Dear World-It’s me: Tilly

I know you’re tired of hearing it- stay positive; blah-blah, because sometimes things just aren’t okay! Sometimes things actually kind-a suck…no wait… no ‘kind-a’ about it-they do suck. Suckyness at it’s fullness as a matter of fact, hmmmm….suckyness…pretty sure that isn’t a word, spell-check is telling me it’s not ~smiles~

Isn’t it funny though that in the big moments of sadness, tragedy, worry and general chaos that a small moment, a tiny flicker of light is what we grab unto with both hands, pull it in and cradle it to our chests and hold it next to our heartbeat?

834db0f480b52c9d708615085294f073The warmth, the energy, that crazy, wacky, wonderful thing called hope, and suddenly we remember that this old world of ours is giving us a hug. A flicker- it’s all it takes to kindle hope.

All of us have our own inner demons, and here’s the facts, none of us, and I mean no one, have it all together- all the time. There is a saying that goes “Embrace the glorious mess that you are,” so yep- that’s my way of saying “stay positive!”

Trust me when I say that I get it-it’s not easy, sometimes you feel you’re taking in water like a fire hose being pointed directly at your face…or should I say heart….but you know what? It’s okay to mope and whine, and sit in your moment of suckyness…..just watch for the tiny flicker, and hold it next to your heartbeat.

Sending love on the wings of the wind,



Blended Family

Dear World it’s me- Tilly Rivers

I can’t even begin to explain, this love I have for a family that technically isn’t even mine. At least not by blood or DNA-The word ‘step’ I don’t really get- who came up with that anyway? Step-Mom, step child- step,–what-ever—-family is family no matter how you get there.

I mean seriously what the fuck does ‘step’ even mean? I am sure if i wanted to spend some time on Google I could find the origins of the word- but it sucks, no matter how you cut it.

How about- family- blended, mine, yours, ours- what does it matter? Love is what counts. Our’ family didn’t come together young and grow up together, nope- they already were full of  anx and personality, issues and attitudes: pure passion and wonderful opinions, they teach me and keep me young and I love every second of it.

Now- this moment I am a young -sexy as hell- Grandma of four, 2 girls, 2 boys. It doesn’t matter which of the four have my blood, they are ALL my babies, I love them so much , and me posting publicly that I am a Grandma (don’t forget the young- sexy as hell part) is a huge thing for me, after all, the ‘Grandma’ stereotype- not so flattering- but guess what? Like step-it’s a word- what counts is the passion and conviction behind it.

I truly LOVE my family, they are my world- 5 children & their amazing partners, 4 grandchildren- my guy and me- we are creating this wonderful and amazing thing called chaos- otherwise known as family.

To: My warlock and our amazing, wonderful, blended family, thank you for being part of my journey. I love you all so very much.




Beautiful Moments: Critters

Dear World- It’s me: Tilly

Maybe it’s just the winter blues, or maybe it’s something else but I have found my spirits to be a little low lately, so I am reminding myself of the beautiful moments in this crazy world. You know- like the smell of fresh mowed grass- or the taste of that first coffee in the morning.

Today’s beautiful moment reminder is: Critters. I love animals, and we have three critters:

2 dogs and a cat- a triangle of mischief, love and smiles.  Pets are amazing, they comfort you when your down, never judge, are always happy to see you; and think you are the ‘best’- always. Perhaps the relationship between a pet and human is the true meaning of unconditional love. People are more complicated there are always judgments, deal-breakers and conditions.

Critters in general are a source of great love for me, from the sound of birds singing their morning melody outside my window, to my spirit animal(s) guiding and protecting me, they truly provide beautiful moments in a world that can be toxic, negative and grey.

Ladies: Fun Ways to Boot out a One-Night-Stand

© Copyright Tilly Rivers 2005, all rights reserved

It’s an equal opportunity world peeps, women can and do have one-night stands; and this is a  ‘just-for-laughs’ list on how to boot out that guy in the morning that seems a little too clingy.

