Hear Ye, I Do, Though Not Often (Oh and an almost face reveal pic)

Or rather, that’s what anyone who follows my pathetically, irratically active blog must think: “Hear ye, I do, though not often.”

Aye, yet again, I poofed.

So~ quick rundown time, shall we?

I met that Daddy Dom I mentioned before (D.D. as I believe I formally dubbed him) and it was horrendous~ :3

Few notes about D. D.: he was creepy, he could not smile without his face twitching up into a sneer, he looked about 30 years older than all his pictures, his eyes were oddly misted over as if he was perpetually in a state of either almost-asleep or almost-dead, and his voice was the epitome of snobby rich dude — think: voice of rich old guy on a show like Fairly Odd Parents, and you’ve got D. D.’s voice.

Needless to say, I have not talked to him since. Namely because, he looked like he may have been 50 as opposed to late 20s as I’d been told and~ we had absolutely fucking nothing to talk about. Oh, and did I mention how he repeatedly said, over coffee and casually as fuck, that I obviously~ liked him because only he could make me feel like a woman.



Okay, so yeah, D. D. has been lost to time for me. I met him oh like~ a few days after my post about him, so~ I dunno a while ago.

Then, I went to Florida for two weeks, hung out at Universal Studios, drank some butter beer and got some awesome new pjs. During that time though, I created a Tumblr (no, none of you may add me because my user has part of my real name in it) just to have some fun, non-creepy social media in my life and started talking with some littles and Daddies in the community. One fella, we’ll call him Sleaze, was the typical “call me Daddy” upon saying hello type, and while usually, I’d straight up ignore this type, I thought it’d be fun to see his reaction upon me being straight up bitchy. Oddly enough, he appologized and said he totally understood. So I was like: o.o oh . . . Maybe Sleaze isn’t so bad, afterall.

Foolish but whatever.

Another guy, who I originally didn’t even bother to learn the name of, didn’t bring up DD/lg at all when we first started talking even though his blog is all about it.

Anyways, while I was in Florida those were the two main people I talked to. Surprise surprise, Sleaze always managed to turn the conversation sexual and the other guy — ah, let’s call him J — never became even remotely sexual. Needless to say, I cut off Sleaze by like day 5 because I was just exhausted from constantly reminding him to keep it in his pants.

J turned out great though \o.o/

We talked about food and CT and some hilarious drunk stories from his past (one involving him, completely drenched, and three of his friends, one of which was naked, running away from a wedding party that just so happened to see them) and~ I dunno, just fun things like that, little, natural conversations :3

Anywhoville~ so during my time in Florida, I became pretty close with this J fellow and allowed him to give me small things to do. It wasn’t anything big, ya know? Like I had to put my teddy bear in timeout one night because J had told him to give me a kiss goodnight but my bear didn’t want to. Or~ I had to eat at least one piece of fruit one day because J was worried after I only ate nachos the day before. Small, cute things. I mean, I recognized he was Domming me, but~ I liked it so whatever. Ah though there was one night where I had to touch myself before bed.

But ya know o.o that was nice too so~

Wellp on my way back from Florida, he talked to me about being safe, having a good flight~ and then we made playful little bets about when I would land c:< 

Oh but anyways, this story is probably boring for you guys, so I’ll cut to the chase: J is officially, as of October 7th, when my collars came in, my Daddy Dominant. Now, in some cases a collar means marriage or engagement, but my day collar just means that I am his submissive now and that I fully~ submit to him and whatnot, it’s not marriage. We are not married. I’ve been talking to him for like a month now. It’d be crazy if we just decided to woop off and get married just like that.

So yeah, that’s my journey so far with this whole DDlg thing.

Oh and another thing o.o/ I forgot to mention this before but~ I am also into kitten play, dunno if I ever brought that up, but there it is.

On a side note: I’ve been very busy with work lately, so I haven’t been writing as much, but I’m hoping that I’ll be able to push myself to do that more since I have two days off this week (today and Saturday).

Red one = play, it’s lined with gray-black faux fur inside; locked one = day

So, here are the “almost face reveal pics” as promised. They’re of me in my collars. Both of them, my day and play collars, were bought for me by J, by the way, in case you were wondering, and so far at work no one seems to have noticed or cared that I wear my day one. The play collar, of course, is for play time only, though today Daddy wants me to practice kneeling while wearing it. So yay~, exciting c:< 

My day collar with the choker I typically wear :3

Anywho! That is all for this update :3

Ciao for Now,

Amelie J. Hyde


Creative Writing Notebooks: An Addiction?

I confess: I have way more unused notebooks than I know what to do with.

