Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 102375 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102375 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
But I see people making choices.
Obviously, that’s the whole reason the title of book 1 is Her Chains Her Choice.
Emmaleen was drifting. She made choices about a man she regrets. She makes new choices to get away from him. Then chooses an archetype that mimics him.
If you believe in psychology, this is a pattern. She’s got a problem. She needs to confront whatever hurt her as a child or some bullshit, and deal with things.
I don’t actually believe in psychology, but that’s not important here. What is important is that she’s CHOOSING.
What other people think about her choices isn’t part of the equation. Nor should it be. She’s an adult. She has agency. She desires things that are outside the norm. Things most people don’t want.
But Emmaleen isn’t evangelizing her desires. She’s just sitting with them. All by herself. She’s working it out. What do I want. What do I need. How can I get it and be happy.
Very, very simple questions.
And what other people think has no place in her decision.
This is kind of where I am in life too.
I have always been the girl who gives no fucks.
But everyone kind of does give a fuck. At least every once in a while. They care. And authors who say they don’t care about reviews often don’t mean it with 100% conviction.
Because what they mean is, they can let the one-stars go and enjoy the five stars.
Which gives a little bit of a fuck.
Some people get crushed by one-star reviews.
Some people deserve one-star reviews.
Some people find a way to make the one-stars mean less by making other things mean more. Money, for instance.
There was this very famous duo of writers who did these weekly erotica shorts many years back. Every week, new erotica. Bad stories. Like horrible. Bad reviews. Horrible. But they were in the top 100 every week.
Money made up for it.
Then their account got banned for... something. Who knows. And I don’t know what they did after that, probably made a new name, a new account and just… carried on.
And whatever I think about those stories, they were at least doing their thing.
That was their thing.
Smut. Like meaningless smut.
And they did it because people wanted it.
There was a place for them.
There IS a place for them.
It’s what they want to do. It’s not hurting people. It’s a stupid story.
I feel like women like Emmaleen are the same.
Is it healthy?
Mo-fo’s, I don’t know.
I have no idea. I’m not here to convince you of anything.
I made a choice to write a story, you made a choice to read it.
And inside the story Emmaleen makes a choice to explore something that feeds a desire she doesn’t fully understand.
Will it last?
Does anything last?
That’s kind of the whole point in life.
You’re here. In a moment. And then it’s gone.
You might as well check shit out.
The thing I like about this book is that Jino and Giovanni are peak dysfunctional. Peak. Jino has this chapter where he’s watching Giovanni lose control and he’s comparing himself to him thinking, wow. Thank god I’m not like that.
And before that, Giovanni had his chapter where he’s watching Jino get off on domination curriculum and he’s thinking, do I even know this guy anymore?
And Emmaleen is like – I want this.
And Jino is like. Bitch, you’re kinda sick. You don’t know what you want.
And Giovanni is like, I need to prove something here.
And Emmaleen is like… listen, is this OK? I’m not sure. Do I care? No.
And finally, they all get there.
The no-fucks zone.
The moment when the outside world disappears and all that’s left is you.
And you realize… huh. This is exactly how I came into this world. This is exactly how I’m gonna leave this world. So I’m gonna check it out.
And it’s OK because I say it’s OK.
I give myself permission to explore this thing.
And if it’s the wrong choice, if I make a terrible mistake, I will forgive myself and make new choices.
And once you do that…
Wow.
I think everyone wants to get there. But maybe I’m wrong. I don’t know. I only know how I feel and how I feel is… yeah.
The no-fucks zone.
I am long past the point of proving myself as a writer. I have reached pretty much every benchmark of a ‘successful fiction author’.
New York Times Bestseller.
USA Today Bestseller.
Sold TV/Movie rights.
Wrote screenplays.
Audiobook awards.
Tables at the most iconic books signings in romance history.
A literal founder of the Dark Romance genre.
Millions of dollars earned.
Millions of books sold.
Hundreds of thousands of reviews.
I am long, long past the point of spelling out my motives.
Long, long, long past the point of existing inside the ‘social construct’ of whatever this place is.
Life, for me, is a serious of internal moments.
It is about my mind.
And my desires.
And my choices.
Writing stories makes my life vivid and real in a way that most people will never understand. I exist inside every world I’ve ever written and I exist as every character on the page.