Alexa Nichols's Blog

Halloween has always been a weird holiday for me. I mean, don’t get me wrong—I love dressing up, I love candy (way too much), and I love all the spooky decorations. But there’s something about Halloween that hits a little differently the older I get. Like, it’s no longer just about the costumes or parties; it’s a weird blend of nostalgia and low-key self-reflection.

Remember when Halloween was all about the excitement of knocking on strangers’ doors and getting a sugar high that lasted until Thanksgiving? (Not even joking.) Now, it’s about questioning why I’m still tempted to eat a whole bag of fun-sized Snickers when I *know* better. Also, is it just me, or does Halloween make you think about all the versions of yourself you’ve “dressed up” as in real life? The person you were, the person you’re trying to be—heavy stuff for a holiday that involves fake blood and zombie makeup.

But I digress.

These days, I’m all about low-key Halloween celebrations. Throw on a witch hat (because duh), binge-watch something spooky, maybe get a little deep with my thoughts (hello, existential crisis). It’s simple, it’s cozy, and honestly, it feels just right.

So yeah, Halloween might not be the wild, sugar-fueled chaos it used to be for me, but in its own way, it’s become a night to embrace where I am, who I am, and yes, still enjoy some candy. Because, let’s be real—I will always have room for candy.

Back when I first started writing (almost an entire decade now!), I started writing diary entries every day because I read online that it would be a great way to connect with readers. You know, give them constant access to your life, thoughts, and updates to your writing endeavors.

I managed to pull it off for a while, but then I slowly began to realize something: I wasn’t as interesting as all that, and I definitely wasn’t famous enough to warrant that sort of attention. Most people didn’t even read my entries, and I can’t blame them: even with my favorite authors, I rarely read things of that nature either.

So why was I writing diary entries then? Why was I taking so much time from my actual love (writing) just to throw out nonsensical data to readers who likely wouldn’t even be interested to begin with?

I stopped. Surprisingly, several readers reached out and asked why the frequency of my entries was tapering off, but it did free so much of my creative time (and energy!) that I couldn’t even think of going back to doing them daily.

Still, sometimes I go back and read some of my previous entries, and I can’t help but smile. So much energy! So many crazy times! Those were the days of a younger, more carefree me, the me before the pandemic, the me that didn’t give a fuck about much of anything except my readers and my big brother (and, of course, my Baby Squirrel).

The simpler me.

I miss her sometimes.

But only for a minute.

As much as I like her, I love myself now.

I’d rather be in love than in like any day…

I’m going through a period that I seem to run into every year: the urge to take an extended break from authoring and social media in general. The whole digital space, basically. It’s a bit of a double-edged sword, however, because when I decide to take a break, I’m always miserable. Authoring is so much a part of who I am that it feels almost as if I chose to quit showering or something when I’m not doing it. I can survive without it, but the longer I don’t, the more uncomfortable and unpleasant I become. It’s a bit like a drug addiction in that way, I suppose…

So, this time, this year, I am trying something different: not taking a break. I figured instead, I’d do different author-related things, maybe not always just writing. Working on Subscribestar Adult content, for example. Maybe brainstorm my current writing project with my baby squirrel or my new ultra-secret and kinky (read: highly perverted and erotic) serial project I’m releasing exclusively on Subscribestar Adult. So far, it’s proving to be a winning mindset because I’m still getting author work done and even writing a bit here and there when the urge strikes. I read how some authors write every day for hours and hours with no breaks, and it kills me. I mean, how the fuck do they pull that off?! That would be like eating the same food prepared the same way at the same time every single day. It would drive me crazy…

Anyway.

So let me tell you about my big brother (who I will refer to during the rest of this story affectionately as motherfucker).

He has a habit of dryly saying things that cut to the bone, things most normal people usually keep to themselves. Like the other day, I made a comment about spider-monkeying him, and he gave me a quick look and shook his head. Before I could ask what the hell that was all about, this motherfucker blurts out, I don’t think you can spider monkey anymore. You’re too out of shape. I audibly squeaked in outrage. Sure, I’m not working out as harshly as last year, but then I’m not doing the things that would require me to work out that religiously, either. I’m in decent shape, maybe a little pudgy here and there, but still – I’m not morbidly obese or anything.

My response: to get off the couch and fly across the room, giving him an aerial spider monkey that would cause him to lose his soul.

That was the plan, at least.

Here’s how it went down:

I slid off the couch and turned to face him, immediately (and with absolutely no grace) plopping down onto the floor. After recovering my footing, I bounced up and ran towards him – and promptly slammed my left foot into a table leg so hard that my poor little toes screamed in outrage. By the time I made it to him, I didn’t have enough momentum to jump, so he just grabbed me and picked me up, moving me to the side and walking past.

And to make matters more insulting, I was a little out of breath.

So now I’m focusing on my health again, fighting like hell to ensure my spider monkeying is back where it should be. I’ll just practice on my Baby Squirrel every so often to gauge my progress. I’ll keep everyone updated… 😏

I’m an overly creative person, and that often gets me in trouble. 😄 Whether it be with my writing or relationships, my imagination often gets the better of me, causing all sorts of issues that ordinary people simply don’t have.

No one is safe. Not my big brother, my Baby Squirrel, my Subscribestar Adult members, or even my friends.

