Monday 30th March 2015

by shainawrites

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I announced Matt & Daisy in 2012, when I ended Safe With Me, and I still haven’t published it.

And honestly, I haven’t written it, either. I have written many scenes for it, but they are usually Tyler and Matt, Susie and Matt, or Tyler and Daisy, and they never feel like they belong in a book called, “Matt & Daisy” to me.

The reason I announced it was because I wanted Tyler and Susie’s story to live on, but I didn’t think there was enough tension between them after the end to constitute another story. I wanted to tell it through Matt and Daisy’s eyes instead.

If you read my Barboza Brothers series (which I wrote as Reeni Austin), Victor and Cara’s story (from the first book, Fresh Temptation) lives on in the other two books, and they get married in book three (Ramon’s book, More Than a Maid). I had hoped to do that kind of thing for Tyler and Susie, via Matt & Daisy.

When I announced it, I had every intention of publishing it by early 2013, at the latest.

I regret announcing Matt & Daisy now though, because that story has never quite come together for me. I always go back to Tyler and Susie, because there’s a lot more story to tell. I think that once I finish their stories, I will be able to write about Matt & Daisy.

I have been, quite frankly, scared to publish anything because I didn’t want to disappoint readers. Especially those who have written to say that they will be disappointed if I don’t write romance, or if I don’t write sex scenes.

But I have to write what’s in my heart to write. That’s why I started writing in the first place.

In the near future, I plan to release a new series called For Britta. I do not have release dates yet. 

**Update: For Britta, Volume One, is available at all retailers as of May 28, 2015. I will publish every two months.

I also will not be able to offer a pre-order at Amazon because I canceled a pre-order for a new series by Reeni a few months ago, and that means I have lost my rights to offer a pre-order at Amazon until January 2016.

I have other series associated with Safe With Me that I plan to release, including a serial that will start where Safe With Me ended, to fill in certain gaps between the ending and epilogue. It will be more realistic and less erotic than Safe With Me.

I have also dealt with various mental and physical health issues over the past few years. If you have any questions, feel free to leave a comment, but please expect an honest answer.

These are the first two chapters of For Britta.

***

Dear Britta,

I’m leaving this journal for you because my mother didn’t leave one for me. She died when I was fifteen, and she was buried before I learned of her passing.

I believe that Mom had important things to tell me, but she died before she could. Unfortunately, this is only a theory, based on information and memories that I’ve pieced together since she passed.

I don’t wish to make the same mistake with you. I’m writing this so you’ll know the truth about me, and you won’t have to create your own theories based on gossip, or what others may show you online.

You’re due in less than a month and I feel you moving as if you’re trying to tell me you know I’m writing for you. I’ve had two dreams of you, and you’re always a precocious little bundle of energy, with brown hair and big brown eyes, like your father.

I was going to pass these stories along on video, but I can’t because I’m prone to hormonal mood swings and my crying worries your father. He suggested I type it out instead while it’s on my mind, especially since I can’t do much besides waddle around the house these days. I lost weight during my first few months of pregnancy because I experienced weeks of day-long morning sickness. But at twenty-two weeks, my nausea gave way to hunger, and I gained almost fifteen pounds in three weeks from a steady diet of french fries and Nutella, which I craved constantly. I still crave them, but now I’m hungry for everything. Except tomatoes, which I used to enjoy, but now nauseate me. I wonder if you’ll hate tomatoes, too. Surprisingly, I don’t hate ketchup, although lately, I prefer my fries without it.

This story isn’t pretty. It may even be graphic or violent at times. That’s because I want to be honest with you, so you may learn from my past.

Hopefully, I will share this and more with you in person, as you ask questions and become mature enough to understand. I don’t know how this will go, but I expect that we’ll play it by ear.

In the unfortunate case that I’m not around to share this information in person, I will make sure it’s left in the care of your father, or someone he and I both trust.

Life is short. I learned this lesson again recently when my friend, Gabrielle, died unexpectedly. I met her in June, before I knew I was pregnant with you, at a substance abuse treatment program which I attended for a few days each week, at your father’s insistence. (I told you this was going to be honest.) She and I had much in common and became fast friends.

On the day her baby boy, Daryl, was born, she asked me to be his godmother. I should’ve ensured that she had a will and made this official right away because, as a judge informed me recently, I could only adopt Daryl if Gabrielle had specified me as his legal guardian. But she didn’t, because she died without a will. And baby Daryl went to foster care, which devastated me for reasons which I will explain later. I was assured that he was placed with a nurturing couple who previously adopted two other special needs children, and they would likely adopt Daryl as well.

Your father (I’ll sometimes refer to him as “Tyler” from now on) prefers that I not write about Gabrielle or Daryl because it upsets me, and he’s very protective of me and you, Britta. He’s been protective of you since the moment he saw your little speck on the ultrasound.

I’ve been on bed rest since the day we left the judge’s office, but that’s a story for another day. Now that I’m resting, I have time to write to you. Tyler is monitoring me to make sure my writing doesn’t cause more stress. I wish he would realize that his obsessive “monitoring” stresses me out more than digging up old memories. I’ve already written a few things (which I’m about to show you), and I find the process relaxing, because I know I’m writing for you. After you’re born, I may be too busy to write something like this again.

And besides, not everything I wish to tell you is as depressing as Tyler thinks.

