I didn’t sleep well last night, as my mind worked over a plot issue. There is a serious problem with the Masterson & Sons largest shareholder, and I didn’t know what I was going to do with the thing. I was surprised to learn that Lucien has an idea of the bigger picture. I knew he was an extremely talented empath, but what he found out last night convinced me he was incredibly good at reading at a distance. Jon had hinted at this unrealized power in the last chapter of Book 1, but it is only now making some sense to me. The solution has not been found, but the wheels have been set into motion. I will need to write the family meeting chapter where they all discuss this problem to see what will have to be done about it.
This book is coming together in an entirely different manner than the first one. The first one I mostly wrote chapter to chapter chronologically, as it should be. But this book? I’m all over the place writing chapters out of order, yet perfectly crafted so they will fit together like puzzle pieces once the “rest of the story” clarifies itself in my mind. It feels like if I don’t write a chapter living down the timeline somewhere when it is ready to be written, then I may risk losing the emotion and importance around it. If Jon taught me anything at all in the writing of this saga, it’s to follow my intuition and intelligence and not be afraid to speak the truth no matter where it leads. In Jonathan’s world, the truth is everything.
~©Jazzi Ryan Ranes~
Intelligence is not an option, its a requirement.
“Intelligence without ambition is like a bird without wings”
Fortunately for me, ambition embodies intellect and flies like an eagle…
Actually, its more like a pterosaur taking flight for the first time ever, and realizing she can create.
~©Jazzi Ryan Ranes~
Rac Hid is a Moroccan photographer, born in Rabat. He has rubbed shoulders with photography since childhood.
The contribution of Rac Hid as an artist photographer in terms of creation, is marked by his mastery of photography with that which requires sensitivity and artistic vision.
When I first laid eyes on Rac’s photography, something cracked inside me, and the beauty of his visions in black and white began to fill in the fractures they had just created. I was moved, awed, impressed and stunned by his work. I love how he sees, as he expresses his art in sublime, profound richness only found in the true artist at heart. I understand the delicate shades of dark and light in his art, but I also feel sensations and taste the flavors of inspiration within. You will want to step inside each photo if only to relish the tang of the ocean on your tongue, feel the sand slip between your fingers and toes, and smell the salty breeze blowing in from the sea.
“I spent my time in the sea and on the beach since my childhood. I look at the sea, the waves the rocks the sunset, the sand, the shells, the sea animals, also the horizon. I think the love, I think the peace, I think the philosophy, the beauty in this environment or the sound of the waves sometimes give me the meaning of the life, the music, strength, and energy. It is in the sea where there is the impossible meeting, between the sky and the earth when we look at the horizon. I do not see the color blue, but it is the white color which comes to my mind when the waves arrive towards the rocks and beyond the idea the black color that comes out as if we are in a dialectic.” Rac Hid
All photos are linked to Rac’s Facebook page, so you can stop by, have a look, leave a like, and bounce a little love off a photo or two.
Below is Rac’s website.
*Photos courtesy of… ©Rac Hid.
~©Jazzi Ryan Ranes~
Just a thought here, kind of out of the blue. But it will give you some insight into some things about me. So if I go off and write some stream of consciousness thing at you, know yer getting a look inside my psyche whatever the subject may be.
Why the aka? Why fly incognito wearin’ the shades? Concealing my given name and my present physical reality? Why open this battered door anyway? Who gives a damn, right? Well here’s this. Because I am Jazzi but Jazzi is not me. Makes no immediate sense right? It will in a little bit maybe. Hell, maybe you already starting to get my vibe. We’ll see…
I project this persona, this alternate or twin soul, twin flame, wtf ever, who lives inside me because I have to just a little while or a lot. At least until these fractured pieces of me stop standing beside each other and finally integrate. Assimilate. Become one and become whole.
Besides that my writing is going to creep around in some strange, dark corners every once in a while and I need to think of other people in my life and any afterburner trails I may leave behind. I don’t hold with most of the hammered in beliefs that the pack usually follow and I don’t want to scorch their personal beliefs or hurt anyone’s feelings.
The sometimes searing, rarified air of taboo meanderings that may potentially erupt, the side of me who thinks they’re a little comedic but really comes off just a little far over the edge to be funny. These things need not enter their airspace or their aura unless they want it to and think they can breathe.
You need not be here. Future writings will tell that story better. I’m not here for the dollars although the dollars would be nice. I love you all, already, you damn heathens you. You got Soul Baes…you got Love.
