Writing Assignment: Third Grade Classroom Day

In Judy Blume’s Masterclass, this assignment reads:

Judy advises that you reinhabit your childhood. One vivid way
to do this is to remember being in school. For example, put
yourself back in your third grade classroom. Try to remember
your teacher, the students around you, and what you did in a
specific moment. Focus on the details. If you’re not able
to conjure up your own memories, visit a school (with
permission) and observe the environment. Write up a page or
two of memories or observations from your school experiences
and share them in The Hub. Maybe you will spark an idea
from your school days or see something in someone else’s
recollection that speaks to you.

I decided to write a fictitious account of my elementary school based on one memory I have during that era of my life. The people are real and the song is very real. Here is my third-grade self telling a little story about Cinco De Mayo::::

Today is Cinco De Mayo, the fifth of May and we are going to have an assembly if it does not rain. We have been practicing our song all month. I am excited about performing it in front of everyone at our school.

I feel too excited to sit still at the long table that sits closest to the door. Next to me is my best friend, Julie, and across the table are Mohammad, Shehab, and Damon. We started elementary school together in the first grade with another twenty kids. In first grade, they picked five of the smartest kids in our class to go into a second-grade classroom. In second grade, the five of us had a third-grade teacher and we shared a room with the third graders.

Now, we are in third grade and are sitting in the fourth-grade classroom. The fourth graders do not understand the excitement I feel today, and the teacher has told me too many times to sit still and pay attention. It is hard to pay attention to things that are not important like spelling words when my mind is filled with the words to this fun song.

Cinco De Mayo is holiday time. Holiday time in Mexico.

I look at the clock. It is only nine o’clock. When both hands on the clock go straight up to the number twelve, that is when we will leave the classroom and line up for our song. We get to skip an hour of class to get into our outfits before the show. That is always fun to miss school and not get in trouble for it.

My teacher writes on the board today’s words. We copy them on our paper and must write them in cursive on the lined paper she gave us. I hate cursive because my loops are not as pretty as Julie’s. Ms. Hicks gives me bad grades on cursive. I do not even try to make my loops pretty because I cannot think about loops.

Cinco De Mayo is holiday time. To the fiesta we go-go-go.

My head turns to the door as I hear thunder outside. Normally, I would be afraid of the noise but not today. It just makes me a little sad because when you hear thunder it usually has rain with it. If it rains, we might not be able to sing our song and dress in the Mexican hats. I learned last week that in Spanish, a hat is called a sombrero. And the fiesta is a party.

“Kids, eyes up front.” Ms. Hicks says because everyone at my table looked at the door. After all, the thunder was so loud that it broke through the door.

Everyone except me turned their attention back to the chalkboard. I stare door still. I wonder if my mom will be mad if she misses work for the program and they cancel it because of the rain.

Sha-la-la-la-la. Go Go Go!

The bell rings and we are excused to go on the playground for a break. It is only a short one before lunch and before it gets hot outside. Our afternoon break is sometimes too hot, and we sit in the shade and do nothing.

When I run outside, I am happy to see that the ground was still dry. No rain yet. We still have a chance. Julie runs out in front of me and I catch up to her. We make it to the swings before anyone else. Everyone likes the swings. You would think the school would pay for everyone to have their own swing. If everyone had their own swing, I would not have to run to get one of the empty ones. Mine would be there waiting for me; even though my teacher says running is good for me.

Julie and I swing next to each other. We always try to see who can go the highest. I just want to get high so I can jump off. That is the difference between us. She just swings and I want to jump off them as Damon does. He always gets high up; one day he will go so high that he will go completely around and fly upside down. That would be cool.

The bell rings and I jump off the swing and land on my knees. I do not cry but it did hurt. As everyone is running back to class, the rain starts. I stop running and stand in the middle of the blacktop. It cannot be raining. Now they will not have the program.

Everyone is inside except me because I am so mad that it is raining. My arms are crossed in front of me, and my bottom lip is puffed out.

The teacher hollers at me. “Come inside, now.” When I do not move, the teacher runs out in the rain and grabs my arm. She drags me in while saying, “Stop this little attitude of yours.”

