…for I have been neglectful. It’s been seven months since my last post, and many, many things have happened.

1. I started a new website in my pen name (K. T. Bond). It’s seeing limited action because frankly there are so many things to do for this authoring gig that I find myself stretched thinly and exhausted just thinking about all that I’m not managing to achieve every day. And that isn’t including the writing and editing.

2. I published a second book — tidbit from longer stories, aptly named Tidbits and Teasers. I’ve managed to up my review numbers on my first book from two to six…quite the accomplishment, no? Here’s the link, in case you’re interested: Tidbits and Teasers

(Yes, I’m being sarcastic. It helps to keep me focused on my goal if I can make fun of myself.)

3. I’m still writing for clients as well and enjoying the heck out of it. And a second pen name will come out of that, hopefully sometime in the new year. Different names for different genres. More on that eventually.

4. I’ve started keeping an online journal (‘keeping’ is a very loose term, believe me) as well as a handwritten planner to help me stay organized every day. Mixed results on both of those, but a step in the right direction, I’d say.

5. I still have made no headway with the MailChimp newsletter thing. Am I annoyed? You have no idea.

6. I’ve also been neglecting my book review page here — Book Dates — much to my chagrin.

So, as you can tell, there’s lots for me to do. I can only promise to be here more, to engage with you more, and to get more done. Wish me luck!


Season’s Greetings!


“Let there be peace on Earth, and let it begin with me!”

Rain Deer

They appear suddenly

as if blown by the wind 

onto the carpet of fallen leaves.

Coats brown as the autumn rug 

on which they graze,

white tails swishing,

noses and ears pitched

to the approach of danger.

Their wet morning commute 

across the wide expanse of lawn

a daily dance 

beneath the stormy gray.


© 2018

A New Author

So, I’ve published my first novel in my own pseudonym at last. It’s been live on Amazon Kindle since June 4. If you’d like to take a gander, I’ll be sure to post the link below. But first, a few introductory statements…

I’ve been writing romantic fiction for a lot of years, and for a while was posting it on Literotica.com. More recently, I’ve been ghostwriting for other romance authors and decided that this year I’d take what I learned and start my own career. I chose a story I wrote years ago to start with. And as I re-read it to proofread and edit, it occurred to me that were I to write it today, it would be a different book. But such is experience…it changes us in ways we aren’t often aware of I hope you’ll enjoy Back to Life by K. T. Bond, and I would greatly appreciate an honest review when you’re done.

Back to Life by K. T. Bond

Thank you all.

Just a thought…

An interviewer asked Ursula Le Guin “Is there a book that changed your life?”  This was her answer;

“Maybe the question should be: Is there a book that didn’t change your life? Reading a book is an experience, and every experience changes your life, a little bit or a lot.”
-—. Ursula K. Le Guin
From Dec. 8, 2017 interview with E

Jyst thought I’d leave this here for you all to think on a while…


I know, it’s been a while. I’ve not been around on this page much lately for a number of reasons that I’ll get into in a minute, but first, I need to say that this page is still evolving. And now, as I get serious about my second career, I’m poring over ideas for making it work for my writing. Which means things will continue to be out of focus for a while longer. Which brings me to where I’ve been…

Five years ago, I was approached by a client who read one of my stories on Literotica and liked it very much. I didn’t even know that that was a thing that could happen, and was quite shocked that he wanted me to write romances for him as a result of reading me there. I wrote him three biker stories and a three-story paranormal series before he threw me over for someone I introduced him to who wrote better biker stories than I did, and didn’t mind making bad guys into heroes. That wasn’t my schtick, and I was sufficiently in charge of my fledgling writer’s persona not to try and do something that just went against the grain for me.

Since then, I’ve discovered Upwork, a freelancer’s website which allows you to set up a page and advertise yourself to prospective clients who might wish to engage your services for the skills that you list in your profile. I have been a freelance romance ghostwriter on Upwork since 2015,  and have had nine clients, four of whom worked with me for multiple projects, and three of whom I still currently work for.  As a ghostwriter, I give up my right to the copyright and any proceeds from sales of the stories once I receive a check for the story in question.

I’ve written stories in a number of sub-genres…paranormal, biker (though I resist doing those unless I can make the biker someone other than the kind that is too often found in stories of that genre), billionaire, inter-racial, gay (M/M, to be specific), sheikh, step-brother, clean contemporary (no sex) aka sweet romance, mail order bride, Regency (both clean and erotic). I’ve written short stories (10-15K words), novellas (30-35K words), and novels (50-70K words). Ghostwriting has been my on-the-job training for my own writing, which I have finally begun to work on this year.

Which brings me to the final bit of news. The last fourteen months have been especially stressful for me. In December 2016, for five days before, during and after Christmas, I was hospitalized with an illness that had my white blood cell count so high they were testing me for cancer, and my potassium so low I had to have it administered to me intravenously for the entire five-day period. And when I was finally discharged, I was given more to take home. I was also pumped intravenously with every high-powered antibiotic they could find to combat an illness they could not diagnose, and when I was discharged, they still didn’t know what was wrong with me. I recovered completely from the mystery illness after another week of medication at home, and thought all was well.

And then last month I began to feel ill and thought it was just a very bad case of gas. After five days of no success with home treatments, I gave in and went to the ER, only to be told that the CT scan showed I had a cyst on my liver that had grown so large that it was pushing against the liver and displacing all the other organs in my abdomen. I needed immediate surgery and was admitted and seen to in less than two days. The cyst was benign, thank heaven, and I am now recuperating from an almost five-hour surgical procedure.

And while all this has been happening, my parents, both in their 90’s, have been having their own physical and emotional challenges, and as I am the child living closest to them, I bear the brunt of the responsibility for dealing with them. And with a senior in high school — thankfully my last child — I often feel overwhelmed.

So, I’ve had a lot to deal with, and blogging has had to take a back seat to life’s more pressing concerns. I’m having to practice patience and to read my body to make sure I’m not overdoing it after the surgery because I feel fine until I do something I shouldn’t just yet. I can write, though, and I’m getting back into the groove slowly but surely.

Well, that’s all folks! Until next time, take care of yourselves, and don’t ignore your body. It’s the only one you have, you know? Treat it well.

Of Books And Reading

I love to read. I live to read. I read to live. It’s as simple and as complicated as that.

When I was a youngster, reading was how I escaped from the sadness of being me, the kid who lived in the glass house, the kid who hated the way she looked, the kid who felt less than her peers. Being a preacher’s daughter on the bigger, taller, bustier side was not a role I wanted to play. But just like family, you can’t choose who you start out being in the world. I didn’t know how to counteract my sadness, and in fact, truth be told, I didn’t understand all the reasons why I was sad, or that it was about more than being the fat girl, or the foreigner, or the ‘pahsen pickney’ (preacher’s kid).

All I understood was the palliative, restorative, healing power of the word. And I gobbled up my medicine hungrily, whenever I could, wherever I could.

I read everything except horror…it is a genre I still do not read. Science fiction, fantasy, romance, westerns, spy thrillers, detective stories, war stories…nothing was outside the scope of my desire and my need. And all that in addition to reading everything in school…my history textbooks contained the kinds of stories that made the historical novels I enjoyed that much more meaningful. My science textbooks were the source of mystery and wonder to me. Mathematics was the secret garden I couldn’t enter because I didn’t know all the codes. Its language and symbols fascinated me though, and somewhere in my less-than-confident soul, I knew that if someone were to spend the time helping me to figure out how not to be afraid of the symbols and what they meant, I could be passing fair at math, too. The languages I studied all gave me words I could use to speak my truth, not only for oral examinations but also for communicating with people whose language I wanted to master. And English…English was the joy of my life. Nothing was too hard in English.

All these subjects had one thing in common…words. Words that people put in books. Big, ridiculously heavy books, small paperbacks, and everything in between. I loved books. I loved how they smelled, what they looked like when they were new, how they aged. I read voraciously without spending a dime until I was at university. Thank God for the school library. I gobbled up every free book that the school or public library gave away. And by the time I had exhausted their offerings, I was a freshman at university, with that whole library at my disposal, and money that I could spend either on books or on food. I still wonder why I never lost weight in all my undergraduate years given how much money I spent on books instead of food.