 

 

Chapter Two

My first kiss occurred in 1998, at church camp, when I was thirteen. His name was Donnie Wayne Garrett, and he was a nuisance who, thankfully, lived a couple of hours away or I would’ve had to see him more often. His family attended a church that was loosely affiliated with ours. I first met him when I was a chubby twelve-year-old and he was a short, scrawny, thirteen-year-old doofus who blended in with the other boys just like him.

“Donnie” was not short for “Donald,” in this case. His legal name was Donnie Wayne Garrett, Jr, and everyone had always called him Donnie Wayne, so he wouldn’t be confused with his dad, who was known simply as Donnie.

The summer we kissed was the first time I’d seen Donnie Wayne after I’d lost weight and he’d shot up eight inches. He was suddenly tall, dark, and handsome, but when he opened his mouth, he was still a doofus.

At camp, I made the mistake of telling a few girls that I thought he was cute. The next day, he had a friend sneak me a note in which he requested my presence behind the Snack Shack during that evening’s campfire.

It was the most romantic thing that had ever happened to me. My first kiss. A stolen kiss. Dark night. Warm breeze. Campfire roaring, campers singing in the distance. They had just hit the chorus of “Lord, I Lift Your Name on High” when Donnie Wayne’s tongue plundered my mouth deeply, in a way that made me euphoric… at first. But after a few minutes, my jaw hurt and I could barely breathe.

I pushed him away and asked him to please be gentler. He smiled and gladly did so. By the time campfire was over, we’d gotten the hang of this kissing thing.

But unfortunately, as the week wore on, I felt less like kissing him because I’d gotten to know him better. Donnie Wayne epitomized why I hated guys my age. They were all fart jokes, weird smells, and sticky hands.

But I still made out with him because I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. The last night of camp, I also, regretfully, let him touch my boobs over my shirt.

(Don’t do things with boys that you don’t want to do, Britta. Please remember that it’s okay to say no, at any time.)

As soon as I arrived home, I learned that Donnie Wayne had bragged to his dumb friends that we’d done way more than kiss. Word reached my older sister, Tabby, on the bus ride home. She said she knew all about me and my slutty ways at camp.

I was a virgin the summer I kissed Donnie Wayne. I only wanted to be nice to him, and he ruined my reputation at camp and almost got me in trouble at home.

That’s when I first learned: boys lie.

Because of Tabby, I wound up telling Mom what actually happened. I probably would have told her anyway, once I got past the horror of it. I could always tell Mom practically anything, and we’d discuss it like two old friends, not like mother and daughter. The only person who knew more of my secrets was Ashley, my cousin and best friend. For example, in this situation, I told Ashley that he touched my boobs but I omitted this detail when I explained it to Mom because I knew she would make a big deal over it and bring it up again, and I wanted to forget it ever happened.

There was one other thing that happened with Donnie Wayne, that I only told Ashley about. It happened during our last evening together, when I let his clumsy fingers pinch their way across my chest. Without me noticing, he’d moved my hand to his lap. I suddenly felt blazing hot bare skin against my palm, and he let out a soft moan. That’s when I realized what my fingers had curled around.

I instantly recoiled and ordered him not to do that again. He apologized profusely. I nearly left, but his sadness over my reaction made me feel sorry for him.

So, I let him kiss me for at least another fifteen minutes. I can only imagine the tall tales he’d spun to a captive audience in his cabin later that night. Those boys would never know I’d only touched it for two seconds, unaware.

When I relayed this story to Ashley, it was with disgust, the same way I’d relayed the story of the toddler who barfed in my face in the church nursery.

Tabby, thankfully, didn’t rat me out to Dad. Mom kept things like this from him because he would’ve used it as an excuse to beat the shit out of me. If Tabby had done something like that, she wouldn’t have been in trouble because she didn’t get in trouble for every little thing like I did. But she never would’ve kissed someone at camp in the first place, because she was perfect. She went to Purity’s Promise rallies, and constantly extolled the virtues of being virtuous. And she wasn’t fake about it either, like some girls I knew. Tabby lived it. I know because I shared a bedroom with her in almost every house we ever rented, until I left at the age of fifteen.

I need to note a few things before I continue.

First, I have only recently begun a relationship with your Uncle Matt and Aunt Tabby (my brother and sister), after not speaking to them for many years.

Second, the man I’m referring to as “Dad” here was not my biological father, but I didn’t know that then, so I will often refer to him as “Dad.” I may also refer to him as “Jack.” It should make sense, in context.

Third, I may refer to my biological father as Preston, or as, “my biological father.”

My family issues may take a while to explain. Also, I trust that your Aunt Tabby and Uncle Matt can relay their own versions of their stories to you at some point. I’d rather use this journal for things that only I can tell you.

And because time is always shorter than you think, I’d like to begin where I believe my life veered off in the wrong direction, and it started in 1999, at church camp, the summer between eighth and ninth grade.

***

(updated May 28, 2015)

For Britta, Volume One
by Shaina Richmond

now available at:
AmazonAmazon UKiBooksKoboBarnes & Noble

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5 Responses to “For Britta”

  1. […] here. But feel free to leave a comment if you have […]

  2. […] For more info, including a look at the first chapter, please see this blog post. […]

  3. Marie says:

    *Beautiful

  4. Marie says:

    I love this and I cannot wait for more. I think this book is a great idea. What a gesture from Susie. She’s gonna be a great mom, if not, at least she’s gonna try!!
    This is beutiful.
    I hope you are doing well Shaina, physically and emotionally.

  5. Lin Norris says:

    I cannot wait to read this? It sounds amazing.

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