Living on Money That I Ain’t Made Yet

coal woman


Hello All.

I know it’s been some time since we talked, but it’s been a bumpy ride lately.

Last week, I regaled you with the tale of The Killer Pontiac. Today I was supposed to have the catalytic converter, the left front ball joint, and other sundry problems taken care of. So I got up at Way Too Early and drove the car up to the dealership and dropped it off, confident that by this afternoon, I would have a car that wasn’t constantly  flashing me an orange “check engine” light.

The the dealership called.


Apparently the dealership, with the sort of planning and foresight which made Potiac the brand we know and love today (extinct) managed to order THE WRONG EFFING CATALYTIC CONVERTER. You would think that someone would have said, hey, you know this part we ordered? Maybe we should check and make sure it’s the right one to fix a 2007 Pontiac G6.

HAHAHA of COURSE they didn’t. So I now have to wait another three days while they order the right part. I MIGHT get my car back on Tuesday. I might not. Who knows?

Also, the University of Illinois basketball team lost another dick-punch of a game to Nebraska, then got absolutely schooled by Wisconsin. They are 0-7 in conference and are the laughing stock of the Big Ten (which has fourteen teams. Don’t ask.)

What else?

Oh, yeah. I had a birthday on Monday. So I’ve successfully completed another trip around the sun. Yay.

Also, my website is now LIVE and I’m able to sell books directly from the site, without going through Smashwords, Amazon, or Barnes&Noble. That’s nice. In celebration of this fact, I’m running a sale until next Sunday. 25% off everything. here’s your link if you’re interested.

Tomorrow I’m going out with my best friend for a belated birthday celebration, which will include seeing the latest Star Wars movie and a trip to Beni Hana for sushi.

Lastly, the diet continues to drive me to unprecedented levels of fury. I would literally kill for bread, cheese, or bacon at this point. But on the good side, I only have thirteen pounds to go until I can resume my old eating habits. So, hooray?





My Car is Trying to Kill Me



So, readers of this humble blog will remember two things.

First, I plan to get a Tesla sometime in the next year.

Second, it has been colder than a blue-balled witch in Chicago this winter.

My car added two and two and came up with a plan called, ‘Let’s Kill Alana.’

First, it was the catalytic converter going wonky, which activated the check-engine light, and guaranteed that i wouldn’t pass an emissions test unless I dropped about $1500 into the car.

When I declined to make the repairs, she stepped up her game. Next came the battery (nearly) dying on a night when it was eleven below zero. After I replaced the battery with the help of the nice people at Auto Zone (goodbye $120), it was a blowout on the expressway on Tuesday night when I was coming back from visiting a friend. Nothing like trying to get to the shoulder with cars blowing their horns at you while they zoom past at eighty miles an hour.

There is also nothing like trying to change a flat in a mini-mall parking lot in the dark, in the freezing cold, at eight o’clock, when some idiot (Hi, Dad!) marked the wrong prong of the lug wrench as the one to use! Which meant that the lug nuts GOT STUCK IN THE EFFING WRENCH when I tried to remove them.


So, long story short, I then spent another $500 on a new set of tires.

Like I said, the car is trying to kill me.

In other news, I am working on a new story while waiting for the artwork for “Polly Prude and the Virgin.” I really like the concept. The working title is “Mom’s Birthday Surprise.” Little does Maggie know what a BIG surprise her son is going to give her.

Hee hee.

By the way, my website now allows you to purchase stories from me directly, rather than going through Amazon or Smashwords. So if you’re inclined to but some erotica, and want to make sure I get a higher percentage of the money, here’s your chance!

Have a great night,



Too Damn Cold


Chicago in January


So I realize it’s been a while since we’ve talked, but, too be honest, I’ve been more worried about not freezing to death than about the blog.

So right now it’s January 6th. It has not been above freezing in Chicago since before freaking Christmas. We’ve been below zero almost every night during that span.

To give you an idea, on January 2nd, the temperature when I got up was 14 below. Add in the wind chill, and it was 29 below.

That, friends and neighbors, is what we call real fucking cold. It was so cold that the train line I take in to the city for work was literally frozen. The switches failed entirely. So I had to go to the emergency back-up office and work from there.

The emergency back-up office was also as cold as hell, but at least I was able to drive there.

Let’s see. What else? Work has been a blue-assed bitch. My boss has come down with some sort of viral infection, so I was taking on her workload all week. And since the quarter just ended, that was all sorts of fun.

On a lighter note, me and a pair of friends drove down to the University of Illinois, our alma mater, just before New Years. We went to a barbecue place I know and drove around campus and watched a basketball game, which was cool. Illinois actually won, too, which was a bonus.

On the erotica front, I finally finished “Aphrodite’s Daughter,” which was a challenge. I loved the concept of the book. But the actual execution was difficult. I finally realized that what I had originally planned (three books) simply wasn’t going to work. So three became two. And can I say I simply adore the cover that my team came up with?

See the book here.

In other book news, I just completed my newest book. “Polly Prude and the Virgin” is the second of my Polly Prude series. I really like the idea of a series of stories loosely tied together, but which doesn’t have any sort of long-term arc. I am now starting a new story (“Mom’s Birthday Surprise.”)

Lastly, I am on my annual post-Christmas diet. See, how it works is like this. On my father’s side of the family I have the potential for long-term weight issues. However, I can’t deal with watching my weight all the time. This came to a head several years ago, when I realized none of my pants fit.

So I made a deal. I eat whatever the hell I want. But after Christmas every year, I go on a diet to get back down to a reasonable weight. ‘Reasonable’ is defined by myself.

This year I have to lose about twenty pounds. I expect it to take until late February or early March. As of right now, I have 18 pounds to go. So I am eating salads and soup and those Lean Cuisine meals and hating every damn minute of it.

On that note, I will go. But if you feel like making me happy, you can click on that link up the screen and buy my book. And maybe some others, too.

Happy New Year!



Back in the Saddle


Ride em, cowboy.

Merry Christmas!

Yeah, it’s about a week late, but as my old buddy Jim Anchower would say, I’ve been busier than a one-legged lady in an ass-kickin’ contest.

(See here for more words of wisdom from Jim Anchower.)

So, the night before Christmas Eve, while I was celebrating the alma mater’s fifth straight win over the soulless denizens of the University of Missouri (Hey, MIZNOZ, we OWN you!) the old Dell went crapped out on me.

To give you all an idea as to how old this computer was, please bear in mind that it was running on Windows XP.

Which originally was released in 1998.

Yeah. That’s old.

Multiple reboots failed to return the computer from the dead. Luckily, Best Buy was open at 7 AM on Christmas Eve. So I went and put a new computer on the store credit card. And they were able to access the hard drive from the old computer, so I could transfer over all my in-progress stories to the new computer, along with the finished products from all the way back to 2015.

Trust me, ladies. There is nothing like the feeling of leaning over the shoulder of a nice guy from the Geek Squad and pointing out the word docs you want to save, some of which have titles like “My Horny MILF Neighbor,” and “Polly Prude Plays Dress-Up.”

I have to say they didn’t bat an eye. Of course, compared to some things these people probably see, my porn is most likely fairly tame.

Thank god for non-judgmental tech-support, though. That’s all I can say.

Later that day, I drove home for Christmas Eve with the family. We had snow, so the roads were a mess. But I got home with no problem, spent several hours with my parents, brothers, and various nieces, nephews, and in-laws without strangling any of them, and got back to Chicago early Christmas Day.

The last few days has been spent catching up. I set up the new computer on Tuesday night, which includes new speakers which range from ‘nice’ to ‘oh Jesus Christ my ears are bleeding that’s so loud.’

Other than that, not much else new. It’s been really dang cold. Like, freeze-your-tongue-to-the-flagpole cold. Seven below yesterday morning. And we’ve got more snow on the way tonight, then ANOTHER cold front coming through.

I have anew story coming as soon as I finish my final edit and the artwork comes through. Keep your eyes peeled for “Aphrodite’s Daughter.”

Oh, and by the way, I have a post-Christmas sale going on at Smashwords. So if you want some high-quality smut for 25% off, here’s your chance.

Have a great New Year!



The Ragu Cure



So those of you who follow my twitter feed (@churchoferotica) will probably know that I have been feeling less than chipper the past few days. A sore throat on Tuesday turned into a a full-on head cold by Thursday morning, and I spent most of Thursday afternoon at work begging for someone to kill me.

The good news is that our company gave us yesterday off. The bad news is that the cold didn’t feel like taking the day off as well. By yesterday evening I was swimming in a disgusting heap of half-used tissues, empty packs of Dayquil and Benadryl, and glasses of half-finished orange juice.

Just the idea of eating was enough to turn my stomach, since my entire body seemed to have become nothing more than a machine to produce immense quantities of snot and phlegm.

But you know the old saying, “Feed a cold potentially lethal ragu spaghetti sauce, because it will flee your body in horror.”

For no good reason, I decided I wanted spaghetti for supper. Unfortunately, the only spaghetti sauce in the house was at LEAST six months old, and (as per usual) was only half full.

But when a casual look revealed no teeming hordes of fungus on the inside of the jar, I used it, in the hope that an as-yet-undiscovered antibiotic might be hidden inside, and it might do battle against the dastardly forces of Sickness and Fatigue.


After further self-medication consisting of several bottles of Chicago’s finest microbrew, I retired to my bedroom. At nine o’clock. And I slept, off and on, until seven this morning. Where I woke to find myself, if not in the pink of health, feeling quite substantially better than I was the previous night.

Today has been spent baking for the family Christmas Eve get-together tomorrow (we might get snow!)

Wishing you and yours a safe, happy, and germ-free Christmas,


Rattle and Hum


Sure. Pretend you’re not jealous. You’re not fooling anyone

So the good news is that the old man is home from the hospital, which is actually a surprise. I called him last night, hoping for a couple of minutes of conversation before he got tired out. Instead, he told me is at home. And happy to be there.

I called him again tonight and found that he was at his local watering hole with my brother, his wife, and their daughter, and he was as chipper as could be. So Christmas is going to be a lot more jolly than I was expecting it to be a few days ago.

The bad news is that I think my car is about to give up the ghost. It’s a Pontiac G6, with about 120K on it. I bought it brand new back in 2007, the first car I had ever bought new. An almost-correct picture is above, though I don’t have a spoiler on mine.

It is also the last internal-combustion car I will ever own. It has developed a mysterious rattle in the engine compartment, and those rarely turn out to be nothing. I’ll get it fixed, if the cost isn’t too prohibitive, and then wait for Tesla to let me know when it is time for me to design and order the Model 3 I put a deposit on last spring.


Oh, Baby. Come on over here. Let me…touch you.

That’s about it for now. I have finished my latest story. “Aphrodite’s Daughter” is the sequel to “Aphrodite’s Lover.” I like the way it turned out, though the ending needs some tweaking. I have my publisher and her artist working on a cover, but i hope to have it published before New Year’s.

Peace out,


Toot Toot!


How about some more beans, Mr. Taggert?

“I’d say you boys have had enough!”


So apparently the old man is farting again.

It’s crazy that something which embarrassed me almost to tears when I was a teenager is now something I was praying for, but there you are.

So now he goes on a clear diet, which means water, tea, jello, broth…you know. Things you can see through. If that goes well, then he’ll graduate to soft foods like oatmeal and scrambled eggs. And hopefully be released before Christmas, before he drives the entire medical staff crazy.

My brother is making noise about having him stay at my brother’s place. Which is fine. But I wouldn’t be willing to bet a nickel that it actually happens. My dad is stubborn to the point of parody. So he’ll string Mike along, and then insist on staying at his own house, no matter how much it drives Mike crazy.

In other news, I’ve had a pretty good run on Smashwords over the last few days. But not many sales from the latest anthology I put out with four other authors. So if you like lesbian erotica, here’s your chance!

No Boys Allowed

Could Be Worse


Sexy, but not really happy. Like me right now.

