Paige Hawthorne: Blog

The GateKeepers must have fallen asleep. Yes, the unfathomable has happened. The Earth is off its axis and the space-time continuum is rent. (Torn, not leased, you gomers.)

Paige Hawthorne, in full camo, has somehow belly-crawled past enemy lines and is in the Final Ten for Author of the Year, Big Clit Division.

Now there is little doubt that The Authorities will regroup. And little question that I'll finish in the moldy cellar of this little locked-cage deathmatch. But, for my three remaining readers, it's an opportunity to take screen shots before the Big Realignment.

Paige

Ah … regard the typical SOL-hater, middle finger poised above the 1 key. He's trembling with eager anticipation and can't wait to debase my latest story, "Frontiers".

Well, lucky you - I've twerked the Voting lever, several chapters earlier than planned, to the ON position.

Have at it boys!

Paige

PS Bonus fun - don't Big-Clit vote for me! Twerk-Twerk.

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My newest story - a Western called "Frontiers" - is quite the departure from Winter Jennings and modern-day Kansas City. Or is it? Killing is killing, and bad guys are bad guys. And, thank heaven for little girls, sex is sex.

In "Frontiers" I continue to explore mother-son relationships. Why? Because the subject interests me in RL. Like murder, like sex, family ties had to have resonated just as strongly in the Old West as they do today.

Acceding to pleas from a majority of my three remaining readers, I'll post a chapter every three days instead of every other day. They, poor babies, could not read fast enough, simply could not keep up. Lips got tired, I would imagine.

A magnum oater, 16 chapters. Voting to be turned on at the halfway mark.

Paige

PS … FWIW, a few hapless voters clicked on my name in the Big Clit jamboree. But, worry not, I'm hopelessly behind. (Not that I pay the slightest attention to reader scores!)

Despite pleas, threats, and resignations from 27 of my 38 editors, I have decided to ignore them. Yes, I'm acceding to the slavering mob, the pitchforked rabble, and the Polar Vortex.

So, today is "Ms. Sloane Presides" day, you 1-bombers. I pulled down the Voting lever, feeling much like the prison official who, sitting in the electric chair to test it for comfort, accidentally pushes the ON button.

Zap me,

Paige

For some inexplicable reason, which I'll explain in a mo., none of my 2018 stories has been nominated for the Big Clit. Now the previous year, eight or ten Winter Jennings sagas made the cut.

The only conceivable reason for this Sophomore Slump is that my readers - admittedly not the brightest of the bunch - have forgotten how to exercise their franchise. In the furtherance of educational … um, furtherance, here you go:

SAMPLE BALLOT:

Author of the Year
Paige Hawthorne

Long Erotic Story of the Year
Winter's Game

Best Gay/Lesbian/Gender Bending Story
Winter's Game

Best Romantic Story
Winter's Game

Best Erotic Story of the Year
Winter's Game

I could continue, but you get the gist. I suggest printing out this Official Voter's Guide to use when you go to your polling station.

You're welcome,

Paige Hawthorne (author)

PS Thank you to the reader who pointed out this blatant miscarriage of Pax et Justitia.