Smooth, soulful soft instrumental jazz, preferably performed with saxophone and or guitar, has been my sensual go to music for almost thirty years. I started out as a child loving Chet Atkins and The Ventures. Both instrumental guitar performers. Yakety Sax was a favored tune. I evolved into the likes of Yanni and David Arkenstone and continued to explore. I played a little guitar and keyboard myself. I named a dog with one blue eye and one brown, Jazzy. Jazzi is the woman of passion, heat, fiery seduction, waterfalls, serene mountain lakes and unusual thought processes. A black cat owns her, she is Taurus, and she has deep dreams. She reaches out her palms in supplication even knowing she will be cut. She bleeds hot tears and ink, but she cleans up after herself.
Now Ryan, well he is my reincarnated male soul, or perhaps my baser id…the dark side, the dirty injun boy…the side that will tie you up. He has hard techno, bass beat, dance and synth blaring in his headphones and it will be primarily instrumental as well. Ryan wants everything, right now and will take it if you don’t give it. He will lay you down in the dirt if that’s where you happen to flip his switch. He is the little girl who hated to play with dolls, wouldn’t wear dresses, played with Tonka toys in the dirt and fought in grade school. Mom hated that I read MAD magazine and I hated that I thought it was cool. I loved Stephen King, Clive Barker, and Dean Koontz, while they read Judy Blume, Shel Silverstein, and Teen Beat. The nightmares, the fantasies, the man I always wished I could find. He leaves a mess wherever he goes.
Ranes? So much going on there I don’t know if I can even explain. Rayne is all of it, everything, every last atom of my being. My spirit, my soul, my quantum entanglement. Rayne embodies all fractured facets of my personality and allows me to speak my voice finally. Sometimes she dances naked in the rain while lightning and thunder crash down. Sometimes he is soft rain on a tin roof taking you for the very first time. She will remain loyal to you despite how badly you treat her. He will go off and fuck somebody else just to spite you. She likes sunsets, and he likes sunrises. Rayne will listen to any kind of music if it touches the soul. She loves to read and write and swim in rivers, lakes, and streams. He enjoys long walks in the forest, mountain vistas and home cooked meals. Rayne is complicated, and you never know what she/he is thinking.
So there you have it. Or some of it anyway. These meanderings don’t really cover it, and there is so much more I could never express. That’s why I write words. I find that I can write with confidence from either a female or male point of view. Words are the only way these personality aspects can interact. They seem to be the only things that even come close.
Sorry, not sorry I just dripped ink, tears, blood, and cum on your chest. It should come off with a little cold water and some scrubbing.
~©Jazzi Ryan Ranes~
I got my Book 2 folders set up today. I had a mess of sloppy seconds laying around in my Book 1 folders, so I had to bring some order to my thoughts.
I finally got the courage to dive head first into the swirling black hole that is Rayne Masterson. I already went there with him but not with him, in Book 1. Goddamn him anyway. Freak boy. He changed the entire layout of this saga in just a few short hours and wrecked me into a pole. Left me in the dark, dripping hot fuel and engine smoke, not knowing where it’s all going, or what vehicle to take now that he crashed this one for me.
I feel like, at this point, that I have to allow myself to go ahead and start writing Book 2. I’ve been holding back the urge, and it is not going to happen any longer. I have to let the flow…flow. I see where I have to begin in the first chapter, and this story is literally burning to be told.
It fires molten lava at me just missing, warning me to get my shit together or get singed. The supernaturally charged empathic powers have ramped up, and these characters know each other inside out.
Rayne. Rain Man. In your face, Rayne decided he had to get a couple of chapters in ahead of schedule, demanding fuck that he is, and so I gave him what he wanted. I’ve been wanting to get down and dirty on him for a long time. He needs time to heal now before I let him out to play again. He’s been chasing me around the table for weeks now, and he got what he deserved.
I can thank this character who has lived inside me for 25 years, sustaining me with the promise of life, from the depths of my soul. Why? Because he just leveled this baby up into the stratosphere and earned a place on my dedication page even though he is a fictional character. Rayne and Jonathan spring from the same character development and that is why they are so similar and yet so very fucking different.
August will start things off in his soothing, intelligent tone. He has grown as a man, as a lover, as a husband and as a caregiver for the entire clan. He has some authority and control in this family now, and a lot will ride on sweet Auggie’s shoulders in this book. He has the ancient supernatural ability to heal and can see into the depths of every mind in this family with clarity and ease.
Jon taught him well, but August came into his own the night of the entangled minds wedding. He ultimately will be responsible for the continuation of the family line as will our dark, dirty boy, Rayne. August is the light, Rayne is the dark. Both are necessary for the space and time warping nature of the Rain Master’s legacy.
I have continued to edit Book 1, but have slowed down the pace to let things brew. The editing is almost a mindless task, at this point, as it mostly comes down to punctuation and the separating of a few long paragraphs. Punctuation handled primarily by the Grammarly keyboard.