{Note: for the haters, no I am not advocating one night stands, nor am I saying that you should do it- that choice belongs to the individual}

1. Ask him what his ten-year plan is for your future children…
2. Look him directly in the eye and ask him if he would like to serve you breakfast in bed….for the rest of your life.
3. Wake up with a stretch and say… “Man I had this horrible dream that I was with this guy that”… look over and exclaim, “oh sorry…”
4. Get on the phone and pretend to be looking for the justice of peace in your area…. When he looks at you strangely, cover the mouthpiece and say. “ But you said we were going to elope last night…don’t you remember?”
5. Ask him for his mother’s number so you can set a family meeting…
6. Tell him he is worthy of being introduced to your…ten…cats…
7. Ask him if he thinks the laws for stalkers are too serious….
8. Pretend to be looking for clothes in your closet and mumble that you just know your mother’s wedding dress is in here some where….
9. Roll over and ask your make believe friend Mage if she likes the man in your bed, and than have a fight why he is just the perfect one….
10. Invite him over for the weekend at your place on planet Xaina… the third planet from the tenth sun, in the second solar system….

Dear World, it’s me Tilly

Hello there World-

Maybe you have noticed but I’ve been posting more in my blog in the last week than probably in the last year; why? I could say because inspiration has struck, or that I am on the up-cycle of my funk, or some other shit like that, but as I am as honest as I can be, with you, and with myself, I’m not really sure why, I guess because it is meant to be.

I’ve been going through my archives (like the one below if you keep reading) and discovered- damn- I really am a good writer and a smart cookie, not bragging, just reminding myself because sometimes you get caught up in life and sucked into the vortex of the downward cycle called depression that you forget- or at least I do.

Below is a little something I wrote with new authors in mind as my audience, it was written in September of 2006- I hope you enjoy it and find it useful in your journey.

Sending love on the wings of the wind…

I’m not about being inside the box. As a matter of fact when my second last book was released I took a look inside the box where the seals and sharks danced in a red pool of what is termed ‘market share and competition” and pushed the box as far back as it would go. I looked up and said “You want me to dive in there? Are you nuts?”

However most of us that write and most of us that has been published and now carry the title of author think that in order to win as an author would be to be sitting on the shelf of the large bookstores like Barnes and Noble, Chapters and Indigo.

They think that to have really made it would mean that the spine of the book created by their pain, laughter, tears, frustration and hard work would be finally laying beside….oh another 80 thousand titles.

An average best seller sells about 6,000 copies in a three year term. ( National Post, August 2006) My novel sold one hundred thousand copies in fourteen days and not one of them was on a traditional book shelf. Not only did the books sell but the name of “Tilly Rivers” is recognized as one of the best writers in erotica. World Wide.

Not one book signing was at Barnes and Noble, not one book sold through Chapters. I created my own market demand; I refused to have my book collect dust on a shelf with thousands upon thousands of its cousins, with the possibility of them being put on the clearance rack, or worse, sent back to the publisher.

Now, you could say to yourself, sure, that might work for an erotica genre, but I write a different style of prose. Hmm… Okay…. I will challenge that thinking process, how many erotica novels are there? Lets just say that compared to fiction writers, romance writers, children’s books and so on, the ‘other’ categories have fifty times the competition, fifty times more sharks to add the ‘market share pond” for you the new seal to try and swim through {and make it to the other side alive} to try and sell 6,000 copies.

I always try and encourage authors to design their OWN box, sometimes they listen, sometimes they don’t. Personally I would rather have my name be the ‘only’ one noticed and have my book(s) sell and read. I would rather have readers ‘demand’ more of my books and become fans and talk about my novel(s) with their friends, but that’s just me.

You could call the way I did things: creating ‘market demand”- you know, if you wanted too. ~smiles~

You know, my Mom always said I never learned to share…

Happy Writing!

