Suenammi Richards Romance Headline Animator

Thursday, July 21, 2016

Make Mine a Heel Post Mortem

Growing up in Texas there were two things that a lot of people did religiously.  Watch football and wrestling. My first wrestling event wasn’t on TV.  The first time I saw professional wrestling was live at the now defunct Sportatorium in downtown Dallas. It was World Class Championship Wrestling. I cried the whole time cause I thought people were really being hurt.  That certainly made the experience itself pretty memorable.  My mother told me right then and there it hurts some, but they aren’t as badly hurt as they make out.  So then I was fascinated by it because I wanted to understand how you could fake that stuff.  My little brother and I would watch religiously, and yes sometimes we did very unfortunate things to each other in misguided reenactments.

My love for football came later as I grew up enough to actually understand the mechanics of the game.  I think it’s a very interesting analogy.  I hated football right up until the moment I understood it.  I think a lot of life is like that.

The character of Dominique ‘Dangerous’ Dutton was originally created years ago as I participated in a play by mail wrestling promotion one of my friends was running.  I loved it because once a month I could sit, and plot out the comings and goings of my wrestling stable called Bad Company. Thanks to my ability to write a ‘mile a minute mouth’ head heel and four flunkies, Bad Company had the entire roster after them, and the top dogs of a sister promotion. With this paper testing done I figured had he been real, he would’ve gotten a rise out of anyone. So when I decided to write a wrestling romance novel it just all came together.

It was a dare I gave myself to write a viable novel about 2 things I enjoy so much I never want to try and live without them. Make Mine a Heel was a project and writing of pure love. It even has a muse that I dedicated it to if you read the book. But it wasn't just the dedication or the love of something like wrestling. It is a love letter not just to athletes of the sports I feature but to the people in the background often behind the scenes that have accepted roles people would assume are less glamorous but are not by any means less important. Its about a function and process.

Love is always hard to convey. Especially when something lives and breathes in you. I often find myself defending wrestling from the 'fake' naysayers. I argue so is most entertainment does that really take away from what you are seeing, what you are feeling?  I don't think so. I wanted to write something that gave a different perspective of the sport. One that highlighted many of the things that fans and none fans alike take for granted when thinking of this type of performer and professional. As a lifelong artist I know what it is to have your life's blood not respected. So I hoped to be able to use one of my passions to highlight and honor someone else's.

I feel like I have a decent amount in common with most people in the professional wrestling business. I have those childhood memories of watching wrestling and being obsessed with it. I developed an a true love for storytelling and physical expression. I also create art and it all has a base in the divine. We all are telling a story of some kind. I wanted this story to do the business justice but I could only do so from a limited fan perspective as I have never been so bold as to wrestle myself or be very close to someone who did or does for a living. So I always hoped my love letter to the business would be received as that and not undermine or disrespect what for me has always been something I've had the utmost respect for. I could gush about professional wrestling indefinitely but I don't want to bore you. So please grab read and enjoy.



Available in ebook from the following venders: Barnes & Noble, Amazon, Smashwords, Goodreads

Thursday, June 16, 2016

Never Surrender

Never settle or is it rather never surrender. Life as it stands seems to toil away at the much ballyhooed art of the beatdown. It is a grinding churning crushing system of pure attrition. The presence of life means the absence of death however the toil of life is the pathway to the unavoidable outcome. All decisions in life function around survival and what is needed to enable the most successful method of survival possible. And while quality of life is a compelling attribute we are honed by challenge.  The true forge of human levity, quality and quantity is strife, trial and battle. The convention of battle has been perverted. We hardly know what it is anymore other than a terse conversation with a coworker. The most intense and effective battles happen within and not without. On a grander scale they happen with those who have false impressions and opinions of us. The ones we are closest too that know us in ways we don't know ourselves. If you know someone who has never had even a mild criticism of you don't trust them. They haven't bothered to see you. And we need to be seen to benefit from battle and strife.

 The words benefit from battle may sound foreign but if people really think about it very little of consequence has ever come from surrender or settling.  All that occurs is that an easier more palpable outcome transpired.  Meaning you most likely did not get what you came for but you got what you needed. Fighting for the sake of also has its benefits. Like sparring in arguments with others over perspectives and viewpoints. But upon occasion everyone has to meet a moment when everything is on the line. Never deny that at the core of human engagement and action curiosity and conflict remain our more prolific motivators. When circumstances threaten what one has termed their life the obvious answer is to fight for it.

We are animals and in this idea we crave some of the same things all animals crave. But mostly we crave the competition of life.  The battle of supremacy. Peace while a respectable concept gains very little favor at the table of human avarice and society hierarchy.  We scrape for resources sometimes as shows of power and force.  An animalistic concept that binds us to our own brutality no matter how much we may despise it.  And always there is this sense of something more when that code is accepted. But from the second I became aware of myself as a human being and as an animal I knew that fighting was part of the primary function of existing. I felt the burn of it pushing against the back of my throat.  I felt an untapped resource in my belly ready to turn on if battle was presented. Felt what the emotions of anger rage and hurt could produce. I felt the power of them scorch my heart and pump it to flame.

I often write about battle in my books because there is no battle that has higher stakes than those involving love. Make no mistake my characters are in a duel that they plan on making a lifelong occurrence. There are those that argue that sex and not love is what is needed.  If love was not a needed resource we would not fight about over it and with it. We fight for sex but the true condition that sex mimics is love. Humanity is rife with tales of love. Love of others, places, things even love of self.  All stories carry the component of love in some respect because only love has the power to make a battle just and righteous. When fighting for love what else is viewed so well?