I am learning fast how to get the style right the first time though, and have less to correct later. A process I have come to find comfortable, in comparison, to the emotions I have to put myself through to make my people come alive, so my writing sings in harmony. This book will be a tight one when the last word drops, and there won’t be much left to do but bask in the afterglow.
~© Jazzi Ryan Ranes~
They don’t hear when I speak out loud. Their eyes get lost as they search the crowd.
They just stare.. their tears grieving their past. I am a ghost in the shadows I cast.
They don’t hear when I scream their names. They don’t hear beyond their silly games.
I am the ghost in their closed mind’s eye. I am the ghost always floating nearby.
When they can’t feel me in the cold winter night. When their dreams swirl long with chill, Gothic fright.
I’ll be the ghost who haunts their dreams, the shades of fear in lost moon beams.
I whisper to them in their deafened ears. I howl in frustration at their petty fears.
I am the ghostly entity they will never outlast.
I shimmer and moan and flicker and roam—
It’s always the darkest hour that out-shines the past.
~© Jazzi Ryan Ranes~
That’s what he did alright. He pulled so far away I was able to get on with my life. Gave me strength, that chill did.
But then he popped back into my existence, and the walls started to collapse. Read every fucked up feeling I had, that mind did.
Uncontrolled the tears streamed down my face, and I thought, damn you that’s not fair, taking me without permission as you did.
but that’s what he does
I can’t do that to you, take your soul down bare and steal your secrets. But that’s what you did.
~© Jazzi Ryan Ranes~
…Gotham, dude. I watched all of Gotham and Alfred was my favorite. Wise was he. I like watching Steven Segal, David Carradine, Jack Nicholson, Jim Caviezel, Charles Bronson…you get the idea…do you remember Glenn Ford, thirties forties western actor/director…and James Arness (Matt Dillon). Real men on screen and off.
From the time I was a new teenager, I’ve admired and crushed on older men. I was mooning over Loren Greene, Lee Majors and Tom Selleck and wanted a piece of Chuck Norris. Waylon Jennings sang songs for me. If you were a hot silver fox, I was lookin’ at you.
The other girls my age were breathless over some 15-year-old girly looking boy that still had no hair on his ass. I didn’t get it. They were cute but puppies are cute. They were NOT handsome. Had no experience, no intelligence and no sex appeal.
These older real men had something deeper than looks and superb acting skills. They were rough around the edges, scarred and hardened from life and living. Passionate and sexy in a way that only comes with years lived and loved.
To this day I don’t like some of the younger smart ass know-it-alls I see on tv. I don’t watch any more tv than I have to anyway, so I choose carefully, lol.
When watching some actors or actresses I see men and women by their real names not their character names so much.
If I was an actress I would like to look like Stana Katic and Daniela Ruah and act like a Jack Nicholson / Jonathan Frakes / Jean-Claude Van Damme/Dr. Ruth/Elvira half breed. Weird huh? Don’t call the folks in white coats, you know you’re weird too.
Sudden insight here. Tells me something about myself that I like guys who can handle their weapons and ones who are skilled at hand to hand combat and Mental Awareness, even more. There is fearless and then there is stupid. You can find my post on that here.
~It is a fearless stance brought to reality from a life…lived.~
~You give me a little hidden hard-on.~
~I feel like I should spank myself for liking you as much as I do.~
~Do men hear you when you speak? Not your average vanilla coated guys, anyway. Some do listen but they don’t sling hearts ‘n flowers at you, and they taste of things stronger than sugar and rainbows.~
~©Jazzi Ryan Ranes~
What does it feel like when I take you this way, I growl…
Hard, hot, penetrating rain…
Does it feel like I feel, dripping, drilling, wet hot drops…
Slick hold on you, hot skin on fire…
It does yes it does, you groan,
scorching rain on your face…
Hot you, hot rain, hot love, I love you…
It feels like you feel, dripping, drilling, wet hot drops.
~©Jazzi Ryan Ranes~
I didn’t sleep well last night and woke at 12:30 am. My legs ached and my mind wouldn’t stop. When I did sleep I drempt I was in an unfamiliar house trying to sleep while strangers spoke at me and I had broken my phone in two and wondered if I had enough money to get another one. I was freaking out a little in that dream and was glad when my legs woke me up again.
I know what that dream was about. It was about the next book creeping around in my psyche. It all means something. I listen to my own heart as if it were a guru on a mount. I learned in this writing process that no thought is worthless and sometimes you just have to water them, wait, and see what sprouts.
~©Jazzi Ryan Ranes~