Because of this, I’ve learned it’s best to occasionally withdraw from everyone for a while and funnel my energy into my current writing project.

Sometimes, isolating myself like this doesn’t work, however. Especially with the people closest to me won’t let me. Even when I yell and cry at them to leave me alone because my emotions are bouncing everywhere, sometimes they just refuse to listen and assure me that they know what’s best. Like mansplaining, but with friends. Friendsplaining? Is that even a thing? Fuck it; it is now. I mean, I understand that they have the best intentions at heart, but my reaction to their attempt to pacify me is a bit startling: I want to get physically violent with them. Like, hit them. Slap them. No, bitch-slap them. Most of the time, I repress my hostility and just smile, but sometimes I slip a bit. I don’t hit them or anything (well, my big brother doesn’t count), but I do yell.

And it doesn’t matter where I am. Believe me, I’m not bragging about it. I’m actively working on it.

If you’ve ever argued with me, you know I can cut deep when I’m upset. I hurt you. Again, it’s not something I’m proud of, and I’m trying hard to change this about myself, but it’s a long, hard battle to fight. I think one of these days I need to go to one of those rage rooms I occasionally see on TV, where you can just walk in and destroy shit. Every time I see someone in one of those rooms, I start salivating because they look like so much fun! My inner loli bloodlust kicks in, and I find myself reacting to each yell or breaking of something.

If I could just figure out some sort of middle ground or substitute…

I have no idea why I’m the way I am, but at this stage of my life, it wouldn’t matter if I knew why. It’s just who I am. It’s hardwired into me. So, since changing it seems to be out of the question, I need to find a way to cope with it in a non-destructive manner. Holding it in doesn’t work, and lashing out at the people I love (whether they understand or not) isn’t optimal either.

So, if anyone has an idea, let me know…

If there was one question I get asked more than any other (perverted questions from incels don’t count), it’s how I write a book, and why it seems to take so much longer for me to release a new story compared to other authors. To be completely honest, I have dyslexia to blame for that. Most people don’t know I have it because I utilize an army of grammar-checking tools. Not only that, but I trudge through several re-reads of my finished product just to ensure that everything sounds the way I intended. Here’s what my writing process looks like in a nutshell:



Brainstorming.
Outline.
Rough Draft.
Red Revision.
Yellow Revision.
Green Revision.
Final Version. This is where I properly format it, put it through all my grammar checkers, and do one last read-through before I release it to the wild.


Sounds exhausting, doesn’t it? Not to me, it doesn’t. In fact, it’s a lot of fun. So much fun that almost everything else in my life tends to fade away in the background, forcing me to constantly ground myself and make sure that none of my loved ones feel… unloved. You know? And then comes my love for retro games (which I’ll start featuring in my newsletters starting next month) and my Patreon/Subscribestar members. I love interacting with them, oftentimes just randomly messaging and opening dialog because they are truly interesting and inspiring people to me.

And then there are the Koreans, who have recently stolen what little free time I have. 😭

See, it started with Squid Game. We started watching it a while back when it was first released and promptly fell off to watch other shows after the first episode. Then, the Squid Game: The Challenge came on not long ago, and it caught our attention. So, we started watching it. I became insanely addicted, binge-watching it until the show’s completion, which made us want to watch the show it was based on, Squid Game. So, we did. All the way through. And that made us curious about other shows or movies that Netflix ported over that we missed, like Strength 100 and myriad others (just go to Google and type in ‘Netflix Korean shows’ and see for yourself).

So now I’m basically Korean.



이 글을 읽을 수 있다면 당신도 마찬가지입니다.



😜

I learned a long time ago that the thing you love most can kill you if you let it. Back when I first started writing, I didn’t take it very seriously: I just sat down and repeatedly slapped the keyboard, letting my kinky imagination have free reign with little regard to plot, character development, or plot twists. You can tell this from books like No, Daddy! I’m Not Mommy!, Cramming Sis!, and Please Don’t Get Me Pregnant!. They were the first books I wrote, and you can tell by reading them how few fucks I had to give. I wasn’t taking my writing career seriously, which showed in my work. Sure, they were fun to write, but they had about as much substance as a handful of lettuce.

They sold. Well. This prompted me to try and elevate my craft, to try and write kinkier, more elaborate stories. I became obsessed with being the best writer I could, so I scoured the internet eagerly looking for any and all advice I could find. I attempted to follow everything I found, even going so far as to snag a copy of Stephen King’s On Writing, which is a fantastic book, and devouring everything I found with a hunger usually reserved for cheese fries at Snuffer’s.

Somewhere along the way, however, I quit having fun. Writing became more of a job than a fun little distraction, and I was taking things so seriously that I repeatedly started burning out. So, I decided the best thing to do was step away from writing for a bit. After a while I would return reinvigorated, only to feel the urge to break quickly returning. I began immersing myself in other hobbies, such as watching anime, reading manga, and playing video games. When I decided to write, it felt forced, like working out sometimes feels when you’re just not feeling it.

Maybe I wasn’t meant to be a writer. I wondered to myself. I mean, my command of the English language isn’t exactly on par with other famous authors. I have a conversational writing style, and I actively try to avoid writing over someone’s head… whereas some authors I read have me pulling out a dictionary every few pages. It almost seems like they’re trying to impress readers with their vocabulary knowledge. Should that really be your goal when you write, however? