​I will sometimes read books by authors who are new to writing or practicing their craft. I like to read work that isn’t mainstream and try to be supportive of someone's writing, no matter how big or small their project is.
That said, I do not like reading unfinished books! I get a dopamine hit when I finish a book. It is my drug of choice. I get a flood of the chemical in my brain when I’m done with that last delicious page and when I read a well-put-together book that closes with a satisfying conclusion.
Because of this specific drug reason, I never watch TV shows that are ongoing, and I NEVER read books that are not completed.
I hate it when a book is complete, and the story leaves me unsatisfied, but it is a particularly terrible feeling when I, of my own accord, take on reading something left hanging.
Now… to be supportive of others, I sometimes read part of a friend's manuscript to help them keep going and grow as an author, but this is not what I do in my leisure time.
And then I did it. I did what I hate. I read a few pages of a book the other day. I was on Inkitt, and I wasn’t paying attention, and I read part of a story!
And what is worse, the story was good. It was the most beautiful, most painful, most crazy work I had seen in a long time, and I hated the writer for not finishing it.
These are strong words, hate. The word fits, however. I got emotionally invested in the two main characters from page one, and here I am, torn and shattered, waiting and hoping the writer keeps going.
UGH! This is awful.
This book has been on my mind for days and days. I think I’m going crazy. I want to write the end of this book because it is bothering me so much. I don’t know what to do to get over this. Does anyone else have this problem? It’s like having the flu and never getting better. It’s a cold that I can't shake.

​My husband served with a guy named Jason Barker. They served in Afghanistan during the war. Not long ago, Jason told my husband he had written a song. And so, I listened to it.
13 or None is a wonderful song. It captured Afghanistan and the connection to the soldiers. As some of you might know, I served in Afghanistan as well, and so even though the song wasn’t about me or anything, I still felt a deep bond to the work.
Anyway, the other day I was listening to it, and I had a thought. I am so happy Jason made this song. It is one of my favorites. I am happy that he made it, even if he isn't famous or making a ton of money off it. You see, what if Jason thought that no one would care, and so he didn’t make the song? Then I should have never heard it. That is a shame. Because I love it. All this made me realize that I might have people out in the world who love my books, and they are happy I am writing them. They are their favorites, and what if I didn’t write them because I was so caught up in the why and how? Jason is my new favorite artist, and his one song fills my soul. What if C.M. Moore is someone's favorite author, and one of my books fills their soul?
That is a lonely thought.

This is a small clip of the book I've been working on. Just wanted to share! I have been trying to learn to write in first person.