I have a purple spiral-bound one from seventh grade that has all of the Spanish words I’ve ever learned, crammed full of vocab lists I’ve been meaning to get written down. I have two different ruled legal pads – both gifted to me on two different Christmases by my grandmother. I have two moleskin notebooks sitting around with half-baked story ideas and rambling, dreadful, moody-teenager-considering-the-possibilities-of-life poetry. I have three small spiral-bound notebooks each containing a different novel. And a number of other notebooks that have had their contents ripped out and burned away, left empty and ragged in my “box of plenty.”

My point?

I don’t have a single unlined notebook or a leather bound one.

Why do I want an unlined notebook?

Well, I heard – from myself – that blank pages might actually work better for creative writing than lined paper, which can be seen, subconsciously as restrictive. I have noticed that whenever I’m out and about, I tend to scribble down plenty of ideas on blank computer pages and, later, when I look back at them, I love how all over the place my little notes can get.

Which, brings me to my next purchase – after, of course, I buy my sister her late as all Hell birthday present, a few books for my younger sister, and a new mattress pad!

I am going to get an 800 page notebook for (approximately) thirty bucks on Amazon. I know, I know. Why, Amelie, do you feel the need to get eight hundred pages in one convenient notebook package? I don’t know. But doesn’t it just sound adorable?

At first, I was thinking I’d end up forking over $130 for an 800 page leather bound notebook, but I recognized that if I did that, then it would just end up like most of my other ones: dedicated and abandoned to part of a book I’ll most likely never finish. So, my solution: when I run out of pages in my little black notebook (I’m actually about 1/5 through it right now), I’ll start using this behemoth for my writing needs.

Currently, my little black notebook is dedicated to all things random. I have short stories, journal entries, financial plans, lists of things I need to get, bills and when they’re due, the entire plotline to Savage, story ideas, new languages and their core words, poetry, random thoughts, detailed descriptions of people I’ve seen on the bus or at work, and so, so much more. Pretty much it’s my brain. I keep my brain in a little black book that never, ever leaves my side. Seriously, I take that thing with me even to work.

And I’m feeling a little sad since my brain is filling up so quickly. I mean, what will I do when I run out of room some dismal day and have no fresh, already aired out notebook to take its place? A girl simply cannot go without her brain. She can’t.

So, that’s why I need 800 pages. Because my brain must be sustained.

After I buy my new brain – probably going to get it in like a nice, earthy brown color this time – I plan on getting one of those cute, unlined, leather bound notebooks. This one, is purely experimental, as I don’t know how or if writing on blank pages will affect my writing at all, so I’m obviously not going to get 800 pages.

I’m getting 600.

Ha! I kid.

At most, it’ll have like 150-200 pages, but that’s pretty small for my notebooks.

Anyways, there you have it. That’s how I rationalized the impromptu purchase of $70 or so worth of notebooks.

Pray I never am able to work my way around the unreasonably expensive fountain pen that I so desperately want to go with my leather bound notebook. For now, I’ll keep my scheming strictly restricted to things that will cost me less than $100 – so long as it’s not food related.

Ciao for Now,

~ Amelie :3

My sister starts her stories with “once upon a time.”

Anne, as previously mentioned, loves me. As her older sister, I dare even say she idolizes me. Why? Because after she found out that I write, she had to write.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m not the type of girl to go around screaming because my little sister loves me so much she copies me – I got over that in middle school. What I do go around screaming about is her introduction phrase:

Once upon a time.

I get it, I do. She’s fifteen and just started writing. She’s still learning how to express her ideas. It’s like when a young child is being taught how to write an essay; they’re given a format to use until they develop their own style. I understand, really. On a logical level, I totally get why she’s doing it. On a supportive, sisterly level, I even encourage it by only offering praise.

But on a more primal, writer level, I rage.

Internally, I hear her say those words – she reads her stories to me over the phone – and my soul screaches in agony.

Once upon a time.

When did I grow to hate that phrase so much? Was it when it was turned into a show? Or perhaps before then when I tore up one of my earlier stories that I’d found with a similar intro?

I don’t know when this hate began to grow within me, but it has only served to flourish every time I hear Anne say, “Once upon a time.” That, and suddenly. Oh, how I despise that word. I use it, of course, when I’m too lazy to simply make whatever happened appear sudden in nature. Nonetheless, I hate it.

Once upon a time, I killed the phrase once upon a time and moved on to maul the dickens out of suddenly.

Regardless, in the end, I’m thrilled that we have something in common that I generally love to do.

Ciao for Now,

~ Amelie

P.S.: Sorry not sorry for the rant c:

Hey, long time no see! I have a Daddy Dominant now (maybe).

I know, I know. The last update I put on this blog started off by pretty much saying nothing exciting ever happens in my life, and now, less than two weeks later, I’m talking about getting myself a nice little Daddy Dominant. Big leap, I know. So, let’s rewind and take this slow.

Last week on Tuesday, the day I was supposed to update the novel I’ve started posting on here, Savage, I was getting a little . . . stressed? Yeah, stressed. In case you don’t know, which you shouldn’t because I hate sharing, my little sister lives in California (the exact opposite side of this wonderful country from where I live), and since my mother is fiercely violent and neglectful, I worry about her every day and sometimes the stress of it all just crushes me and I find it hard to be happy on those days. (Yes, I know. I need counseling and therapy and yadda yadda whatever. I’m working on it!) Anyways, how does this relate to my Daddy? Well, last Monday my sister called me, depressed and desperate to get away. I won’t say what exactly happened, but let’s just say if I had money for a plane ticket, I’d fly across the globe to get to her just to ease her anxiety.

Anywhoville, I went to the mall on Tuesday, filled out an application and was immediately hired on the spot. Which was good. That was all fine and dandy, but it takes time to build up my financial reserves. I wanted to do more. I need to, really.

You see, my sister has issues. She struggles with depression and, I think, goes through manic episodes quite frequently. She’s a liar, a kleptomaniac, a drama queen, an instigator, and a user. I used to have to solve her problems at school by scaring off people who wanted to beat her up. I actually became known as a bully for a long time, even after she was removed from my life. Recently though, she got deeply into anime, and now she has some weird ass habits, but like they’re super adorable and bubbly, so I encourage her to be however she wants to be.

Now all of those things I’ve listed, they’re not directed towards me. My little sister, let’s call her Anne, is fiercely devoted to me just as I am to her. We’ve always just been really close because no matter the consequences when we lived together, I made sure she was safe and never hurt and I’d do anything I could to keep her fed. So, she’d never dream of turning on me.

The same does not go for the rest of my family. She burned a whole lot of bridges as a kid from her bad habits, and now whenever she comes up in conversation, my entire family seems to cringe, conflicted by their knowledge of what’s going on and that it’s not her fault that she turned out this way and wanting to protect themselves from her bad tendencies. I get it. Anne’s a difficult child. But that’s okay that no one else is willing to help her. I will. My family, my responsibility.

So on Tuesday, I was stressed and frustrated, and I didn’t know how to go about ensuring that in three years, I’d be ready to take on having to support her. Anne works and is a diligent, dedicated worker, so I know she’d be willing and able to contribute to our bills, but I needed a cushion, a pillow of money to make sure that if she was unable to get a job or wasn’t making a lot, that we’d be fine.

Now you might be thinking, “Amelie, how the fuck does a Daddy Dominant equate to money?”

Wait, I’m getting there.

I joined a site called Seeking Arrangement. A sugar daddy/sugar baby site. I know what you’re thinking, I do, but let’s get one thing clear: I would not ever sleep with anyone I met there. I have too much self-respect for that. Secondly, I love older men. Simply adore how they look and how attentive they can be, so don’t judge me, this seemed like a win-win for me. I get to date older guys and they give me a bi-weekly allowance for my time! Perfect, I thought. Wonderful!

And then I got a message from this older gent from far yonder off, we’ll call him “D. D.” because that’s what he was in my contacts for a bit, coincidentally enough. Anyways, so he was very clear about the fact that he’s a Dom by nature and wanted to explore my submissive side with me, something, by the way, that I didn’t write on my profile. Now let’s logic for a second: Amelie is attracted to more mature men and prefers her male partners to be Dominants, but has never, as of yet, had the chance to really explore her submissive side.

Amelie was thrilled. Beyond thrilled.

Don’t worry, by the way, D. D. wasn’t there looking for a sugar baby or anything like that. He was rather similar to me in that we both were looking for something that didn’t have a “transactional” feel and where we could meet up and decide, with no expectations of forming an arrangement, if we genuinely liked the person or not. We both stated that we weren’t looking for jealous or possessive or dramatic companions. (Maybe on another post I’ll talk about why it confuses me why he chose me because honestly I am still very, very bewildered about it. But we’ll save that for another time.)

Anyways, so we messaged back and forth, and I soon realized: hot damn, I’d love to sleep with this guy! Intelligence, quiet dignity, having your shit together — all of that is a huge turn on for me. And then add on that this guy was a Dom? I was sold. He doesn’t know that, of course. He still thinks he has to “seduce” me and has told me as much, probably because my profile says “platonic relationships only,” but whatever, he’ll figure it out even if I have to jump him to get my point across.

So, here I am, quiet, shy little me, texting this guy who’s just oozing all the traits I love and being the perfect little gentlemen when he finally just came out and said, “I must warn you, Amelie (name obviously changed, just saying)” and proceeded to inform me that he found me to be a “stunning” woman who he was “very attracted to” but that he was sexually Dominant and would tell me to do things and expect obedience. He, of course, said that if I ever said no, he’d stop what he was doing immediately because I was ultimately in control over what happened.


A Dom who practices SSC (Safe, Sane, and Consensual) and talks with his potential partners beforehand as opposed to just springing it on them! I was pretty happy. I’d had my doubts that he was a real Dominant because he’d had, up to that point, never mentioned it or took the time to talk to me about that aspect of his life. But anyways, I was pleased that he, thus far, was presenting himself as an actual, experienced Dom and not just some horny guy looking to use their partner as some sort of fuck-toy, which is not, despite my many kinky stories up here, something I desire for myself. I mean, sure, we can do a scene or two like that, but I don’t want one of those Master/slave relationships. It would potentially ruin my self-esteem.

So, we exchanged phone numbers (I used a fake one from a texting app, because I’m just a cautious person by nature and also you never know). The next day, he asked if he could call me that night or the next, and, I’m not gonna lie, I had a mini anxiety thing. Like what would I talk about? What if he thought I was boring because I absolutely suck at holding a phone conversation? What if he’s boring? What if I say something stupid and he calls me out on a it or worse if he agrees with it? What if my voice gives out or I croak like a frog instead of a human? Etc. etc. Just stupid little things that I had to forcibly talk myself out of. Anyways, I agreed that we could talk that night around the time I go to bed.

He ended up calling me around 11-ish because he got tied up in a client’s call that lasted a half century. But then when he did call me, I was surprised. His voice was oddly soothing. I wasn’t ready for that. I don’t even know what I was expecting, but it was not to find myself just blanking out, staring at my aunt’s dog while he talked about his childhood. Honestly, half the things he said I just barely remember because I just could not bring myself to focus. And then he just laughed at this one point, like full body, probably had his head thrown back laugh — I don’t know what about — but I was just kind of sitting on the floor like: O.O . My dog was giving me odd looks, I swear.

And when I did end up speaking, I ended up sounding ridiculous. Absolutely nothing like how I usually sound. I don’t know what it was. I just could not word. All of my statements were either in like this unbearably high-pitched squeak or like this weird, diminutive . . . I don’t even fucking know. It was embarrassing. I dreaded talking just a little bit, so I’d just nod along, hum in agreement with what he had to say, and mumble a “yeah” every now and then. I’m honestly surprised he didn’t just say, “Alright, well it was fun talking to myself. Bye, Amelie!” Like if I was trying to talk to somebody and get to know them and they responded how I did, I’d roll my eyes and tell them it wasn’t going to work out.

Thankfully, he didn’t! I don’t know why he didn’t, but he didn’t!

And I’m glad he didn’t, because a couple nights later, he sent me a story he’d written. Yes. He writes. I didn’t know that, but now I do. He writes. He’s a Dominant who writes. For me. I’m not even going to get into how that made me feel. Just know I almost woke my older sister with my delighted little squeal. Anyways so the story he wrote — for me — was pretty much a little descriptive piece trying to, I think, gauge my reaction to BDSM, of being someone’s property, their “fine art collection.” I’m not gonna lie, I’ve looked into BDSM when I was younger, but it’s not suggested that people underage get into it, so I’ve never really done anything with it. But when he wrote me that little roleplay-like piece, I could definitely see myself in that role, like clear as day the “you” character was me. I was in. At the end, he told me to write him what I think happens next, something I was delighted to see because it seemed like he was giving me a little assignment to do for him, and I was just so looking forward to showing him my writing style!

And when I sent it, I got just the response I was looking for! He told me he was very, very pleased. Very very. Score!

Anywho, so then he wrote a little more — because I inspired him, he said — though, I didn’t see it till the morning because I fell asleep waiting for his text.

What I found interesting though was that he called me “babygirl” in his email and himself “Daddy,” a term I’d been using to describe him to my friend Jenny (obviously changed here too, folks). I was a bit confused because of that, because I knew that Daddy Doms typically have “little girl”s not “babygirl”s. Or so I thought. I poked around the interwebs a bit and sure enough Daddy Dominant/babygirl is indeed a thing. It’s pretty much just another term for a little girl to have.

Ultimately, I ended up getting lost in Tumblr/Pinterest pictures and posts about the dynamic and fell in love. I’ve always been rather randomly childlike. I covet my teddy bears from my childhood, always carry a small blanket with me in my house because I get cold randomly, watch cartoons for kids — do not judge me — and will sometimes become very hyper/innocent in my disposition. I guess this is called being in “little space” since I rarely ever become like this unless I’m with people who are close with me and if I’m in my house. Anyways, so I was curious. I asked him yesterday if he’s a Daddy Dominant (DD) and into the DD/lg dynamic (which, for those of you that are curious, has absolutely nothing to do with incest or pedophilia, it’s just about dependability and comfort, support and communication just like any other D/s relationship. If you’d like to know more about it, I can, of course, compile a list of informative posts on it).

No surprise here, but he is. He’s had littles before, though I haven’t asked anything specific about it yet because I still don’t know what exactly he’s looking for from a relationship between the two of us, so I don’t want to pry too much without covering the basics of our own dealio. And he knows that I’ve never had a DD or submitted to someone before so we’re both aware of the experience level of one another and still have much, much more to talk about.

Now though, I’m fairly certain he plans on flying in to see me, since yesterday he asked if I could go see him and when I said no (because I just got a new job and my dad would find it suspicious if my broke ass could suddenly afford a round trip plane ticket and a hotel and transportation in another state), he was very understanding.

So fingers crossed that in real life, I’ll be better at engaging in a back and forth conversation! And there’s your brief overview of how I may have met my first ever Daddy Dominant. It’s an odd story, definitely not the usual route people take, but whatever, it worked for me. And if it doesn’t work out at least I know now what I’m interested in doing with BDSM.

On a side note: if you have monetary problems, I would not suggest becoming a prostitute. Do not sleep with people for money. That’ll just slowly weather yourself away internally. Stay safe online and be open to new experiences in safe environments. Never meet anyone you don’t know at their house or in a private place. Go big. Go public. And do what feels good for you.

Ciao for Now,

~ Amelie :3

Yes, I Know What Happens

Once upon a time, a young girl sat at her desk and typed up the first two chapters of a new story that she had big, big dreams about, but then the evil villain, Brain, decided to ruin the whole thing by thinking out the entire plot before she even had the chance to write. And so the girl gave up, because she knew what happened and she wasn’t interested in writing it down. The end.

That (above) is a story I know all too well. That girl, believe it or not, was me. I know, shocking. But yes, it’s true. That girl t’was I.

Image result for if you can't read the book you want

Not my image, but I promised to post it.

When I first started writing novels, not just like articles or short stories or really small novellas, but actual freaking novels, I was obsessed with that “brand new idea” feeling, and would write up a poop ton of first chapters and seconds and thirds, and when the full book took shape in my head, I moved on to the next great idea, the newest, most shiniest idea that my brain could create. The reason? I wasn’t writing because I wanted to share my work. I was writing because the stories I wanted to read weren’t out there. I took that quote by that-guy/girl-that-I’ll-look-up-and-then-post-the-quote-picture-right-next-to-this-paragraph-later very literally (side note: you tired of hyphens yet?). So once I knew how the books ended, the result was pretty obvious: I no longer wanted to read them — or in this case, write.

It took me a long time to realize that that was the root cause of why I only finished eleven out of thirty-eight novels (yes, I really did count. Do not judge me, that’s not nice).

So yes, my current novel, Savage, has an ending that I know. In fact, I already wrote it out in very detailed, very not left-aligned-at-all notes that I have safely tucked away in my little black notebook. And yes, my idea notebook is literally a little black notebook. Deal with it. But that’s not the point. The point is that the fact that I know the ending doesn’t matter to me anymore. I may have a neatly drawn out map of where I’m going and small events that should happen in order to make things make sense later, but none of that actually matters. And do you want to know why? I’ll tell you why.

Because my characters always have and always will be little bitches.

My characters don’t care about my little black notebook. They see a stop sign scribbled on the side of a page and they scream like banshees, “Fifty points!” and then run it over like they grew up on the streets of GTA. If they were real, living human beings, they’d be those people you read about on the internet who sincerely believe that laws are just “suggestions”. Those kind of people. The outrageously reckless and yet endearing sort that just genuinely do not give a rat’s ass.

So, yeah, I know what I think should happen in this book, but I don’t know what my characters think as odd as that may sound. And that’s why I keep writing. Not because I want to lord my ideas over my thought-babies, but because I enjoy the experience more than the destination. Except Caprice. Caprice was my worst character in terms of doing even remotely what I asked her to do. If Caprice were a person, she’d be a toe. Not even a whole person, just a toe. I don’t like Caprice. She brought me stress and sadness and a whole lot of reworking of a plot that I didn’t even have fully fleshed out, but that she was poking many, many holes in.

God damn Caprice.

Image result for if there's a story inside you

Also not my image

Anywhoville, if you’re a writer, I hope you don’t sweat it too much about the whole “knowing the destination” thing or the whole “my characters are literal douche bags” thing, just enjoy the ride as much as you can and get that story out of you.

Ciao for Now,

~ Amelie

No Note, No Phone Call

It’s been a week since I’ve made a post on my blog, so I figured I’d pop on in and let you guys/gals know what’s up. I don’t want anyone thinking I’m just disappearing or anything like before, but I also despise the idea of giving weekly updates about what’s going on in my very boring life.

That being said, in the span of a week I’ve been fired, moved back in with my dad, and almost threw up at Six Flags.

However, I still do attest to the fact that my life is incredibly, almost super-humanly, boring. I don’t really do much aside from work in the summer, and once school starts up, it’s pretty much still just work but with the bonus of being stuck in a small building for eight hours every day, five days a week. Although now that I’ve graduated, I suppose that’s going to be a tad bit different.

Anywhoville, so yeah, a week has gone by.

In that week, I’ve managed to edit the first chapter of Savage on nine different occasions between watching three seasons of New Girl. I’m currently working on the second one, just smoothing out a few details — mainly sentence flow, keeping up with details, that kind of thing — and I plan to have that up around like, I don’t know, Tuesday? Yeah, Tuesday’s a good day. I like Tuesday. It ends Monday.

So, once that’s been scanned from top to bottom about a dozen different times, I’ll post it up, read it a couple more times, correct a few stupid mistakes that are bound to be there, and then get back to writing up the ninth chapter. (Did I mention I’m on the ninth chapter? I’m rather excited about that. Things are happening, folks. Things.) I’ll also have you know that I have not, despite the many attempts of my over-active imagination, started any other new stories and have dedicated myself to just working on this one — between episodes of New Girl and job hunting across the depths of the deep dark web, cause, ya know, bills.

Oh, also, I’m reading El Hogar de Miss Peregrine para Ninos Peculiares (commonly known as Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children). It’s rather interesting. A slow read considering I haven’t spoken Spanish in about oh, five hundred decades, but good nonetheless. I definitely recommend it, no matter what language you decide to read it in — Polish, German, English, I don’t judge.

So, how was your week? Give me thy thoughts!

Ciao for Now,

~ Amelie

P.S.: Did you know that your plasma is worth more than your blood? Well, now you do. You’re welcome.

Yo, Long Time No See

I went missing.

I confess, I completely and utterly vanished off the face of the web.

And here’s why: my stories were erased.

Yup, you heard me. For the second time, the recovered works were lost. I know, I have the worst luck in the history of worst luck ever.

Anyways, around like I don’t know, a year ago next month, my dad’s computer, which I’d been using to write all my stories, revealed to us that it was indeed old as it proceeded to shut down, reset itself to factory settings, and thereby delete all of my recently recovered works. Now, thankfully, some of my followers had already previously helped me to recover my stuff, which meant that not so much was completely and utterly lost.

But (yes, there’s a but) I kind of lost my love for writing for a long while because at that point it just felt like the world was telling me, “You know that thing you love to do? Yeah, we don’t think you should do that anymore. Like ever.” I lost an entire series that I was working on — for the second time — and with it I lost some of my will to keep typing. Dramatic, I know, but it was rough for me. I had all of this stuff. I had editted chapters. I had new ideas being developed. I had books I was transcribing from pictures that my followers had sent me. And I had hope, ya know?

I thought, okay, Wattpad took me down, but look, look at all the support I have, all the wonderful people to help me get back up. And this time, I had nothing. I had pieces of chapters I’d sent to my editor. I had a broken computer that had broken my heart in the matter of seconds. I had a dad who was telling me I obviously should just give up and write something else. And I had this nagging feeling in the back of my head that this was it, I was done.

I’m not gonna lie. I gave up. I saw the fragmented, broken pieces of stories littered all over my Google account and in my notebooks and I didn’t want to see them. I wanted the stories I’d poured my soul over for hours and hours day in and day out. I wanted to pick up where I had left off and act like nothing had happened.

I’ve tried, repeatedly, on Wattpad to just forget all the work I lost by covering them up with new ones, fresh ideas that were just shining with promise. But it didn’t help. I’d sit down and stare at the words sprawled across my screen, and all I could think about were the characters whose stories I lost and all the feedback I was hoping to get on them. I’ve been pretty haunted this year by the ghosts of characters in my mind and the scenes I’d written giggling to myself about how much my readers would love or hate them.

So yeah, I went missing.

I forgot about writing. I forgot about Wattpad. I forgot about the dozens of stories I’ll no longer be able to read. And I left you all behind. Because honestly, writing was painful for a while there. It just felt like every word would inevitably be erased off the face of the planet, like I was typing into an inevitable future of failure.

I don’t know. I still find it rather disheartening that for the past two years, August has ripped my heart out. Really, I’d like to vote the month off the calendar and formally break up with it so it can stop being such a depressing month for me. But since I can’t, I decided to just say “fuck you, August, I’m waiting for September.”