Nothing I can do but start crying. The fourth graders laugh as I am put in the corner of the room because I told the teacher outside that she needed to stop her attitude. She did not seem to like that. Well, I did not like it either. She does not understand that my mom is losing time from work for the program and the rain is going to cancel it. My mom never misses work unless it is something important because it is only me and her and we do not have a lot of money.

I wanted my mom to see my show so badly that she stayed home today so she could come to my lunchtime program, which looked like they would cancel it. Rain is so stupid. I do not even know why we need rain. It just makes everything all wet, and we must wear those stupid yellow jackets. My arms are still crossed in front of my chest as I sat Indian-style in the corner.

Cinco De Mayo is holiday time. Holiday time in Mexico.

When the little hand landed on the eleven, the door to the classroom opened. Mr. Golden called my name, as well as Julie, Mohammad, Damon, and Shehab. I jumped up from the corner of the room where I sat. It was time. It must have stopped raining. This excitement is making my stomach butterflies go crazy.

When I step outside, the rain is pouring down. Mr. Golden tells us to go next door. All five of us run with him to room number 3. We were in room 5. We all got wet even though we did run as fast as we could. The other third graders, who were not as smart as the elite five, were in the room. They were already dressed in their Mexican sombreros and panchos. We get dressed to match them.

After we get dressed, I ask Mr. Golden, “Are we going to put on the show if it’s raining?”

He says, “We moved the show into the cafeteria. We will perform while everyone eats.”

“And are parents?” I ask.

“They will be in the cafeteria with us.”

Julie and I jump up and down together because we know my mom and her mom will sit next to each other. After about an hour of butterflies, both hands of the clock are straight up. It is time. We make a single file line and walk slowly out of the room and into the cafeteria. As soon as we enter, the music starts. We sing our song in our classic Mexican hats and jackets. We dance and I try not to mess up the steps while I look for my mom in the audience. She is in the back of the room standing next to Julie’s mom. I smile and sing as loud as I can.

Cinco De Mayo is holiday time. Holiday in Mexico. Cinco De Mayo is holiday time. To the fiesta we go-go-go. Sha-la-la-la-la. Go Go Go.

Crash/Push (Flash Fiction)


Michelle awoke from a foggy daze as she sat behind her favorite blonde in Spanish class that she knew as Melanie. Her best friend, Jason, had hit a vase of flowers that were sitting on the edge of the professor’s desk that she had gotten that morning from her husband for her birthday. Jason was clumsy and ran into more things than anyone she knew.

Water ran between the broken pieces of glass on the floor and the little stream of water headed Michelle’s way. She watched the water coming towards her; she forgot everything, even herself. Lost in a dream…


Again, Michelle woke up from her gaze by another student in her Spanish class, Joanie, who did not like Michelle. Without even a sorry, Joanie pushed Michelle’s body sideways, closer to the water. Michelle felt as she was falling overboard, about to drown within her thoughts of the blonde in front of her.

Michelle heard a whisper, slow, deep, and quiet from in front of her. “Hey, meet me at my locker after class.”

She looked up from the floor; the water was gone. Jason had cleaned up the mess he made, and Michelle wished he could take care of the one that was growing in her stomach but that was something only one person could calm. Michelle’s eyes gravitated to the blonde that Melanie’s lips, the room silent except for her voice.

Michelle barely heard it but knew what she said. Wanting to reach out, Michelle suffered because she felt that this passion that ached inside her was not mutual; but even so, between the day and the night, Melanie was her twilight; still dark, but a light at the end of her tunnel.

Lost in her thoughts, Michelle leaned forward staring at Melanie’s strawberry glossed lips. She could not control herself. Michelle hoped that Melanie would be there to catch her.

Michelle snapped back to reality, holding herself back. As she focused her eyes on Melanie’s intriguing smile, Michelle knew at that moment, she was falling, falling for Melanie. What was it that Melanie did to make her feel that way?

In her mind, Michelle begged for help. She was losing everything that she knew and everything that she was. Dammit, Melanie. What did you do to me?

After class, Michelle stalled. She let Melanie, Jason, and her classmates go ahead. She needed a moment to gather herself. This was not something that happened all at once, the feeling had grown over time, months. Maybe it was that moment when they hugged a little too long when she got won an award for a paper she had written. Maybe it was when Melanie helped wipe the cocoa off the front of her shirt when it spilled. Or maybe it was when they were both running for Melanie’s cell phone and bumped into each other, falling on the floor, and not getting up right away. A long loving glance? Michelle knew Melanie had to know how she felt.

Out the door, it was a straight line that led to Melanie and her locker. She paused, waiting… anticipating… Michelle wished she could next to her, to smell her perfume; there was no safety. There was only one road to take, and Michelle was going crazy inside.

Michelle heard the whisper again, it was sweet. Melanie’s voice was in her head; it was calling her. She read Lilly’s lips, “Michelle, come here.”

Michelle asked herself what it would be like if their lips were near. Could she feel Melanie’s breath just before they met?

Again, Michelle felt a moment where she was falling, falling over this girl, who had been her friend for forever and a day. What was Melanie doing to her?


Locker doors slammed shut around her. Michelle had lost herself again, she was frozen. Afraid that if she were to open her mouth that nothing would come out. In another whisper, Michelle saw Melanie say something to Jason. Nothing, Michelle heard nothing.


Michelle felt a hand on her back, the strength of Jason was pushing her toward Melanie. The push stopped once Michelle was in front of Melanie. Do not open your mouth, Michelle thought.

Melanie handed Michelle an envelope as Jason walked away. Michelle stared at it; afraid it was a letter that started with “Dear Michelle.”

Michelle handed it back to Melanie.

“No, silly, open it,” Melanie said with a smile and encouragement.

Michelle felt as if she were drowning again. She saw the water on the floor, heading toward her, as her finger glided along the edge of the envelope, tearing the top of the letter in two.

As the top opened, Michelle reached in and pulled out a card. Designed in hearts and bears and rainbows, the top of it read “Happy Valentine’s Day”.

She opened the card and saw ink swirled on the inside, forming words. Melanie smiled with a shy, almost worried look. Michelle read to herself, “I don’t know what you did, but catch me, darling. I have fallen for you. Love, Your Melanie.”

Michelle smiled, lost with words. The bell rang, but Michelle did not hear it. There was another whisper, but it was loud, strong; it traveled down her body and stung her heart.

“I love you too, Melanie,” Melanie said, helping guide Michelle to form a sentence.


Michelle’s heart was beating with Melanie’s for the same purpose, the same reason.


With a laugh, Melanie pushed Michelle down the hall. “Get going to class, we’ll talk at lunch.”

Just before Melanie got around the corner of the school hallway, Michelle hollered out. “I love you too, Melanie.”

No need for help, Michelle had fallen… and would be enjoying the crash!

A Letter From My Childhood Self

My first writing assignment on Judy Blume’s MasterClass is a Letter From My Childhood Self. The rules read as follows: Write a letter as your childhood self. It’s up to you who you want to write to—your adult self or someone else in your life. Let them know what you care about, what scares you, and what you yearn for.

Soooo… here I go.

Dear My Adult Self,

Oh my god. I have to tell you about something that has changed my life. Maybe in the future, this will be trivial because I don’t know when you will read this and what will have happened over the course of your life. I am sure that this moment will have an impact that will shape your entire life. I know it will.

It was Sunday and I’m watching that variety show on television with all the Mexican performers. I’m sitting with my fingers on the VHS’s record button waiting for the old man in glasses to yell out the words MENUDO. Again, he doesn’t say that. He said something else that I don’t know because I don’t speak Spanish. And that was when our life changed. I know it did because I felt it in the pit of my stomach when those four girls showed up on stage.

The first one sang, she had brown curly hair and sounded sweet. The next girl sang. She had a deeper voice; not as cute and sorta of ordinary. After those two verses, all four girls sang and danced the chorus. I pressed the record button. I need to save this on my VHS tape to watch over and over.

