Blog number 8 – December 6, 2019

Hey, Jaye Hawks, ‘tis I… Thrilled to report there are but a scant seven days remaining until Need It, Bad
makes its long-awaited online debut on December 13th, 2019. Great googlymuck, I can’t hardly stand it!

Can everyone say COVER REVEAL?

Check it out… it’s freaking HOT! A massive and heartfelt shout-out to Laura at Meld Media—girl, you nailed it.
(And no, sadly, JC’s delivery dude looks nothing like that. Nothing at all.)

And, in addition to my droolworthy cover, WOOHOO… NIB’s Presale Link is up and running! Click here to order your copy!

Man, I gotta say… What a long, strange trip it’s been these last couple of years.  Lord a’ mighty, the constant, vision-blurring tweaks, the diabolical, brain-draining rewrites, all those middle-of-the-night, bolt-up-in-bed, “better idea” lightbulbs…

Dang, I ain’t lyin’ when I tell you pretty people, I can recite this sucker verbatim:
A) standing in a dark alley, cold and shivering, with an Uzi to my head, B) underwater, cold and shivering, with a Great White closing in, or, C) on the moon, cold and shivering, with a flaming asteroid fast approaching.

Not. Exaggerating.

Now, you Hawks may be thinking: with my virgin tome about to hit the masses,  JC must surely be in the midst of a marketing meltdown. A paranoiac panic. A freaked-out, frazzled, full-blown fettle of a frenzy.

Happily, not so! Granted, up until quite recently (all right, yesterday) all the above scenarios were spot-on, along with a sagging boatload of other not-so-nice emotions. But during the last week or so, a strange calm has settled over my filthy little mind, rendering me carefree and blithe as an unattended pup in a gooey puddle of mud.

It was like a great, soothing hand was stroking my furrowed brow, murmuring in husky, Tommy Branson-type tones:
“Don’t worry, sweet mama. It’ll all be fine. Yeah, sugar lips, it’ll all be just fiiiiiine…”

(Okay, it wasn’t T.B. It was my all-female editing team. And they were dispensing that shit in a whole different way. Shoot.)

Still, yours truly took that advice and ran with it. Hey, the self-pub puzzle is a huge learning curve… No way is this wet-eared newbie gonna get it all down pat and perfect her first go-round! Once I accepted that bitter reality, sucked in a deep breath, soaked up some fantastically sage advice from my buds in the biz (and yes, uncorked a bottle or three), I found myself swanning around the house, quoting words of wisdom straight from the Branson-ravaged lips of my sassy heroine. (Bebe, chapter eleven:)

Shrugging, I channeled Doris Day in that old classic. Ah, well…
Que blah blah, blah blah. Whatever will be, will be.
     

Truer gems have never been spoken, would you not agree? Yes, my friends, JC is cool as a cuke these days—slaving away on convoluted, post-your-book-here platform sites with chill, insouciant exuberance.

All right, all right, ya got me. Maybe that’s stretching it just a weeeee bit. But come on, seriously… This crap is Komplicated with a Capital K!
(There goes another lift from my book.)

All things considered though, I’m legitimately down as rain. Psyched! Pumped! Positively Panglossian!
(Love that baby. Look it up, and impress your inner circle.)

Listen up… I have news! The powers that be advised me to pen a little “Prelude Novella” to The Breakaleg Trilogy: Three dialogue-rich, intriguing chapters introducing my trio of hunky, alpha male buddies—Tommy, Axel, and Gash— as a complimentary, teaser-ish way to introduce readers-in-the-wings to my fast-paced story, my memorable characters, and whole lot of sexy wit and hungover, he-man angst.

So, natch, being no dummy, I proceeded to do just that… Sistahs, my fingers were on fire! Nothing like getting inside of a whiskey-saturated hottie’s head, what say? Hawks, be on the lookout for this short ‘n’ sweet number very shortly. We are fine-tuning the title and cover, then the saucy sucker will be available to you and yours for F-R-E-E!  Yes, Free!

Details to follow before you can moan Three Super-Smokin’ Guys from under your warm and toasty covers. Stay tuned…

With that exiting bit o’ tattle, I’ll leave you with another risqué excerpt from what you will soon be able to read in its delicious entirety, hopefully with your door barred and locked. Damn, I despise interruptions at the best parts, don’t y’all?