But then, I graduated from high school in June and I realized, I don’t really have the time to be putting my writing on hold for a month that doesn’t give a shit about me. It’s not alive, Amelie, why are you fighting it? You know, the kind of logical thought process that all normal people would’ve had, I dunno, a year ago? Yeah, I had that.

So here I am. And here, hopefully, you are too.

I don’t have many of the stories I used to. This time, I lost many of the ones that I’d told you guys I had saved and I don’t have the ability to get them back. I don’t have the same drive that I used to, but I try to sit down every day and write something. I don’t have the Recover trilogy anymore which — I don’t know if you guys know or not — I was rather close to finishing and I don’t have the heart to re-start it, unfortunately.

What I do have is more focus. I’m pretty cemented into working on one or two stories at a time because the space on my flash drive is rather limited and I’m terrified of losing more than that by saving something and then finding out it didn’t actually save. And I’m going to start posting one of those — like today — because I’ve been writing it while thinking about how people are going to react and I don’t want this story to haunt me like the others. I want you guys/gals to see it and to know how you feel about what happens. I’m not going to hoard this story to myself because that’s not what I’m writing it for. I want to share so I’m going to.

That being said, I don’t want for you guys to get your hopes up and think, “Oh, Amelie’s back. She’s going to post a whole bunch of stories just like she used to!” Because the truth is, I don’t know if I will. This time, I think I’m only really going to share the stuff that I’m currently writing as I write it only if I feel it’s right. This time, I think I’m going to hold onto certain ones until they’re done and then go the publishing route as opposed to posting them a chapter at a time, because it alleviates some of the pressure for me. I know you guys don’t ask for much, but when I start posting a story, I kind of put unnecessary pressure on myself because I see other people updating so regularly and then there’s me who can disappear for months at a time and I feel bad for the people who like my writing because of my inconsistency. And it’s just a mess that way, so I think this will work out far better.

Displaying FB_IMG_1500786190917.jpg

See, I heard it.

Anyways~ (yes, I’m still boss as fuck at transitions), thanks for sticking around long enough to read all of this. I hope you stay with me even if my inconsistency irritates you as much as it does me. Maybe, that way, we’ll grow together. Or not. I’ve heard some people never get passed the asshole stage of development.




Ciao for Now,

Amelie J. Hyde

No, I’m Not a Writer, I Just Write

It was brought to my attention that people think I’m a writer just because I write, and not in like a “this is a hobby” way either, but in a “this could be your career” way.

That’s freaking terrifying!

Just think about that for a moment. I write and post some of my works, but does that make me a writer? No, the answer is no.

I see how people could get confused, because I do call myself a writer, but I do so in the same fashion as calling someone a rock climber. I say it like I would say, “Oh, hey, look that person occasionally does whatever and it turns out pretty well. Good job, person!”

I do this because a writer, to me, is someone with dedication. A person who calls what they do a “craft.” They’re the type to never be satisfied with what they produce when they look back at it, and try to improve themselves each time they start something new. A writer, I think, is someone who finishes what they started.


Trust me, I do not bleed.

I’m only two of those things and it’s only because I have artistic angst up the yin yang about my past projects, and strive to distance myself from them as much as possible by getting better. In regards to everything else, I get about a 1/10, possibly a 1.5 if the judges are feeling particularly charitable.

The reason I’m so emphatic about this is that I feel oddly guilty when called a writer. Unlike the true writers/authors of the world, I haven’t done anything. I don’t really have obstacles beyond school or chores. I don’t have to wake up hours early just to get some writing in. I don’t have writing competing with earning an income or parenting. I have free time and a handful of hobbies.

I’ve tried explaining this to almost everyone I know (to which a vast majority called me an idiot, but whatever), and I realized a few days ago, when I got a couple of messages from followers, that I haven’t told you guys/gals.

No, I’m not a writer. I just write.

Also, no, this isn’t a cry for someone to praise me, or tell me I’m a beautiful unicorn doing beautiful unicorn things. Mainly because I know I am.

All I want to do with this post, like many others, is convey a message. This one is just more in your face; mostly because I feel really sorry to all the actual writers in the world who genuinely work to do what they do.

I guess, unlike the majority of people on social media, I don’t think that to be a writer all you have to do is write. If that’s all it took, wouldn’t anyone who ever filled in a worksheet or wrote a paragraph for school be a writer? Kind of makes you think doesn’t it?

Perhaps sometime in the future, I’ll make a different post saying that I have finally adopted a new cap labelled “writer,” and then we can celebrate – maybe. Who knows? So, maybe you agree, maybe you don’t, but either way isn’t it wonderful to be alive? I think so.

Ciao for Now,
~ Amelie J. Hyde

Hello, How Are You?