The music slowed down and the third girl sang. She had long blond hair with her tinted pink bangs hanging down. And then the fourth girl stepped forward. That was the moment my life changed. I can still remember everything about her. Her shoulder length dirty blond hair had strong highlights in it. She wore black leggings and a baggy black and white blouse that hung just over her hips. Her voice was angelical. I am in love. I think…no, I know I will love this girl forever.

After the commercial, the four girls on stage were joined by three teenage boys. I no longer care anything about Menudo because I have found myself. There he was. He was front and center with the biggest and widest smile I have every seen. He has curly hair and is everything I am not. I want to be him. I want to be everything he is but I can’t. He has a flat chest and while mine doesn’t have mountains, it has hills that might grow into mountains. His voice his deep. Mine is high. I am a soprano in choir.

The more I watch, the more I am in love with these seven teenagers but it is her I know is the perfect girl and it is him I want to inspire to be. I bet if I asked my mother to perm my straight hair, she will let me. That will make me feel closer to who I am meant to be. I’ll stop wearing dresses and ask to buy clothes like his. I’ll smile like he does too. Maybe I can change my name to something not so girlish. Maybe if I tell the world I am like him, they will believe me. Doesn’t it work like that?

How hard could it be to be a boy when the outside of my body tells everyone I’m a girl?

Parents always say you can be anything you want if you just try hard enough. I’m gonna try my hardest to be the guy I want to be and maybe one day, I will; and when I am that guy, I am going to find that girl and make her my girlfriend. I hope by the time you read this letter, you are a man with a wonderful and beautiful woman as your wife. Maybe she will look just like the love of your life. By the way, her name is Sasha and his name is Diego.

Love, Your 15-year-old self

I Signed Up For MasterClass

Yesterday, I signed up for my year long MasterClass program to help with writing. I started my first class with Judy Blume. Hell, why not. There are 19 different writing classes, so I have my work cut out for me.

Ultimately, I decided to take the plunge and spend the $180 for the year and beef up my writing skills. I debated this for a hard while because I didn’t want to fork out the money if this was just going to be one of those “hobbies” that I quit in 2 months just to insist that my passion lies somewhere else, and everyone agreeing with me. Which then again would change in 2 months stating that my REAL passion was something entirely different and everyone agreeing with me.

Even when I get bored and/or writer’s block, I come back to this: WRITING. So… here is another attempt at focusing on a hobby and I know everyone around me will either say YOU GOT THIS or ANOTHER HOBBY.

As I go forward with the classes, I know there will be assignments because I already go down to my first one with Judy Blume. I will use this blog as a place for my writing assignments and where I can discuss the program, the books they want us to read, and so on.

Part of the reason for the move to enhance my craft comes from where we are in life. Elisabeth has jumped into a creative career and is taking classes to better herself. I do believe that I write a good story, maybe the grammar and flow could be better. Why not take this time to better myself and my writing and after this time of study, I can go back to my works and bring this new author out in me. Go back to publishing real books and Kindles and tell myself that I am a writer.

Where Is girl/Mistress? And What I Learned While Writing This Epic Novel…

Someone asked me recently why I haven’t taken the time to publish girl/Mistress on Wattpad and bring it back to life. Honestly, the real reason is because it is such a enormous undertaking that I am don’t know if I am ready to give that much time to it.

The novel, girl/Mistress was a book that I wrote back in 2009. It took seven years to actually publish it on Amazon and was the only book to make some money. Maybe somewhere around $300.00, give or take. The paperback version came in over 600 pages. It felt like the size of a Stephen King book. Each time I am ready for a new project for Wattpad, I look at girl/Mistress and pass up the chance to relive it to work on something else. One day it will happen.

For any of my peeps who knows girl/Mistress knows that this book life changing. Last night when I thought about this blog post, I wanted to to start off like this: It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. To talk about girl/Mistress that line is completely true. So here is the story of girl/Mistress.

The original story was TeenDom, a real person fiction centered around Emily Osment, Miley Cyrus, and the cast of Hannah Montana with an original character to star opposite of Emily Osment. After I finished that version of the story, I had a little obsession with the TV show or to say, Emily Osment. I came up with the idea to flip the story in a way to make it a fanfiction in the HM fandom. The title then became, I’m Not A Girl, Not Yet A Mistress. If anyone knows HM, you know that all the episode titles are song titles with a little humor to it.

I began writing it and posting the chapters on FanFiction.net back in 2009. This introduced me to a bunch of people I now call friends. It also introduced me to someone who completely changed my life. I met, online, a girl who I had a lot in common with, and she became my beta-reader for this story.

In my personal life, I had a girlfriend but we were not really happy at the time. A good word for it was BORED. So when this person came into my life and we had all the odd and warped things in common, it was inevitable that I fell in love with her. I broke up with my girlfriend, started a long distance online relationship with someone, got back together with my girlfriend, thought that I could have two women at once, and found myself more messed up then I already thought I would. All in the span of a couple years.

Ultimately, my beta-reader lost interest in me and the story. My girlfriend (now wife) almost kicked my ass out of the house. And I had a lot of pieces to pick up and make right in my life. Which I did. My girlfriend did not kick me out and we are actually much stronger together because we finally appreciate each other. I still have great friends from the making of this book. And my beta-reader married her previous girlfriend, so everything worked out in the end.

So I thought about a bullet point list of all the things I learned from this process. Here we go.

  • Online long-distance relationships don’t work.
  • If your girlfriend gives you a second chance, fucking take it and don’t mess it up. She’s a keeper.
  • My favorite couple to write about is Emily/Miley or Miley/Lily. Still is.
  • I like sex and I like writing about it.
  • Friendships can form on line and they are real. Thank you Karleen!
  • Don’t be afraid to let your freak flag fly. The keepers will help hold your flag with you.
  • A brilliant novel doesn’t happen in 30 days, it takes years to be ready but never will be perfect.
  • Never rely on someone else for inspiration, muses are good but they shouldn’t stop you from writing.
  • Write whatever the hell you want. There will be someone out there who will love it, too.

Short Story: A Family Mystery Uncovered

The next writing prompt I have was a fun one. I kind of worked it out in my head, but it didn’t come out right when I put it on paper. Maybe I waited too long. I don’t know. So here it is…
THEME: A Family Mystery Uncovered
MUST INCLUDE: Sunday, secret, wallpaper, swap, sister, curiosity, island, notebook, marathon, demand

When I was born, we became sisters. You were you and I was me.

We walked this earth together hand in hand and the same time. That all changed yesterday on the island. We were driving along and at the same time, two cars hit us. At the same time; one on one side, the other on the other side. From that moment you became me and I became you. Together.

We arrive home though dad thinks he is only picking one of us up. No one could possibly understand so we keep our secret. He asks where I am and you respond, you don’t know. A mystery the family will ponder.

We walk this earth together but never at the same time. Once we were always seen together, now the world sees only you or me, not us.

Mother’s curiosity is killing her because we come over on Sundays, together, to help her around the house. Only I arrive to help put up wallpaper in her bedroom, you are there though she can’t see you. She demands to know where you are. I can not say. The family would not understand.

Years pass by. I have kept a notebook on all the memories of us together and those as one. One day, I might share this with the family but until that day it’s our own little world. We are old. Our parents are older. Dad asks for you to come over and sit with him. It may be one of his last days. Together on the sofa, the two of you sit. He is sad because he wanted both of us to come. He turns on the television and with him, you watch a marathon of the Twilight Zone.

After a few episodes, he reaches for the Waterford candlestick holder next to him and slams it into the side of your head. I feel it. You really feel it. Our bodies swap a few times, both looking for escape. He hits you again. You. Me. You. Me.

The moment finally arrives were we are no longer one. He takes his last breath, “My babies.” He can now rest since you are you, and I am finally me.

Finishing my second draft of “DESTINY”

This weekend, I finished up the second draft of Destiny and published it on Wattpad along the way. It’s always a good feeling when you can click the button that says completed. It’s like you can finally say goodbye to an old friend but it is bittersweet because over the past few months, I have fallen in love with these people all over again.

