A Woman's Prerogative....
to change her mind, her dress, her hairstyle, her job - and most especially, her life.
Random comments by erotic romance author EVE JAMESON
Warning: if you're under 18, go away. If you're over 18 and are offended by graphic comments, stories, descriptions and words related to sex, save yourself the aggravation and exit this blog. Thank you.
All text (especially-but not limited to-excerpts from stories) are written and under copyright by Eve Jameson.
“You don’t owe me an explanation.” A gift from a friend whom I thought I should try to explain the complexities of a life lived which brought me to the decision I had stated. The gift of letting me be me, and still choosing to stand beside me—with or without the explanation of why I was standing where I was.
It was this gift that ultimately helped me decide whether or not to just “reappear” after so long an absence, or to share a part of my life with my readers who have been waiting and wondering….and emailing J Funny how the gift of friendship—the “no explanation needed” support—can give you the strength to explain.
So stop reading here if you’re not interested in an author’s individual struggles. I won’t be hurt even a tiny bit if you just skip the entire rest of this entry and come back another day when the topic is less personal.
Just to say so up front, this is the only time I’ll address my long absence from writing, blogging, responding to emails, etc. in such a public forum. So, as short as I can make it:
For over a year, I found it nearly impossible to write, to create, to finish any story I started because there were individuals who took all I had written and attempted to use it as the basis for taking my children away during my recent divorce. No other area of my life was torn apart or microscopically inspected in an attempt to prove me unfit and a danger to my children. To be fair, throughout the entire process the judges and psychiatrists (which apparently, can be court-ordered by the opposing individual’s lawyer’s request for objective evaluation) never ceded validity to the claims. Nevertheless, it was at times completely creatively paralyzing when trying to type in just one more word, trying to finish just one more sentence while fighting the nagging fear of “what if this is the word, the sentence that changes the judge’s mind?”
Honestly though, if it had come down to a choice, I would have chosen my children for the next eighteen years over my stories, writing career, creative outlet—call it whatever, it’s these and many more things to me. And choose without hesitation, doubt or regret. I cannot tell you how happy I am that in the end, though it was a long time in coming, I didn’t have to make that choice.
Ok, that’s all I’m going to say about that. That’s where I’ve been. As for where I’m going… hang on! The ride’s about to begin!
Roll the window down and turn the music up!