Rhonda Stapleton, has been a dream through the work we’re doing on book one—but alongside that, I’ve had a hell of a journey on book two. Whatever “process” I swore I had for writing books has been, well, doctored.

B/W still vintage image of typewriter

Dmitriy Cherevko ©123RF.com

Let me give you a little background. The first real book I wrote (because I’m excluding the fictional biography I wrote at 11 as well the YA horror I wrote at 13) was a romantic fantasy that took me 17 years to complete, and at the end of it, I learned one very important thing: I’m neither a fantasy writer OR a strictly spec fic writer. I love sexual content, and I love dripping that all over the pages of whatever the hell I’m writing. So for my next book, I opted to write a comedic memoir about the year and a half I semi-intentionally stopped having sex. (True story!) Turned out, for a book about not having sex, it actually had a lot of sexual content—but it was also about healing from heartbreak, finding oneself, and a bit of ridiculousness that happened in that period, among other things. Honestly, I haven’t talked a ton about this thing since it’s shelved in lieu of what I currently love writing (that would be erotica in its various forms), but, the point is that it took me about three years to write, the end confirming that (1) I needed to write more because it was my life blood and (2) I was capable of finishing things faster than I thought.

Next came a bunch of short stories. I had a spec fic writing mentor at the time who suggested what I needed was to start and stop over and over again, so I could feel more confident in the process before I took on another book. Whoa nelly, did that turn out to be a boon: I wrote something like two dozen short stories in a few months. Plus, I wrote them fast. 4-6k in a couple hours? No problem! I had become a binge writer who also learned the skill of drafting without backtracking, because one can always chop and revise later. I was pretty sure that nifty trick would carry with me for life.

Flash forward to the recent past, and there came The Assignment. I’d been plotting and stewing about how I might be able to write an erotica series for a couple months, and, meanwhile, had an extremely transformative relationship that sparked all sorts of ideas in my head. Then…we broke up. Okay, in actuality, I had to pry myself away because the entire thing was about to ruin me, but a well-timed vacation and a keen interest in the “do not disturb” function on my phone created utter magic. Even through my devastation, the plot of my story became clear and I proceeded to channel all that breakup energy into writing The Assignment. That book—which I am seriously excited for you to read when it comes out in December—took me a whopping week and a half to outline, and right around one month to draft.

For realsies.

And suddenly—I knew my process: outline, speed draft without editing, let it breathe, go in and proceed to smoothe. Check! Oh yeah. It was that simple, and it would be, forever. Right? So while the final version was off wandering the world for a home, I proceeded to start another book—but the entire time, I couldn’t figure out what had happened to my process because I seemed to be going in circles…for almost eight months.

I’d just upped my speed and written a book in a month. How on earth did this thing take so long?

Then came some real life chaos that fucked with me. It took a while for me to get a clue on how to handle it, but when I did, I opted for a book break. I spent a couple months writing shorts and reworking my confidence, so that when The Assignment found a home at Carina Press and they wanted the entire series, I was both giddy and ready to write book two. Except, not so much. I was still contending with the residual chaos that culminated in the attack of the chronic migraines while also struggling to realize this was in no uncertain terms affecting my process. I drafted about 30k. I got migraine sick. I drafted 10k. I was still migraine sick. I tore up 20k. Edits for book one came. I finished them and then drafted 20k. But again, I was really sick and had to straight up stop. When I was migraine-free and ready to go again, I not only cut out about 15k, but completely replotted the rest of the book.

Ha. Take that, process!

Oh, and my binge writing tendency in that entire time period? M.I.A. 1-2k became a good day! But I plodded along, accepting that I would produce, delete, rewrite, break, etc., until somewhere around December when—while setting my 2016 goals—I took a step back and thought, hmm, maybe I should just write the damn book however it comes out, and stop being an asshole to myself because the process happens to have changed from what it was before.

Amazing concept, right?

I have to say—since then, things have continued to be pretty good over here. I turned in another round of edits on book one, and when I sat down to begin the final chunk of the book two draft this last weekend, I didn’t even bat an eyelash at the fact that the first thing I did was replot the last 20k again.

Go figure.

So, ladies and gentlemen, it’s safe it say: I have discovered the real process! It’s good, and I’m going to share it with you. You should grab a pen. Go ahead, I will wait. *Taps foot.* I know you want the Secret to the Writing Universe I discovered over the last few months, and now, I’m going to give it to you!

Okay, you ready?

Here it is.

The official process is…

Whatever fucking works.

Yep. That’s it. (Did you write that down?) 🙂

I have no idea if my process is “no process” because of life things, or just because that’s the truth of the matter, but I’m pleased to have established this riveting…process. Also, I’m curious about everyone else—what’s your process? I’d love to hear in the comments.

For now, though, time for me to get back to work.

