Two Kinds of Writers by Tory Richards – Guest Blog and Free Book

Long and Short Reviews welcomes Tory Richards.

I have always said that I write for me. I’ve always looked at writing as a hobby, a kind of therapy if you will. I’ve been doing it since I was ten, starting on notebook paper before graduating on a manual typewriter, electric one a few years later, and finally the computer. Technology has made writing so much easier and I’d be the first one to confess that I wouldn’t be published today if it didn’t exist.

I write because I’m breathing. I am part of everything that I have written. I enjoy sharing my stories, and yes, I enjoy every little royalty check, but that’s not why I write. I write because it’s my passion. If it became a job I probably wouldn’t write another word.

That brings me to what I believe to be the second kind of writer, the writer who wants to earn a living at it. There’s nothing wrong with that, and I applause the authors who have been able to do that. It’s a handful compared to all the published authors out there. Stephen King, Nora Roberts, JK Rowling and Jackie Collins to name a few. Their success seems beyond reach for most of us, and it probably is. Yet some aspire to reach those levels. It’s an ambitious endeavor that takes time and commitment.

Time and commitment, and let’s face it, a lot of luck. I’m just having fun at it but I wish all those writers out there who’d like to quit that day job and make a living out of it the best of luck.

Raze is a member of the Wreckers MC, sentenced to life for a crime he didn’t commit, all because of the damning words of his best friend’s little sister. New evidence surfaces, proving him innocent, and once he’s released he’s determined to find the woman responsible. It doesn’t matter that they had history, doesn’t matter that he’s wanted her for the better part of a decade. Rosa’s betrayal had cost him three years of freedom, and he wants retribution.

Enjoy an excerpt:

Once inside the small kitchen I went to the cupboard, where I knew the fucking booze was kept. I grabbed the first bottle of unopened whisky and started to reach for a glass before deciding that I didn’t need it. I needed more than a fucking shot to fuel me for what I wanted to do to Rosa. I couldn’t let her get to me. I wouldn’t. We may never have acted on our feelings for each other, but we both had known they were there.

Well, the time for acknowledgement had fucking lapsed. Her betrayal had sealed her fate, and I was ready to make her pay. I downed about three shots worth, letting the raw burn settle in my gut and fuel my hate. Running the back of my hand across my mouth, I headed for the bedroom where Rosa was locked up, thinking about her pretty face as she’d sat on the stand condemning me, hearing again her tearful words as she’d sworn that I had done the killing, and recalling the silent plea in her eyes as she’d stared at me. I’d understood then that she didn’t believe what she was saying, yet it hadn’t stopped her from lying.

I came to her door, turned the lock, and opened it. Rosa turned from the window she’d been staring out of, tear tracks lining her smooth, olive-toned cheeks. Even in her disheveled state she was fucking beautiful. Her midnight hair was shiny and half tumbling down to her shoulders. I let my gaze wander lazily down her full curves, taking in the slight changes that had occurred since I’d seen her last. She was soft and ripe, and I was going to devour her.

She took a hesitant step toward me. “How many men have you fucked, Rosa?” I asked from the doorway. My question startled her, and she halted abruptly. I could see the confusion shimmering in her eyes. Her brows furrowed. Those sweet, full lips parted as she opened her mouth to answer, but nothing came out.

“How many men have been between your legs in the last three years?” I snarled, baring my teeth. She stepped back against the window in fear.
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She began to shake her head. “No one,” she whispered. “There’s been no one since—”

“I was locked up?”

Tears swelled in her fucking eyes. “Raze, I’m so sorry—”

“No!” I was on her before she could finish. “You don’t fuckin’ get to say sorry, as if that will make it all go away,” I gritted into her upraised face, upraised because my hand was in her hair, pulling her head back so that she was forced to look into my eyes. I could so easily snap her neck if I wanted to. “Three fucking years, Rosa. For three fucking years your lies kept me behind bars, kept me from my club.” I swung her around and crushed her against the window, moving my mouth next to her ear. “Kept me from fucking.”

Keeping her pinned, I reached for the zipper at the top of her dress and pulled it all the way down her back. When it stopped at the top of her luscious ass I took the parted material in my hands and ripped it the rest of the way open until her whole fucking backside was exposed. I ignored her gasp, taking in the smooth slopes of her rounded ass, naked because of the thong she had on. Lust slammed into me like a freight train at the sight of all that curvy flesh. I wanted to squeeze it until she was branded with the imprint of my hand, leaving no doubt as to who she fucking belonged to.

How many times over the last decade had I imagined fucking Rosa?

“Then I guess we’re both overdo, “I grated into her ear.

About the Author:
Tory Richards is a fun-loving grandma who writes smut. Born in 1955 in the small town of Milo, Maine, she’s lived most of her life in Florida. Today she lives with her daughter and her family. She has her own woman-cave which she shares with four felines whose main goal in life is getting as much cat hair onto everything that they can.

Penning stories by hand and then on manual typewriter at the age of thirteen, Tory was a closet writer until the encouragement of her family prompted her into submitting to a publisher. She’s been published since 2005, and has since retired from Disney where she can focus on family, traveling, and life in general.

FREE BOOK

Tory is very generously giving all readers of this post a free copy of The Cowboy Way: