Pantless on Amazon

My book is coming out November 6^th.  Or is it dropping November 6^th?  Do books ‘drop’ or just albums?  Better yet - am I too old to use the term ‘dropping’?

I’m nervous.  Not the cute jittery kind of nervous you got when you were thirteen waiting for a boy to call, but the heavy drinking,  binging on carbs, nails down to the cuticle kind of nervous.  I wasn’t even this nervous when I got married.  I remember grabbing onto a window sill, holding on for dear life and then suddenly the realization hitting me – what’s the worst that could happen?  So, what if it doesn’t work out?  We split up and move on – no harm, no foul.  Sure the kids may have some minor psychological scarring, but frankly – who doesn’t?  It builds character . . . and novelists.

But this is different.  This is publishing a book .  Forever isn’t just a suggested notion, but rather forever  is forever.  There is no backing out once it’s published.  I can’t just call the publisher and say – sorry, this isn’t working out.  I’ve changed my mind.  Oh no, when it’s out its out and there’s no putting it back in.  Like a baby – I’m stuck with whatever it is I delivered.

So here I am, naked – NAKED, in front of the world.  And by world, let’s be perfectly clear here.  THE WORLD.  I don’t even stand naked in front of my husband, and now here I am – virtually pantless on Amazon.

But it’s not the world I’m worried about.  Those nameless, faceless comments on Goodreads don’t scare me.  What’s scary are the comments that are going to come from the people I do know.  I’m afraid of the ugly baby.  Everyone knows someone who’s had the misfortune of producing ‘the ugly baby’.  All you can do in your role as good friend is grin and say awwww, when you really want to tell the parents – better luck next time.

So, what happens if I had the ugly baby?  What if my book is the literary equivalent to a baby troll?  Because very rarely do family and friends, acquaintances, coworkers, and former classmates have the confidence and self-assurance to tell me that my book stinks.  We are a polite society after all and the proper protocol for ugly babies and unfortunate mistakes in literature is smiling and saying positive things while talking smack when the subject in question is out of ear shot.

It’s a scary prospect, being virtually pantless.  But it goes with the territory.  Isn’t that what writing is all about –getting your work out there to be seen, to make a minor difference in the world?  And if I have to be pantless to do it – so be it.

 

Jessica Jefferson makes her home in northern Indiana, or as she likes to think of it—almost Chicago.  She is heavily inspired by the classic sweeping, historical romance novels, but aims to take those key emotional elements and inject a fresh blend of quick dialogue and comedy.  Visit her at http://www.jessicajefferson.com for more of her random romance musings.  Be sure to like Jess at https://www.facebook.com/pages/Jessica-Jefferson/ and follow her on Twitter, https//twitter.com/authorJessicaJ

Fall in love with romance again . . .

 

      Available November 6th on Amazon and Soul Mate Publishing.

Excerpt:

He let up a bit and the kiss turned into something different entirely. His mouth was leading her, challenging her inexperience. His tongue tentatively touched her lips, seeking permission. She allowed her lips to part and invited him in.

He moaned against her mouth, a primal sort of groan. The sound was unfamiliar, filling her with fear and logic all at the same time, breaking the trance.

     What had she done?

 

She was acting like a complete henwit! How could she have allowed some man, not even a gentleman, but a common man to reduce her to a weak-kneed, blabbering mess? Not even Amelia’s brother, James, with his roaming hands and sugary words, dripping with guile, had earned such a response from her.

Without warning, Ambrosia pushed him away with all the force her body could muster, sending him stumbling backward.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she shrieked.

He balked. Remnants of the passion shared just a moment ago lingering in his eyes, in  his pained expression, in the tension in his body, and most prominently in his breeches. “I was kissing you. Surely, it’s obvious.”

“Why on earth would you do something like that?” Ambrosia took a step away from the door, arms akimbo.

“You said you’d rather not talk, and there aren’t that many alternatives. It made perfect sense at the time and I assumed you wouldn’t mind.”

Her mouth gaped at the absurdity of his words. “Why ever would you assume that?”

He shrugged. “You’re obviously not some young chit out for her debut. And you’re the one who found me. Naturally, I assumed-”

“Well you assumed wrong! I am a virtuous, young lady.”

“If you were that virtuous, you would have turned around as soon as you saw me.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. He had a point, but she wasn’t about to let him know that.

“You, sir, are a danger to women.”

He smiled. “I’ve always thought of myself as more of a gift, really.”

She rolled her eyes, an urge she rarely surrendered to, despite the regularity of her desire to do so. Ambrosia Tisdale prided herself on being the epitome of calm and refinement, not succumbing to base behaviors. But if ever there had been a situation to warrant such conduct, this was certainly it.

The exasperating man was watching her with obvious amusement, finding depraved enjoyment in their situation. He stood with that wicked smile—virile confidence oozing from every pore, with not one single drop of remorse.