It’s a process. 😉

XX,
Jade

 

Black and white photo of Jade A. Waters

“Missing You” is Part of Tamsin’s Superotica Advent Calendar!

It’s a very special time of year—and for those of you not in the know, Tamsin Flowers hosts the hottest advent calendar in town. Each day until Christmas, she features stories from a bevy of fabulous authors that will definitely get your pulse racing. This year she kicked off with part one of a beautiful piece of her own called “Fallen,” and she’s featured so many other delicious stories too, from the likes of Lana FoxRachel Kramer BusselKatya Harris, and many more. Man and woman in the dark sharing sexual moment.

Today, Tamsin has kindly asked me over! She’s featuring a short and sweet flash piece of mine called “Missing You,” one I wrote a couple months back with an image of that achy feeling you get when the one you love is just too, too far away. So, with that in mind, I hope you’ll head over to Tamsin’s place to give this new release a read…

Once you do, be sure to keep an eye not only on all the other advent calendar stories, but Tamsin’s site, too. It’s a smokin’ hot destination!

Special thanks to Tamsin for hosting, and to you, readers, for checking out “Missing You“! 🙂

XX,
Jade

Cover of Coming Together: In Verse

Poetry for a Cause!

I have always loved writing poetry. It’s been a part of my life since I was young, and in the last few years, I’ve grown so fond of it I knew I needed to launch a secondary site to house all my poetic words. So, when the fabulous poet Ashley Lister put out a call for Coming Together: In Verse—a collection of erotic poetry to benefit Hope for Paws—I knew I simply had to take part.Cover of Coming Together: In Verse

Coming Together: In Verse is a sexy new anthology out today, filled entirely with erotic poetry and risqué verse—be it sultry, comedic, romantic, or filthy. On top of that, the poets involved are ones who will surely rock your world, and sales proceeds go to support a cause that’s dear to me, too—animal rescue! I’m thrilled to have three brand new poems in this anthology—”Colours,” “Farther,” and “Longing”—and to whet your appetite, I have some special surprises for you, too.

First, I’m revealing “Longing” over on my poetry site—it’s the shorter of my three poems included in Coming Together: In Verse. But then, I’m reading you “Longing,” too…because of course, poetry is meant to be heard. 😉 You can find the audio either on YouTube or on my poetry site.

Once you’re finished with both of these book release treats, I hope you’ll really make me purrrrr…by heading over to Amazon to grab your copy of this gorgeous new anthology. Sexy poetry, good cause—how can you pass it up?

I very much hope you enjoy “Longing,” and thank you for your support!

XX,
Jade

Woman on top of man, both of them smashed together in heated embrace

Erotic Fiction: “Everything”

He was everything. Everything. The flight of my soul, the fire of my heart.

It’s all I can think as I bury my head in his shoulder, bearing my teeth to his skin, feeling the wild bursts of his pulse as I rock above him. His breath tumbles out into my hair, quiet gasps that tell me how much he needs this. How much he needs me.

Just as I need him.Woman on top of man, both of them smashed together in heated embrace

“You,” he says.

The word breaks on his lips as I arch, sliding farther in his lap, taking him deeper into me. There is no sound in this room but ours, no thought between us but this, no awareness of anything beyond the sweet thrust of his cock as his fingertips dig into my back and steer me closer, like he’s never forgotten me.

I trail kisses up his chin and over his mouth. He sucks my lip between his teeth, his eyes open as he thrusts once, then again. That look, that one, says I will never leave you again. I will never let you go. I can feel it inside as I whimper and slide against him, feel it in my heart as his fingers tease their way up my flesh. He’s so deep inside I swear he’s penetrating my very soul, and I tilt back my head with a throaty moan.

I close my eyes then and he twines his fingers in my hair, staying deep despite his movement to lay me on my back. Our bodies are one on this mess of sheets. He wasn’t supposed to come here again, but then our life together had always been a disaster of shouldn’ts and shoulds.

But deep down, we knew what it was supposed to be.

“You,” he growls.

His kisses find my face as he presses closer, and our stomachs grow slick at the meshing of our bodies. The sway of our hips amplifies, a rapid pounding so intense I couldn’t see straight if I tried. And it’s with this motion—teeth locking on my earlobe, fingers clawing at my breast and down between us, grazing the swollen nub of my clit as he drives inside—that I can feel myself flying like I did, then. He leans back, watches as I gasp and moan, my lips numb as the spasms tear through me, making me shake uncontrollably as he continues to thrust, and thrust.

To love me like only he can.

When I finish shuddering, he releases the loudest groan. It’s the surrender that tells me he needed me then, now, forever. He comes inside, filling me with heat, and as we lay there it’s clear we’ve found our peace again.

“Always, you,” he pants.

His kisses are soft like raindrops from the corner of my eye down my cheek.

“And you,” I say.

Because he’s everything.

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