Here’s some Bebe comin’ your way, Chapter seven:

***

I bit my lip, feeling warm. Trust me: it isn’t exactly easy trying to chat someone up who’s hovering on the other side of the room staring darkly at you, looking like he’s grinding all the enamel off his teeth.

Studying that scowl, I wondered if maybe his dad was having a bad day. Feeling tongue-tied and foolish, stuffed in his huge shorts and wondering how I’d even gotten to this point instead of sticking to the original Roller Dog Plan, I took a fortifying breath.

“Your father? Is he okay?”

Tommy blinked, scrubbing a hand over his unshaven jaw.

“Huh? Oh, uh, yeah. He’s looking at a bunch of old pictures on his bed before we eat.”

He laughed bitterly, cracking tight knuckles.

“Same ones he looked at yesterday, and the day before, and last week. Of my mom and stuff.”

There was a sadness in those beautiful eyes that made me want to drop to the floor and weep. Self-consciously, I walked over to him, swaddled in my ridiculous, oversized bloomers. Stopping just short of big, tanned feet (naturally as perfect as the rest of him), I looked up into his distracted features.

I like looking at old pictures. Can I go keep him company while that pie finishes cooking? Do you think he’d mind?”

Tommy blinked again.

“Hmm? Oh, yeah. Yeah, sure, he’d like that. He loves company, especially pretty girls.”

He flushed, clearing his throat.

“Um, I mean, not that he’s seen any, not in a really long time. I mean, ah, shit. It’s not like I’ve had… Well, never mind. C’mon.”

I practically melted into the oak floorboards like clarified butter.

Oh, man. Tommy Branson was lethal when that hard burn came over his handsome face, and his curt, rough words got even curter and rougher. It was fantastically exciting, knowing I wasn’t the only one around here affected by this off-the-charts chemistry.

I smiled tentatively, nodding for him to lead the way. Suddenly, he hesitated, quirking a brow.

“You… You want a beer, or something? Pop likes one before dinner. I think I got some wine floating around somewhere, too, if you’d rather.”

Smiling wider, I blew out a breath, feeling a tiny break in the tension. “A beer would be great, thanks.”

I watched him saunter into the homey, chicken-fragrant kitchen, drooling quietly at the heft of those bulgy shoulders and the impressive vee of his wide back as he dug around in the fridge, emerging with three frosty ales in hand. Notice I didn’t even mention that taut behind of his, lovingly cupped in soft, faded denim.

Oops. Guess I just did, huh?

Tommy held up one of the soldiers. “Glass?”

I shook my head, getting jittery all over again at that look in his eyes. It was back, and with a vengeance.

He prowled over to me, holding out a brew. As I started to grab it, he drew back, then reached out again, sliding the cold bottle slowly over my overheated throat. I swallowed, watching those pewter orbs eclipse to near-black as he rolled it over my larynx and down the side of my neck. He licked his lips, watching me through inky lashes.

“Fuck, Bebe, I need another taste. Jesus Christ, I thought Nan would never leave. Just one quick taste, babe. C’mere…”

Two points worth noting.

One: there was no quickness to “the taste” at all.

And two: Taciturn Tommy suddenly flipped back to quite the little chatterbox again.

Quite the chatterbox, you betcha. Hoo boy, if 1980s-era wallpaper could talk!

****

Hope you enjoyed! Heh, heh.

Uh, oh. Wait, what the…? Ah, shit. Getting back to that Panglossian thing… I may have jumped the gun, just a teensy, tiny bit. Crap, I just checked my            frigging inbox! Noooooooo….

Kidding. I’m still cool.

Hawks, don’t forget to share this blog, and my links!

**Remember, $5.00 assorted gift cards provided for every five (5) new email buddies recruited for JC’s once-a-month newsletter, The Jaye Hawk Report. Email me your permission-granted peeps’ info and I’ll send you your perk!  No limits! Great stocking stuffers! Help me build my mighty legion!

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Over and out for now. Thanks for hanging with me.

In humor, lust, ‘n’ love,

JC