There is a reason the saying is all is fair in love and war.  It details the underlying current of love and human relationships.  We found them in battle not always through community. It’s why it will always be known as the battle of the sexes.  The inherent idea that the very opposition between the natures of men and women is the core value that makes the attachment beneficial.  They say it takes a strong person to make a relationship work and last.  I agree and every girlfriend or boyfriend does their part to help build your arsenal. If you don't see a relationship as a fight or seek to avoid fights then the end result will be the same matching the effort you have put in. Nothing ventured nothing gained.


The battle has to be engaged daily as point of action and as a point of acceptance of the very natures we are victim to. What we search for is not the perfect partner but the perfect adversary.  The one that makes us face what we are even when it’s unpopular.  The one who has only challenge in their heart and in their spirits.  The one who will tirelessly meet you on the field of battle again and again knowing that there is not any other place they would rather be. The love of your life should fight with you, against you, because of you but always at your side. And they should under no circumstances settle for less of you or ever surrender you.

Friday, May 20, 2016

Don't Apologize for Calling a Spade a Spade

“What do you mean? This is good info.”
“I’m not saying it isn’t.  It’s about how it was acquired.” He paused pacing, and stared aimlessly at the back wall. “Unless a person who would have this information legally claims to have given it to you.” He threw up his arms dramatically.  “It can’t be used.”
“In a court of law,” she finished as she dropped her ever-tiring head into her hands.  Abandoning that she popped her head up causing her hair to cascade over her head, and resettle disheveled. “So all this really did was put me on the chopping block.”
Thomas made an odd negative sound that was between a growl, and a hum as he started pacing again.  “Not necessarily; it gives us more than we had before.”
Not seeing the bright side like he was Charlotte hissed, “That being?”
Her sharp tone made him stop pacing, and turn to look at her as an odd expression briefly crossed his normally passive features. “A path.  We can figure out what he is doing, and how he’s been doing it.” Thomas nodded to himself. “I can use it to make him incriminate himself.”
He then looked at her for only the second time since he had determined that she needed to relocate.  The hard lines of his face softened slightly.  The difference was almost undetectable.  Most people probably wouldn’t notice, but Charlotte had.  It made his lips soften, and the crinkles around his eyes lessen.
“You need to sleep.” The statement was more of an order than an observation. 
Thomas walked back to the SUV, and pulled out her gym bag.  With a head gesture he inferred that she should follow him.  Feeling like she was just tired enough not to argue, Charlotte lifted herself from the chair, and fell into pace behind him as he began clearing the space to the staircase.  They went upstairs, and he opened the door of the first room.  Charlotte followed him, and it was like she was at the Hyatt all of the sudden.
The room was like a hotel room.  The furniture was wooden and in solid colors.  Not great, but not bad.  It was mostly sterile, and looked like a man had picked out everything.  There were no knick-knacks, just basics.  An ugly pasty green couch, a matching chair, and some dull wooden end tables were the highlights of the decor.  In the corner was a kitchenette with a full sized fridge, stove, dishwasher, and microwave.  The sink was a single basin with a washrag, and dish soap nearby.  The second door in the room lead to a bedroom that housed a king-sized bed covered in a hideous beige comforter, and some more of the dull wooden end tables the living area sported.
“Bathroom is connected to the bedroom,” Thomas said as he threw her gym bag on the bed, and started for the door.
Charlotte stared at the room, and grabbed the arm of the brooding man as he passed her.  She almost hissed at the warmth of him through her fingertips.  The feeling was short lived as he stopped, and removed her hand from his arm by grasping her wrist.  The action made her snap her eyes to his, and they held for a moment neither of them blinking for the space of two breathes.
“You’re safe here Charlie.”
“Tommy—,” she stammered not really believing that she had addressed him so familiarly.  It had to be her exhaustion because he had not done anything that would make her assume such an air with him.  The look that danced in his eyes for a moment could’ve been shock or anger.  She wasn’t sure, but she was sure that she had crossed some invisible line with the name that had fell from her lips.
 “Thomas,” she quickly corrected looking up at him.  “I didn’t mean— on the phone—”
He whipped her body into his, and ducked his head to seal his mouth to hers.  Charlotte felt the burn of his lips against hers.  The abrupt entry of his tongue pushing between her teeth made her stiffen, then practically melt against him.  Her wrists were captured behind her back by one of his larger hands.  The other hand had taken possession of her left butt cheek pulling her against his body.  She moaned in a haze of adrenaline, pleasure, and fear as she kissed him back with just as much ferocity as he was kissing her with.  His hips were grinding into hers.  She could feel the length of his erection between them.  With that knowledge her knees nearly buckled.  What she wouldn’t give to get her hands on him.
What had started as rough tongue stabbing was dissipating.  The forays he took between her lips were becoming more leisurely as he explored her mouth with long slow licks that drug his tongue over all of the surfaces of hers.  He would pull away slightly, and then decide that he wasn’t done, and take her mouth again.  This happened a few more times before he pulled back, and slowly licked his lips.  Panting they held there breathing each other’s air.  He let his eyes roam over her face.  She watched as they settled on her lips then flew back to her eyes.

“Don’t apologize for calling a spade a spade,” his deep voice was rough, and his accent was dominating his pronunciation.
An excerpt from Charlotte's Chance on AmazonBarnes & Noble and Smashwords