Hello Again, Strangers!

So after I posted the cover image the other day, I got some feedback that maybe just the image on its own wasn't quite enough — that I should have also shared a small portion of the actual story to go along with it. Give people something to look forward to, you know? At first I wasn't sure. Posting a snippet before the first chapter is even out there felt a little like showing someone a single puzzle piece and asking them to guess the picture. But the more I thought about it, the more I figured... why not? If nothing else, it'll give you a feel for the main character and the kind of story this is going to be. So here's a little snippet from the very first chapter.

I looked at the mirror one final time. She looked back. Same eyes, same bone structure, same person who'd been eating sad toast in boxers forty-five minutes ago. But settled. Like everything that had been slightly out of focus had sharpened into place.

"Morning, gorgeous," I said to my reflection, because if you couldn't gas yourself up in your own bedroom, what was the point of anything?

Then I walked to my desk, sat down, opened my laptop, and watched the cursor blink at me like it had been waiting.

I should have been used to this by now. The empty page. The blinking cursor. The quiet little standoff between me and a document that had nothing in it because I had put nothing in it. But the thing was — and here was where it got stupid — it hadn't always been like this.

The thing about being a writer that no one told you, or rather, everyone told you but you didn't believe it until it was happening to you: success made the next page harder, not easier. You'd think selling well would be a confidence booster. You'd think having actual readers — people who bought your book with money they earned at real jobs and then spent hours of their limited time on earth reading words you arranged — would make you think I can do this. And it did, briefly, in the way that a shot of espresso made you think you could reorganize your entire apartment. The feeling was real and it was lying to you.

My Husband, My Bride was my fourth book. Not my first. That was an important distinction because people kept treating the viral moment like a debut, like I'd stumbled out of nowhere with one lucky manuscript. I had three other books. Three perfectly decent, modestly selling erotica novels that had paid my rent and earned me a small, loyal readership of people who liked kinky stories with teeth. I was proud of those books. They hadn't set the world on fire, but they'd kept the lights on, and there was a specific kind of pride in that — the pride of someone who's been doing the work for years without anyone making a fuss about it.

The plan is to drop the first full chapter on a Friday or Saturday — mostly because the week will be winding down and people will start to get a bit more relaxed and have enough time to sit down and read new stories on BCTS. I hope this story finds some readers out there and that you enjoy it enough to stick around and wait for the next chapter.

Talk soon!

Love,
IAmHerEmma