This Author's 2015 Bucket List

HAPPY NEW YEAR!! from Rachel Blaufeld, author So, if I'm correct we're already two days into 2015. At least in my time zone.

And I'm yet to make a list of what the hell I want to accomplish this year––goals, trajectories, long-range plans. In other words, the ugly side of self-publishing.


So, without further ado, my 2015 Bucket List.

  1. Get dressed each and every day. Work as much as I can in my robe.

  2. Release THREE books and hopefully one novella.

  3. Go to bed on time, making sure to get my 8 hours every night.  Stay up late into the wee hours reading for fun, reviewing other indie's ARCS and editing my own.

  4. Give back. Send books to the troops and the women's shelter.

  5. Give up sugar and caffeine. Install a coffee maker in my office. Maybe a bat-phone to Dunkin Donuts too.

  6. Run a half-marathon or three to counteract the donuts and writing while sitting on my ass.

  7. Hide out in my office or coffee-shop. Hit the road and meet readers and other new authors.

  8. Lend support [and a shoulder to cry on] to other authors.

  9. Shove all my receipts into a drawer until April 14th. NOT! My accountant will shoot me.

  10. Answer every message, email, tweet, fb post, or as many as I can. Because without you––READERS––I am nothing.


Thank you from the bottom of my heart for a great year in advance...and making last year the absolute best debut year EVER!


AND a very special thanks to Becca Manuel for this fan-made trailer.

Have you seen it?





Happy Holidays [and I'm not on tsu]


Just yesterday it was the end of the summer and I was putting the finishing touches on Smoldered. Now––it is almost Christmas Eve, and I'm blown away how quickly the time went.

This has been one hell of a year. From releasing both Electrified and Smoldered to meeting many of you. Cliche', yet so true,


without readers, an author is nothing.


For the last nine days, I've been giving away books on Facebook––on my page––but I'm told that will not be a viable place to touch base after the new year. FB is apparently adding fees and further controls to make connecting more difficult.  Many authors and readers are jumping on tsu. I'm not there yet.

I barely have time to keep up with the social media channels I'm currently on let alone new ones––and keep putting out books.

I hope to stay connected on FB, but if that's not possible...I am prepping a new subscription form where you will be able to sign up and receive updates and fun, probably naughty, notes from me. Maybe even teasers?!?! Stay tuned for details.

I adore each and every one of you. Thank you so much for stopping in to say something exciting about the books or to ask me about upcoming releases on FB or here or by email or at a signing.

I wish all of you the most spectacular holiday season.

Love, RB

My Strip Club Confessional over at Romance at Random [uh-oh]

Smoldered by Rachel Blaufeld In case you missed it, my second book, Smoldered, is now LIVE. It is Asher Peterson’s story––Asher, the owner of the Electric Tunnel, the fictitious strip club of my mind and setting of the Electric Tunnel Series.


It may come as no surprise, but I am asked all the time about my personal experience with strip clubs. In fact, I had a chance to chat with Romance at Random about this topic specifically and here is what I said:


…The question I’m asked the most is, “Did you go to strip clubs before, during, or after writing this? Are you going today? Now? Tomorrow?”

Friends ask my husband, extended family members question my mother, readers are extremely curious if I have friends who are strippers, and most of my husband’s gang has offered join me in doing research. Okay, are you ready? Cue Drumroll.

Yes. The answer is yes. I have in fact been to a number of strip clubs before writing Electrified. While the Electric Tunnel doesn’t really exist and all the characters that work there are fictitious, I don’t think it would be wise to write a book about the adult entertainment world without researching it.

I’m not even going to take the fifth…I am here to tell all.

For the record, there were two crazy and wild nights I spent inside the dark and cavernous walls of a strip club long before writing a story about one…Way back when, I was young, carefree, legal, and having a blast at a dance club when someone from my group suggested we go to the latest “adult place” to open. We ended up leaving and going with a semi-famous sports coach, who was out with us, and subsequently we were given the VIP treatment, including secluded tables in the back and use of a limo.

This might have influenced a tiny bit of the adult entertainment culture in Electrified and Smoldered, but a separate visit definitely doesn’t make it into the book. This happened when I was six months pregnant with my first-born and went on a bachelorette weekend in Sin City and found myself hopped up on pregnancy hormones at the all-male strip club. Let’s say, I cut out early that evening; my feet were hurting.

Then, we finally get to the part where I decided to actually create my own adult entertainment empire and a bunch of complex characters residing full-time within its deep purple velour walls. The idea of writing a book was always seated deep within me, and there were a few attempts before Electrified that ended up stuck on some hard drive underneath a pile of junk in my closet. It was late one night, in the bathroom of a posh and exclusive Las Vegas Strip Club when I had my big moment. The brainstorm of the century and I was carrying a purse barely big enough to hold a lipstick, let alone a pen and paper. (I call these napkin––or toilet paper––moments.)

It was way past dark in Sin City; we’d been to dinner and a show before late night cocktails and an evening that never ended…I found myself at the aforementioned adult establishment. I had to pee, and so I went to the ladies room and for whatever reason, one of the dancers was in there, and to say I became fascinated was putting it lightly.

I watched from afar as she moved incredibly graceful through the women’s room, studied her while she studied herself in the mirror …and a story began to come to life in my head. This woman was such a complex creature. A standout on the stage. Sexy, sinful, silky smooth and radiant as she wrapped herself tight around the pole center stage or ran her body along someone during a lap dance in the dim haze of the club floor. But inside the bathroom she was a regular person: a wrinkle here, a scar there, a hair out of place, a tiny tube of lip balm in her hands just like mine. As I watched this stranger’s chest rise and fall with breath in the reflection in the mirror, she became a multi-dimensional being to me and not just a glorious body to envy.

The social worker in me began to wonder what her story was or is and how she came to do what she does. Did she have a family? One that she kept in contact with or saw with regularity? Was she running from something bad? The possibilities pummeled through my brain like a freight train before it became clear, I’d spent too long in the loo...


Head on over to Romance at Random to read more…

A day in the life of an #indie to write a book, I think.

Over the last few months, I've had a lot of inquiries about what it takes to publish a book.

LIKE, "Oh, so you just slapped that puppy up on Amazon?"




A lot of work goes into publishing a book other than having a marvelously, fabulous, original idea that you purge from your brain.


Its not all glamorous and exciting.


The whole process starts with eeking out a little of your story and sending a small chunk to a beta reader or two or three. Not your neighbor or good friend or aunt to sister, but someone you trust to give you solid feedback that your story is shit or not.

Crumpled paper/rough draft

Then, you wait to hear from your betas and sit on your ass, eating, telling yourself that they will hate your story and so you start dreaming up new ideas.


The process is repeated any number of infinite times: you write, you share, you wait on pins and needles, you gain five pounds while waiting OR drop five depending whether you eat or lose your appetite under stress.


ALL the while, you waste spend countless hours on social media, pimping, chatting, stopping to look at pictures of your college roommate's bull dog (she is soooo freaking cute, I want one!), pimping some more, retweeting, hitting like a billion times, trying to engage with other successful authors for tips and advice, signing up for rafflecopter, looking at pictures of half-clothed men (inspiration, people), and obsessing over previews for SOA or the Bachelor or whatever show you love.


You sneak off to your "cave," which could be your kitchen table, closet, or the dingy coffee place around the corner every so often to write, rewrite, despise what you wrote and start all over. You write AH-mazing bathroom sex scenes that you then share with your other author friends (where is it? Christy...).

Do not disturb

You incorporate feedback and thank your betas profusely, sending them emojis and x's and o's and hoping and praying they don't ever leave you like your ninth grade boyfriend did. THAT was devastating.


During all this, there is hunting for editors and cover designers and formatters and book trailer makers and blog tour peeps. HOLY shit! ALL of those people have FULL schedules and are booked until 2017! What the fuck? But I have to have a cover from so and so...You beg, plead, give up your dog and son for a slot. Just take them...I need my cover.


After securing your team, you are SO not done! NO way. There are first and second and third rounds of revisions and then you totally offend the cover person you gave up your child for because you want just a "tad more purple" in your cover.


AND, the worst is yet to happen. There is a never-ending pile of virtual forms, where you enter your tax information and electronic signature after you are unsure what you even just agreed to do so you can upload your book (after it is edited and goes through another round of "clean" beta reading).


Don't even get me started on the uploading because I need twelve or thirteen more degrees to be able to figure that shit out.

Electrified by Rachel Blaufeld

Finally, your book is up on the shelves and your mom buys a copy and it is the best feeling that someone wants to read you.

Until, you get your first bad review.


YET, somehow... we love it all so much, we do it again and again (like childbirth, you must forget all the steps of the process).


So, that is basically what I have been up to and although this post is funny, borderline hysterical, I could not do what I do without the help of many, many people. You know who you are. Don't make me call you out.

And, my fellow author babes, who have graciously entwined their success with mine. Love you.


AND, yes, I am releasing a second book soon.

Until then ... R