***

Chapter 1: Trace.
Perfect.
Yeah, this was just fucking perfect.
As I rolled into the research lab, I ducked. The air vibrated with a deafening roar as I slammed my hand against the wheelchair’s wheel. I spun as a razor-tipped tail whipped past my ear. The displaced air stung my cheek. Narrowly, I missed the swinging tail of the Gorkin.
For the love of God, what was going on?
The bear-sized lizard lunged to the back of the research laboratory. The behemoth reptile nailed the stacked cages with a bone-jarring crash of metal on metal. The entire structure shuddered. Precious research samples rattled precariously. Typically, this was a silent research institute in the middle of the lonely planet of Reel. Today, the room wasn’t so quiet.
The creature snarled and snapped. The crack was loud enough to damage my eardrums. Its teeth grinding together was a terrifying promise of what this damn goliath could do to flesh and bone. Not good.
So, so, so not good.
Turning my wheelchair, my heart jumped into my throat. A man unable to move his legs was a grounded target, a helpless morsel for the six-legged predator. My hand clutched the handle on the exit—time to go.
“Get out of here, Trace,” my brother Griffin yelled. “Or you’re going to be a snack pack.”
I couldn’t argue there.
I pulled on the door lever. It was locked. I should have expected it. The lockdown was protocol for the research base if a creature escaped a cage. Talk about bad timing. Another click sounded on the door latch. My fingers yanked at the handle, useless against the solid lock. A second mechanical clack echoed ominously as the lockdown sequence completed. I was sealed in with my brothers. I glanced over my shoulder. I needed to get to the computer to solve this problem.
Fuck.
Cold, reptilian eyes, like chips of obsidian, locked onto me. A thick rope of white, frothy saliva stretched and snapped, splattering onto the sterile floor with a hiss.
Sweat slicked down my spine as I tasted my own fear. The scales on the lizard’s back shimmered green and purple. The scales weren’t just pretty colors. They were rigid and sharp, like rows of miniature blades. The edges caught the emergency lights in a malevolent gleam.
The Gorkin was a formidable foe. I had never faced one but knew this baby Godzilla was no joke. And that thing looked pissed.
Time to move. Grabbing my wheelchair wheels, I pushed as fast as possible to hide behind a metal exam table. Not the best option to hide from a ferocious alien lizard, but beggars can’t be choosers.
“Bader,” Griffin called. “Big brother needs assistance.”
Yeah, a little firepower would help. My eyes flashed to my brother Griffin. He scrambled onto the top of a set of shelves holding spare medical gear that we used on missions. The redhead appeared to be trying like crazy to load a gun with his shaking hands. Bullets made a plunk, plunk as they scattered to the tiles.
The Gorkin roared again and charged. Just as the creature reached the table, I grabbed what I could. I heaved the exam table’s legs. The sudden shift sent a jolt of pain through my arms. The top crashed down, a flimsy barrier against tons of alien muscle, but it was my best shield.
That huge shadow fell over me. The reptile got up on its two back legs. The lizard swiped. Claws met the table’s surface. There was an ear-splitting nail on a chalkboard screech cut into the air. Talons, each the size of a dagger, raked across the tabletop and made a tortured scream. The protesting material vibrated through my bones.
The metal shrieking drowned out my rapid heart, slamming into my ribs. I planned to die and die soon, but not like this. Ripped apart by a Gorkin wasn’t how I thought I would go.
A laser blaster zapped the floor. My brother, Bader, was our weapons specialist, and he did most of our training. He shot with precision directly in front of the Gorkin’s feet. The floor was scorched with black marks. I rolled backward. My chair slammed into a set of filing cabinets.
For a second, the wind was knocked out of me.
“Just another day in paradise,” my brother Cary yelled.
“Bader’s got mad skills,” my brother Tetryl called with a note of admiration. My brothers were one hell of a team, and I couldn’t agree with Tetryl more.
The lizard didn’t like the laser blaster, and I couldn’t blame it. The Gorkin, surprisingly agile for its monster size, darted toward the reinforced window, our only barrier against the toxic, oxygen-thin atmosphere of the planet Reel.
If that glass shattered...
“Tranquilize it!” I hollered as the behemoth barreled into a bay of old computer equipment. That long, alligator-type nose picked up a desk. Full-on table flip. Great. Another crash had me wincing. Good thing the fax machine never worked anyway.
“I’m on it, Commander Trace,” my brother, Rush, roared, already hefting a large weapon with a killing glint in his eyes. The gun was practically an extension of Rush’s arm. He moved with a pilot’s practiced agility, ready to defend his brothers like a trapped wolf.
Generally, Rush was the pilot of our ship, and because he loved our space vessel more than he loved anything else in the world, the blond was armed and ready at any moment. Rush said he had so many weapons to defend the ship from intruders. Well, that was all well and fine on a mission, but the problem was, we didn’t want to kill the Gorkin.
Yeah, I doubted that the pilot had sedation darts.
“Don’t be a hot head, Rush,” Bader’s voice cracked with urgency as the big man scrambled onto a desk, his own blaster wavering slightly. “A dead Gorkin gets us nothing.”
My brother wasn’t wrong. We needed to sell a very much alive Gorkin to Vance. A dead one was no use. Plus, my father would murder us if he saw a dead Gorkin in the lab. Knowing Major Jory as I did, I would have to take the brunt of the old man’s anger as much as possible. I always tried to shield my brothers if it was possible.
My hands clenched the worn metal of my chair, the knuckles bone white. A ridiculous thought flickered in my mind. Which was worse? Facing a monster lizard or my father’s beating?
The tremor in my hands answered that question. Father was worse.
Rolling to the end of the tipped-over table, I spotted my baby brother Silas hiding in the corner. Shit. Why was Silas in the lab? Yes, I loved and cared for all my brothers, but Silas was secretly my favorite.
The kid wasn’t trained like my other family members. He shouldn’t be here. I always worked on Reel and rarely left. Silas was like me. Usually, the young man cooked in the kitchen.
Silas’s face was ashen, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The young man’s body trembled so violently that I could feel it through the floor.
“Silas.” I motioned with my hand. The twenty-one-year-old shook so hard I was worried he couldn’t walk, but the kid did as I commanded. He dashed over to my side and crouched behind my chair. We both kept our eyes on the Gorkin. The lizard didn’t notice the movement. The vicious reptile was under where our brother Cary hung from one of the ceiling-mounted speakers. The Gorkin’s jaws, each tooth a serrated dagger, snapped shut inches from Cary’s dangling boot.
That was one way to shave his legs.
“Any time, you lazy dickheads,” Cary yelled.
“Silas, what are you doing in the lab?” I tried to tuck my baby brother further behind my wheelchair.
“I bought you a sandwich.” Silas trembled as the creature slammed its head against one of the windows in frustration. A spider crack crawled up the glass.
I held my breath for a second.
“There is a holding cell in the corner filled with old shit.” I pointed to the bar door to the cell. “Hide in there until I can turn off the locks. When the locks are off, run.”
“What about you?”
“I’ll be all right.” I gathered myself. Then I rolled to where the general miscellaneous weapons were mounted and stored. Usually, these items helped with the lizards, birds, and wild animals we caught.
I snagged a dart gun.
“What are you waiting for?” Cary ran by. “Someone fucking shoot.” My brother bolted. “Do a thing.” He slid through white lizard saliva. “With something. Anytime.”
“I got it.” Tetryl balanced on the narrow window ledge above the glass that showed off the planet of Reel. My brother fired his weapon.
“Missed,” Griffin yelled at Tetryl. “You sure ain’t no sharpshooter, kiddo.”
“Do you need glasses?” Cary scamper up onto a second cage in the middle of the floor. I hadn’t noticed the second animal holding container due to the chaos, but now my eyes zeroed in on a…?
What was that alien?

Today, I celebrate not just love itself, but the art of capturing it on the page. As a romance author, I have the unique privilege of crafting stories that resonate with readers' hearts and create lasting emotional connections.
Whenever my readers come to me and tell me they felt something I stirred their hearts, I am over-the-moon happy.
Today, on Valentine's Day, I want to share with you a review I got. Reviews are like love letters to me about my books. They mean so much, and I am not sure why, maybe it is because a reader stopped and took a moment to tell me that what I wrote touched them.
***
An Alien Love: Living and Surviving (Pete's Love)
Reviewed by Joyce

"I loved everything about this story! I hated the ending, but the author's promise to continue the series made it tolerable. I have fallen in love with this alien race, and I want one of them for my own."

***
This little post made me smile. I want to thank Joyce for her kind words, and all of you who take a moment to leave me reviews on my stories. They help me to know if I touched your heart, lightened your day, or even just made you think.

Every kind review stops me from crying in my shower and wondering what the hell I'm doing with my life! ​

Thanks again.

​
Toward the end of the year, I was put on a drug for a health issue I was having. I will not bore you with my health issues, how dull, but I will say the drug did a number on me.
It was one of those moments when the cure was worse than the illness. 
Anyway, the drug did things to my mind, and it plunged me into a deep depression. I have always heard of the word depression, but I think I didn't really know what it meant until I was waking every day with no ability to get out of bed. It was the strangest feeling for me. If someone had asked me if I wanted to cut my wrists or go for a walk in the park, my reaction would have been the same. I wouldn't care either way. 
For me, I have always been passionate, and I have always felt things deeply. To be plunged into a world where everything was the same gave me a strange new perspective on people who suffer from chronic depression. 
To make a long story short, I stopped writing. Honestly, I stopped doing a lot of things: meeting with friends, having sex, exercising, laughing. I did nothing, and then I got off the drug. 
So here I am. My brain chemistry has leveled out, and I'm back in the saddle. Just give me a minute, and I'll have my fingers on the keyboard again.
I hope.