Which brings me, at last, to the point of this post. Today, for the first time in a long time, I held a book again. An honest-to-God, in-the-paperback, real-life print book! The memories overwhelmed me. It was a new book, a slender paperback M/M romance, and as I read, I was careful not to bend the covers, and I worked so hard not to dog-ear the pages or wrinkle them. It all came back to me…this was how it used to be way back when. I treated the books like I treat my friends, with care and concern, with love. My books were always pristine, whether old or new, even when I wrote in them. (A pen in hand while reading was something I learned as a child and have never let go of. But that’s another story.) And I was very leery of lending them to others because I knew no one else would take care of my treasures the way I did.

Wow! I was such a nerd!  I still am!

Thank God for Kindles and Nooks. I don’t have to worry about my treasures being bent or broken or torn. I don’t have to worry about not getting them back if I lend them to others. I don’t have to worry about losing them — what an epic disaster that would be!

Still, as I finish up the book I’m reading now, I realize how much I miss the physical book. It’s part of a past I can’t escape…the part that helped me make it to where I am today. I’ll have to find a way to keep my e-readers and still get my hands back on books.


Walking your dog in the snow does not require as much vigilance as walking him in the rain.

Snow apparently has no summoning effect whatever on flying insects intent on dive-bombing your eyes and your nostrils. Nor does it require a careful exhaling (think ‘blowing your nose’) to ensure none of said creatures managed to do a Will Smith/Jeff Goldblum flight into the heart of the alien ship…that is, the aforementioned nostrils. Because if they do, aside from its being wholly GROSS (allow me my girly shuddering, please and thank you!), you need to eject them post haste, for fear of inhaling them, and subjecting the back of your tongue and your throat to their uninvited and nasty invasion, on their way to your esophagus and intestines.

Then too, the little critters intent on doing kamikaze flights onto your eyeballs have no other purpose that to blind you…and if the alien pilot can’t see, she can’t steer the bloody ship, can she? Falling on the muddy road or driveway is NOT my idea of a fun way to spend time in the great outdoors. And the female bloodsuckers come out in force as well, intent on doing their Dracula impressions with those six little needles they jab you with, accompanied by as much fanfare as their little wings can provide. UGH!!

Finally. walking your dog in the snow does not require more than a need to dry his feet and coat. It does not entail the deployment of Dawn dishwashing liquid, warm water, and lots and lots of paper towels like a Special Ops team to clean mud off a dog that doesn’t quite manage to stay still, or that sits when you need him to stand, and whose still too-damp belly makes you worry he’ll get the chills because you haven’t managed to dry him off properly. Not to mention the mud, which has stained the clean coat he just had shampooed at Petco on Saturday.

And let’s not talk about the possibility of picking up other passengers on the soles of your Crocs that might give you a dreaded disease, because now they’re waking up from their Winter dreams.

Why Winter is my love…any questions?


KDB, April 2017

Once upon a time, in a land far away, there lived an old woman.  Well, nowadays she would be considered a mid-lifer, but in those times she was old.  Her name was Wanda.  

Wanda lived alone in a large old castle, except for the butler who butled, the cook, who cooked, and the chambermaid who maided.  They made her life easy.  All she had to do was eat, sleep, wash herself – and since the law had been passed making bathing a requirement for citizenship, she had been free to wash as often as her little heart desired, without fear of being reported to the authorities as a “luxuriant”, and locked away for her crimes, sans washing facilities – and write the occasional spell.

You see, Wanda was a witch.  Not that she cared too much for her station in life, but there it was.  The goddess of gifts had gifted her with witchery, and the gift of the scop.  In her youth, Wanda had sung the tales of old at court and even been wooed by the Prince of the Realm.  But she knew she was not meant to be a princess.  Why, she was tall, and fat, and shy, and hated most all men.  And so she had refused his suit, and he had been made to marry another by his father, the King.  Her Prince was the one who had given her the castle and all the lands around it.  All he asked was that she write a spell every public holiday to make him love his wife.

Wanda had been happy to oblige.  After all, if he loved his wife, he would not pursue her, and she could live as she pleased.  She thought back to the last time she had needed to write a spell.  The next public holiday had been Christmas, which was fast approaching, and Wanda knew she had to make an extra special spell.  Prince William, for that was his name, although he was called by other names, loved Christmas, and if he loved his wife, would shower her with wonderful gifts to make her happy.  Wanda knew from Cook that the Princess, whose name was Hannah, was sad these days because she could not seem to get in the family way. Although she could not be sure, Wanda suspected that the problem would be solved if only William would spend even one night in his wife’s chambers.  The chamber maid had it on good authority that they slept in separate rooms.

But that was not her problem.  She had been charged with making him love his wife.  She sat, that morning, therefore, looking out the large bow window of her castle’s living room, waiting for the Muse to visit her.  Erato was late, as usual, so Wanda idly hummed her favorite tune and scribbled nonsense words on the tablet she held on her lap.  Soon a picture formed, and before long, Wanda had drawn the face of her Prince.  She looked up from her labors to find Basil, the butler, hovering at her elbow, his mouth open to speak.

“Well, spit it out, man!” she said, more impatiently than she should have.  She had been feeling unusually crabby that day, and poor Basil always bore the brunt of her ill-humor.  She promised herself to give him an extra evening off this week, to make up for her mood.  He would appreciate it, him being by way of courting his lady love and all.

“Beg pardon, ma’am, but you have a visitor!”  Basil seemed very uncomfortable.

Wanda eyed him with interest.  Normally, Erato just walked in unannounced.  Since he was announcing the visitor, she could only assume it was not her Muse.  She sighed.

“Well, who is it, then, Basil?” she asked, trying to keep the snap out of her voice.

“ Princess Hannah, ma’am!”  His discomfort made sense now.

“Show her in, Basil, and have Candy make tea!”  As he walked away, she called after him, “And Basil!”  When he turned back to look at her, she added, “Thank you!”

She watched his left eyebrow rise a fraction in acknowledgment before he turned away and walked out.  Less than a minute later, Her Royal Highness Princess Hannah was announced.

Wanda stood but did not curtsy.  She watched the Princess look around her, and wondered if she should offer her a seat.  After all, she was royalty – they didn’t wait to be invited to do anything.  But the woman hesitated.  So Wanda indicated the big leather chair to her right.

“Please sit down, Your Highness!”

Still, the Princess hesitated.  ”I did not come to stay,” she said at last, still standing. She looked suspiciously at Hannah as though she had been crying.  Something was very wrong.

“Please, my lady, sit down!  Candy will bring us tea, and then you can tell me what distresses you.”

Wanda gently nudged the clearly agitated young woman into the chair, and sat herself in her usual place, trying not to grind her teeth.  Just when Candy needed to be quick, she was dragging her feet.  By the time Basil appeared in the doorway with a loaded tray, Wanda had counted to two hundred.  She let out an audible breath, and let Basil serve the Princess.  She blew on her own tea, when he handed her the cup, sipped, and waited.  Something told her she would not have to wait long before the distraught woman beside her bared her soul.

Princess Hannah put down her teacup and turned earnest eyes to Wanda’s face.

“I want you to stop making spells for William!” she burst out.

Wanda hid her considerable surprise in another sip.  She had thought that only she and Prince William knew about her spells.  Apparently, she was wrong.

“I  know about the spells you write for him each holiday!” she cried.  ”He never loved me, and I knew it when we wed.”  She clasped her hands tightly together in her lap. “I needed to get away from my father.”

Suddenly, she looked up at Wanda.  ”Now I need to get away from my husband.  I need you to write a spell for me, instead.”

Wanda could not stop her jaw from dropping at that request.  She snapped her mouth shut with some alacrity, not wishing to offend the Princess with her surprise.

“You must know a spell to get me out of this marriage,” she said hopefully.  ”After all, you’re a witch!”

“Have you told the Prince how you feel?” Wanda asked, hedging.  What does one do in a case like this?  To whom does one owe loyalty?

Princess Hannah withered her with a look.  Well, at any rate, she tried.  Wanda ignored her irritation.

“I cannot promise that anything I do will work, Your Highness, but I will try.  Just promise me one thing.  You will do everything the spell says to do without questioning it.”

“I promise!”  the Princess said eagerly.  She stood up.  ”I must go now,” she announced superfluously.  ”When shall I call round for it?”

“I’ll arrange to have it hand delivered to you!” Wanda had replied.

Basil appeared as though from the mist to usher the Princess out, and Erato chose that moment to appear.

“Before you get all het up, I was caught in a traffic jam!”  Erato raised her hand, and sank into the recently vacated chair, and added, “It’s really quite simple.  Let him go to the one he really loves and that will release her to find her own joy.”

“And can we do that?” Wanda asked, taking a fortifying sip of tea,.

“Oh, absolutely.  Here, let me show you…”

Erato had guided her through the writing of the spell, and she remembered thinking the poem was inspired.

That had been thirty years ago.  The Princess had left to marry the man she had secretly loved for a long time.  The Prince was once again without a wife…

Wanda sighed.  He was due in today.  These days her spells were not written down, unless you call the heat and press of passion working on two bodies writing.  If that were so, she had taught her Prince very well, with Erato’s help.  He was a Master scribe…

She waited till Basil brought the tea tray.  She knew he would go home till morning. No one came to her castle except her Prince.  And he would be here soon.  She wondered when Erato would arrive…

Copyright © 2008

(This is an exercise in building character and establishing plot in a story without any narration.  When my friend George — ink-slinger12 — asked to be given a writing challenge, I sent him this exercise, so I thought I’d give him an example to help him along.  I think characters are the heart of great stories.  I hope you can see these characters, even a little bit

“He’s watching you, you know.”

“Who is?”

“The guy who just walked in.  He hasn’t taken his eyes off you since he sat at the bar.”

“Bully for him.  I’m done with men.  You can’t trust them further than you can see them, and that’s only if you’re looking.”

“Joy, you’re gonna have to let it go.  It’s been nine months.  No guy is worth the anger and pain you’ve been walking around with.  You know you’re better off without him.  And you know you don’t miss him, you’re just mad.  Which should tell you something.  Look, I’m not saying you need to get into another intimate relationship with a guy, but I am saying you need to come back into the light, make new friends, stop blaming every guy who says hi to you for stuff Matt did.  Yes, he was an asshole and a jerk, and yes he did a number on you.  But he’s gone.  It’s over.  Let it go, Joy.”

“Sure.  Maybe tomorrow.  You’d better get home.”

“I know.  You coming?”

“Do you want me to?”

“No.  I’d rather you stay and let that guy buy you a drink.  He can be your designated driver tonight.”

“You act like you know this guy.”

“I do.  Say hi for me.”

“Annie!  ANNIE!”

“Annie had to go home, eh?”

“You should know, if you know her.”

“Yes, I do.  We go back a long way.  “I’m Zack.  And you’re Joy, right?”

“Is that what Anne told you?”

“Among other things, yes.”

“What other things?”

“Interesting things, like your job, your favorite candy bar, your dream road trip…”

“She has a big mouth!”

“She is a good friend!”

“How would you know?”

“We grew up together.”

“Oh…you’re the Zack who chased her with a lizard?”

“Yes.  And I’m the Zack she dumped a bucket of ice and cold water on while I was sound asleep that same night.”

“Good for her!”

“Yes.  She got her own back.  She’s strong like that. She never let me get away with shit!”

“I don’t need a lecture from a stranger.”

“Okay.  But for the record, I wasn’t lecturing you.  I was celebrating my friend.”

“Is that what you call it?”

“Yes.  Not everything is about you.”

“Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“The first guy to stand up to you since the last one broke your heart.”

“You have no damn right coming here and talking to me like that!  I don’t know you from a hole in the wall!”

“You frequent those places, do you?”

“Fuck off and leave me alone!”

“Sure.  Just make sure you take a cab home.  Or walk.  You’re in no condition to drive.  I’ll let the maitre d’ know you’ll be back for your car tomorrow.”

“You can’t stop me from doing whatever I want to do.”

“True, but I can stop you from driving home buzzed.”

“You don’t have my ticket.”

“I do, because Annie gave it to me.”

“How did she…?”

“Call and ask her when you get home.  In the meantime, when you’re ready to be civil, give me a call.  Annie knows my number.  Have a good night, in spite of yourself!”

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