The idea behind the book, DESTINY came to me while actually on a road trip from Houston to San Francisco and back. On the things, I saw were these trees out in the middle of the desert that looked like they had caught fire and had melted. Being a writer all my life, sometimes I try to figure out how to describe the things I see. Throughout the drive, especially in Central California, we constantly saw varies different farms and I thought about what it would take to live there and work the area.

Being from the city, I immediately put that city girl and country boy together. It was a match made in heaven for me. My characters were all completely made up, making this the first story that was not fanfiction or based on a person. My male character was a hybrid foreigner and surfer. While I did not have anyone in mind when I created him, I pictured a cross between Christopher Atkins (The Blue Lagoon) and Charlie Hunnam (Sons of Anarchy). The visual in my head for my female counterpart was Jennifer Stone.

The original was under 50,000 words, it was somewhere around 46,000. By the time I finished my second draft, the finished version ended up at 53,820. I know writers should cut and cut and cut, and I did. But I also added two full chapters, expanded on ideas, and changed a few things that didn’t work.

But now it is done. I am ready to move on to my next project. I can not decide if I should edit an old story, work on a pending story, or start something new.

Short Story: A Strange Request At A Piano Bar

A while back, I purchased a journal style book from Target called, WRITE THE STORY. It features a bunch of writing prompts with a topic and various words that must be used in the story. I decided this was a way to write a few short stories.

My first one is: A Strange Request At A Piano Bar

I had to use the following words: carnival, sprained, mask, oxidation, awkward, apple, juvenile, controversy, twirl, and sassafras.

Here it is…

After stirring for a few minutes, he finally opened his eyes and found himself in a strange room. Fearful, he stayed still for a moment. From the bed, he could see outside the open window to a wooden pole, probably electrical, and a paper advertisement for a local carnival. His eyes made their way around the room. The oxidation from the heat and humidity had caused the paint to peal back from the walls. He picked a chip of paint off the wall next to him and it fell on to the damp sheets.

He took a deep breath before attempting to move. There was a hint of apple in the air, maybe bread baking. It was a familiar and welcoming scent which caused his stomach to growl. With that, he decided to find food.

Stepping down, he felt a stabbing pain in his foot. He didn’t remember spraining his ankle, but it hurt tremendously. Biting back the pain, he got to his feet and hobbled over to the metal table and chair that sat in the corner. Other than the bed, it was the only thing in the room. He grabbed his hoodie and with a zip, he made his way slowly to the door.

Outside the door was a set of wooden stairs, leading down. There were no other doors on this floor other than the one he exited from. The stairs dropped him in the middle of a saloon. The piano in the corner stopped playing as he hit the last step. Heads turned to him. Silence pierced his ears.

A deep shallow caught in his throat as he scanned the room of older men, all dressed in white dress shirts, vests, and top hats. There wasn’t one of them without a handle bar mustache. Compared to them, I was an awkward martian from another planet with my khaki shorts with a t-shirt and hoodie.

Not saying a word, a walked to the bar on the right side of the saloon. They piano began to play again and the men’s attention returned as if he didn’t exist. Between two stools, he reached for a menu hoping there might be something to eat. The only thing on the menu was a variety of drinks, all containing sassafras.

He asked the bartender if he had a coke. Silence fell over the bar again. He was sure he heard a cricket in the distance. The barmaid cleaning the stool next to him replied that this was a respectable piano bar and if he wanted drugs, he would need to go across the way to the brothel. She winked at him.

Glancing around, he knew he should leave. When he stepped out side the swinging half doors of the saloon, a parade of juveniles marched down the dirt road that separated one building from the other. Many of them wore masks and other twirled batons and fire sticks.

Their presence must have sparked controversy in this small community as the town folk booed and hissed at the gaggle of carnies headed down the main drag. He watched them disappear around the corner of the last building and the crowd of upset people dispersed.

On the porch of the building across the way a few scantily clad women loitered in front of another wooden building. One of them whistled toward him. Looking oddly familiar, he crossed the dirt road and stepped upon the porch. The three women descended upon him, tearing at his clothes.

From the double swinging saloon doors appeared a large busty woman who wiggled her finger at him, inviting him into the business. Following the tempting invite, he burst through the swinging doors into the darkness. Once his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he found himself in his living room. He turned around. There were no swing doors behind him; only in front of him was his girlfriend who asked him where he had been.