So I drove home today to see my dad after his surgery.

Now, understand. The old man is a naturally cantankerous sort. The kind of guy who puts the “Grumpy Old Kraut” in “Grumpy Old Kraut.”

My family is German, BTW, so I’m allowed to say things like Grumpy Old Kraut.

To my surprise, he was fairly mellow, considering he’s had 15 inches of his small intestine removed the other day. He actually called me by name, which if you knew the man, would show that he was either A) terrified by his own mortality or B) Drunk.

I am siding on option A

I also got to see the scar, which was surprisingly small. Thank God.

They’re supposed to let him out as soon as he can pass gas. As far as I understand it, being able to fart means that the intestines are up to snuff again. Then they’ll let him eat and go home, hopefully sending along enough pain pills and warnings so he doesn’t do anything stupid like try to bench-press a car.

After I left the hospital I took my mom shopping (always an adventure) and visited various brothers, nieces, nephews, and sisters-in-law. On the way home I outlined a new erotica story, which will combine aliens, lesbians, space-travel, and body transformation.

That’s all for now.

Peace out.


Good News, Bad News, Good News

No Boys Allowed

OK, first the good news:

The third anthology from the “Bad Girls of Erotica” is now up. As you can see in the awesome artwork above, it features stories by myself, Laura Lovecraft, Ashley Berry, Alexa Nichols, and Veronica Sloan. So for the low low price of $6.99, you can get five lesbian erotica stories.

That being said, it’s kind of hard for me to get excited by this. You see, my father went into the hospital yesterday. What had started as a routine check-up morphed into abdominal, resulting in a removal of about a foot and a half of his small intestine.

Now, the second bit of good news. Everything SEEMS to be all right. The cancer that was the reason for the surgery does not seem to have spread. The old man is in relatively good spirits (or as good as you can be once you’ve had a good chunk of your guts removed) and my brothers are keeping a close eye on him to make sure he doesn’t leave the hospital until he can take care of himself.

I will be driving down to see him over the weekend. We were never what you would call close. I was always the weird child who had absolutely no interest in care or greasy machinery or electronics; the one who always had her nose stuck in a book, who worked thirty-hour weeks in high school just to be able to afford college and escape my hometown.

But, still. He’s my dad, you know? And I can’t imagine a world without him. He taught me how to grill and to play catch and to drive and introduced me to Monty Python.

He never stops being your dad.


Kill it With Fire!

ALANA CHURCH - Love Hippie Style.jpg


Books can be strange things. Sometimes you love them and you sit at the computer from dawn to dusk, falling in love with the characters, the storyline, and everything else. Even the parts which are frustrating are fun due to the sense of satisfaction when everything falls into place. you know, somewhere deep inside you, that this good.

Love, Hippie Style,” is not one of those stories.

I mean, it doesn’t suck. It’s a perfectly acceptable erotica story, about a woman who is fighting to establish her own credentials in the corporate world and who meets a free-spirited musician in the 1960s.

Yeah, I know. The plot is so thin it’s practically a trope. The Ice Queen meets the Artist, and learns to Relax.

The story first started as a spoof on a phrase from South Park, where Cartman is always screaming “Screw You, Hippie!” at people he hates. Which is pretty much everyone.

“Screw You, Hippie!” was going to be my title, and originally, my female protagonist was going to be a lot less sympathetic. But I found myself sympathizing with Jacqueline more and more as the story went on. But it was HARD. I had to practically force myself back to the story. I found myself making typo after typo, as if even my own fingers didn’t want to write it.

So I finally finished it and published it today. It’s been on my plate as an idea for two years. But since it has none of the things which have become my go-to selling points over the last few years (taboo and fantasy, especially dwelling on gods, goddesses, and nature spirits) I expect it to sell like week-old squid.

Oh, well. At least it’s done. On to the next story, which I am LOVING. “Aphrodite’s Daughter” has a conversation between The Greek Goddess of Love and Desire and her estranged son, Deimos, which can only be described as psychotic mixed with schizophrenic.

Share and enjoy,