Yes, that was a song joke. And yes, it’s staying there forever. You’re welcome.

Sorry to break your heart, but I have news. The good/bad kind. Well, it’s not all that bad. It just means I won’t be updating as frequently as I would like. Next week marks the beginning of Camp National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo), the July session, and I’ve decided to take a break from editing my NaNoWriMo from November, Recover, and take a month-long breather.

Next week, I’m going to pick up one of my older ideas from my Wattpad days and completely re-vamp it to the point that practically no one will be able to recognize it. The concept is pretty much summed up in my brief synopsis on my Camp NaNoWriMo profile (here), but in a more in-depth look it’s a story that goes pretty much like this:

Savage (working title) is essentially about defining yourself in a society that sets rigid expectations about who and what you’re going to be in your lifetime by the time you’re five years old. It’s about a warrior drowning in the blood on her hands,  and a girl from the past who thinks that the only thing she’s good at is messing everything up. It’s about how no matter how perfect and strong a person may appear on the outside, they could always use a shoulder to lean on when everyone else only offers an “you’ve got this.” It’s about an unlikely pair with nowhere to go but to each other and a bond that withstands the test of time and the darkest parts of the human mind.

Savage, although full of overlapping layers, will not consume most of my time. For Camp, I’ve set myself a low bar of only 30,000, so I’ll have time to pack on top of writing my other projects. Mid-July, I’ll be moving back up North on a two-day trip, so it might be a bit hard to get the things I want to work on done, but I have faith that I’ll at least be able to update a few of the projects on here that I’ve left alone for a while.

So, to sum it up: I’m planning to get stuff done, and I’m feeling pretty hopeful about it. Also, keep your eyes peeled for some new updates heading your way! I should have them done pretty soon, and then I’ll scan ’em over once or twice more before posting.

Anyways, “it’s so typical of me to talk about myself, I’m sorry. I hope that you’re well.” Maybe you’re also preparing for the coming Camp session. If you are, shoot me a message or comment or something! My cabin is a silent mash-up of strangers, and I love hearing about the stuff that my readers are getting up to.

Ciao for Now,

~ Amelie J. Hyde \^.^

Exams, Leg Moves, Updates & Things

It occurred to me the other day (this morning whilst I was having my daily toast and coffee), that I do, in fact, have things – besides school work – to be doing! I know, surprising isn’t it?

So, first I hopped back on Twitter and explored the world of tweeting that I had missed out on – mostly, I watched cat videos and read some memes. Then, I came over here and saw something amazing.

To the people who searched:

“He shoved his hands in his pants boyxboy”

“I boost into cry when he pearce through me with his penis”

“and my firm butt cheeks, its head prodding against the small of my back.”
“he was stroking his giant cock read online”
“boyxboy moan grope ass feel good”

“boyxboy grind bent over nipple moans you like it”

My Favorite (also April)
“best leg move in the history of leg moves boyxboy”

Firstly, I am so happy the option to search things exists on the interwebs. This was so hilarious to go through and read, especially at 5:30 am! Secondly, where did some of these lead you guys to? I am honestly curious as to what comes up when these words are searched. Maybe one day I’ll search them myself and read what pops up! Who knows? Thirdly, thank you for taking the time to type that much. Typically, I type in maybe one or two words, but you guys/gals remembered full out sentences that (I assume) I’ve actually written.

Seriously, though, coming onto here and reading these searches was amazing. For some reason or another, they made me happy. So, thanks!

Now, onto a certain topic I hope will make some of you happy!

I’m going to be re-structuring this site in an effort to make it easier to navigate. Hopefully, I’ll be able to get that done before my next exam, but just in case I don’t, I’ll be sure to have a one shot set up to publish sometime next week, so no one becomes completely fed up with me.

Speaking of being “fed up with me,” I plan on updating every story I have up on this site at least once over the course of the next few weeks. Why? Because the ones I have up are all relatively short, and need to start making some progress. I’m really tired of coming onto this site and seeing everything set at “Chapter One.” It makes me think I’m straggling, falling behind some imaginary goal that I had previously never even known that I’d had for myself, but whatever, side details! So, I now have a timer on my phone to get me to sit down and actually work on them. I’m not sure when they’ll get up here, because I’ve gotten into the habit of leaving my chapters for a day or two and then editing them, so bare with me!

Anyways, I figured I’d just pop in and let you guys know what’s going on, so when you see the site looking differently (possibly fluctuating over the course of a couple of days), you don’t start freaking out thinking you’ve wound up in the wrong spot. I assure you, you have not. Unless you’re looking for someone else, in which case, yes, you are definitely in the wrong place.

Well . . .

Ciao for Now,
~ Amelie J. Hyde