He answered, “Another world.”

Exposing a little secret something I call, “Irresistible Seduction”

I’ve talked about a lot of my stories and writings over the years and not once have I ever been embarrassed by anything I have written. I would have shown anyone any of my writings, including my dark days of Hannah Montana fanfiction where Miley and her dad got it on. Then I wrote this…

Not that I am embarrassed, at all; it’s just sometimes people don’t understand and automatically assume that because you write something it automatically becomes personal, especially with a self-published writer. No one questions Stephen King and him killing off people. Everyone questions when an indie author writes a romance because it has to be based on some sort of reality. I don’t know how many times I had to tell my dad that my books are not some deeply hidden feelings I harbor for someone.

Okay, maybe Jennifer Stone and Emily Osment; but definitely not the bookworm in Something Wilder. And clearly not the cruise director in Dark Waters Ahead. Remember, not everything I write is based on reality; just like Stephen King. If I kill someone off in a book, doesn’t mean I want them dead in real life. Same with sex, just because I write about a person I know having sex doesn’t mean I want to have sex with them.

With that said… Irresistible Seduction is a real person fanfiction based on the musical group, Fandango. And there… I said it. This story has been published for a while now on Wattpad and has been my dirty little secret because I am friends with the members of the group, especially the main character, Sandra.

Years before I started writing this story, my wife and I went to Monterrey, Mexico and spent the weekend with Sandra and got to know her family. When the group decided to make a reunion come back, Fandango was back on the radar and inspiration for another real person fiction was born. This time using Sandra, her family, and the members of the group. I wrote it and posted it on Wattpad as I wrote. There were no other edits other than the first very rough draft.

I never thought it would amount to anything other than a story I wrote. Meanwhile, it had taken a life of its own on Wattpad. The first chapter went up October 27, 2019 and since then it has over 3,300 reads. Honestly, I think it is one of my most popular stories. Could it the subject matter?

The story is about a young boy whose parents were murdered. He goes to live with a family. As he grows up to become a man, the woman who raised becomes attracted to him. After being caught and going their separate ways, the two of them are reunited thirty years later and the feelings are still there. So you have a potential, but not real mother/son forbidden relationship that exists. Maybe that is why this story became popular? I doubt anyone on Wattpad knows who Fandango is, so it couldn’t be that.

I don’t think I will change it. It is what it is. If I do, I will probably change up the names and some of the noticeable similarities to the characters.

My first published book… “Something Wilder”

Yup. There it is! The first book I ever published on Amazon. I can’t say it sold exceptionally well, but I know a couple of friends who went out and purchased it when I announced it, which was kind of cool.

Again, we start out with a simple love story. Boy meets girl. Boy falls for girl. Girl falls for boy, but the girl is married. Oh, the drama!

My inspiration to this story came after visiting Half Price Books in Dallas. My wife (girlfriend at the time) decided that we went start a Half Price Books road trip and visit all of the HPBs across the country. Our first stop was the main location in Dallas.

During this visit, we met with the social media directors, managers, and corporate gurus because they were all wild about the idea of us touring the country just for HPBs. We didn’t finish the mission but we sure did hit a lot of stores that year. And spent a lot of money.

The social media director became my inspiration for this store. She was the epitome of a geeky bookworm, which was the perfect counterpart to my dashing and charming writer character. Again, NOT ME.

The story came to me one night, after our trip when I could not sleep. I stayed up all night thinking about this story and by morning, I had plotted it out and began my novel. It didn’t make it to novel status, just a novella.

When I finished the book, I knew I wanted to publish it. I sent it off to a friend, who edited it for me. Over the years, I have done many different edits. Even paid someone to edit it and still, it is nowhere near and finished and professional quality book. But… it is what it is.

I really do like the story and even though it is not very long, it turned out nice. I was proud of myself for publishing a book for the first time and bought everyone close to me a copy. Now, no one even thinks twice about me finishing another book or even publishing it. You can never get back that feeling of the first time seeing your work in print.