No One Will Listen. A tale of truth or fiction?

By: Tilly Rivers, © Copyright protected, 2004, all rights reserved.

I sat across from him and waited while he just looked at me. His eyes held a connotation that I wanted to decipher, what was it he was trying to tell me with his eyes?

“You’re very beautiful.”

Not what I was expecting. Not the reason I was there. He had contacted me, not the other way around; told me he wanted to tell me his story- wanted me to write it without using his name, I was intrigued, but was I foolish?-Was this just a way to meet me? Was I crazy, meeting a stranger in a coffee shop? A stranger that told me he sold his body for money and wanted to tell the truth about what it was like to be a male in the sex-for-sale game.

“Thank you.” I replied and he smiled, I noticed his voice was very monotone, he was stating a fact about my beauty, much like one would discuss the weather.

His laughter was full. “You think I am hitting on you?” his smile widened, and there was a light in his eyes for the first time in the past twenty minutes that we had sat in mostly silence. If you pay attention, you often learn more from the silence of another if you’re patient and don’t give into a natural instinct to fill the void with the sound of your own voice. Not today though, I had more questions, and no answers.

“It had crossed my mind.” I’ve always been one to speak the truth, in my line of work to tell lies had serious consequences, the truth, even if the other party didn’t like it, was always the safest option. “Are you?”

“No.” His voice was just above a whisper; however it caught my attention as if he screamed it across the room. There was a wishful note that captured me. Did he think that he had no right to flirt like the rest of the world does?

He looked at the light brown liquid in his cup, I never understood the need to add copious amounts of cream and sugar to your coffee, I always preferred mine straight up. I watched him watching his coffee much like a fortune teller reading tea-leaves analyzed the contents, and waited.

“Most of us do not remember how it started. The beginning is not what matters; it is the end that counts.”

“What is the end?”

“Right now. This very second the end continues. Sitting here with you and seeing beauty knowing you can never be part of it.”

“Why can’t you be part of it?”

“Do you know why I picked you to write my story? I’ve read your work and I can feel your passion. Passion has always eluded me, like a fairy tale or a myth, passion and love, they are like Santa Claus to me they don’t really exist. When you sell your body on the streets in order to survive you become numb to anything that resembles reality, you want to believe, you pretend, and some still carry hope, but the harsh truth always wins. You have never been touched by that kind of dark reality.” He looked up at me than, with those intense eyes of his and continued speaking in a hushed voice so I had to lean in to hear him.

“If I was to hazard a guess I’d say that when you share your body, your partner’s walk away not knowing what had just hit them…they haven’t a clue that they have been just touched with the pure essence of passion. Yet I am betting that they keep coming back…fight to keep coming back…and do not have a clue why…only that they have to touch you…touch the heat…one more time.”

“That is very flattering, but we aren’t here to talk about my sex life.”

“Do your partners wear a condom when you have shared your passion my dear?” He did not wait for my answer “Society pushes condoms; they are after all the miracle cure to all STD’s right? They protect you from AIDS, the magic cape that makes you superman. Untouchable.”

“Against condoms?”

“Hell no! But I am against men and women not understanding that a condom will not protect you unconditionally. I am against society and the media filling our brains with the notion that buying a condom will make all your worries go away.”

“Most people realize that the only true protection is abstinence.”

He grinned “Do you abstain? Come on. Sex is as much a part of our nature as breathing and eating…more so.”

I could hardly argue with the truth. “You weren’t your average Gigolo though. You catered to high society.”

“Gigolo, cute phrase don’t you think? Makes you think of a life filled with glamour. I mean women in the sex trade are called  prostitutes and hookers, and men get a cute upscale phrase like gigolo or escort. What I was sweetheart was a man…just a man…who cared so little about himself that he was willing to fuck anyone who could pay.”

I ignored the ‘sweetheart’ comment “Some have chosen this life-style and the money it brings them. Society has come to accept it more and more, some States have any legalized the sex trade.”

“You truly think that the sex trade is a chosen career path? Most were sexually abused and rationalize their actions with fucking bullshit like at least this way I have the power over my body and who touches me.”

“Men and women?”

“For me, yes. Older men. Young boys, who were experimenting, closet Gay men…as long as they had the money; men paid more, especially professional men leading a double life. As for the women, Cops wives, lawyer’s wives, wives of upscale professional men who are so fucking stupid that while he was banging his mistress he had no idea that his woman was buying me my new car with fuck money. Are they really so stupid to think they are pulling one over their wife or girlfriend? She knows, she just doesn’t give a shit anymore, she knows the relationship is about paying the bills and finds her happiness elsewhere, just like he does. The funny part? The men are so blind that they have no idea that they are being played, they think the little woman is happy at home.”

“Did you always wear a condom?”

“No. If my client asked me to ride him or her bare back, I did. For an extra fee of course.”
He paused ever so slightly before continuing “We are after all invincible right? It could not happen to me…AIDS, HIV; they are for other people right? I mean it is not like they did not know what I was, they were paying me for fuck’s sake, but somehow, some magic indestructible way it would be okay, and we are above disease.”

“Are you HIV positive? Have you infected one of your clients?”

“Client…how politically correct of you. Clients are for Investment Bankers. I did not start in this racket as a high class gigolo. I doubt anyone does. The illusion. The top of the line clothes, best apartment, best, fastest cars, drugs…. All window dressing. I began on the streets, a fuck for sale so I could eat, so I could sleep in a bed that night…it is the way we all begin.”

“How did you get on the streets?”

“Know one wants to listen…ever noticed that? The youth of our society, they do not need to listen…we are, after all talking through our hats right? Don’t know shit. Who listens? No one wants to admit that there is a dark side to each of us, that maybe it’s your husband having back-door sex with another man, that it’s your wife fucking a gigolo. The young ones are playing within the sex trade and don’t even know it, as simple as a few sexy poses on the internet, wanting to feel like they are a model or some such stupid shit- they won’t listen to their parents telling them to smarten the fuck up, they won’t listen to me, and they won’t listen to you. We all have a story, but no one will listen.”

“If you truly believe that, then why am I here?”

“I’ve read your poetry.”

“Stalk much?” That he knew I wrote poetry surprised me, few did, his comment should of made me uncomfortable, instead I was even more intrigued. Who was this man who read poetry while catering to the whims of high society men and women?

“You have an amazing insight towards life, but there is an innocence about you.”

“I’ve seen too much to be innocent.”

“No one will listen. No one wants to believe that the dark exists, that the hooker, the call girl, the gigolo…” he smiled and paused over the word, “Are someone’s child…someone’s mother, father, brother, sister. Lost souls in the dark, like some-sort of vampire living without the sun.”

“I’m here, I’m listening.”

“Have you ever known a fear so great that it has become your best friend: because it has blocked out the world? It has covered your sins in shadow; it has become the only thing you know? Have you ever been so desperate to escape the pain, to just escape…that you were willing to sell your soul if you could get one more fix?”


“Have you ever welcomed the dark, so you could just stop thinking, stop feeling…stop hurting?”


“Have you ever sold your body, so you could pretend? Close your eyes and pretend, that some one really cared…that someone loved you?”


“Have you ever watched your best friend die of AIDS? Have you ever been walking down the street and have a gun fired at the guy beside you because he could not pay his drug money that week? Watch his blood stain the sidewalk?”


“Have you ever taken your brand new sports car that was bought by flesh money: drunk, stoned, and drive it as fast as you possibly could into a hydro pole on purpose just to end it, because there is no other way out?”


He took my hand and kissed the top of it. “Keep it that way.” He stood “I’ve changed my mind about telling my story, it won’t make a difference, and no one will listen.”

I watched him leave, I knew he spoke the truth, no one wants to know, and no one would listen.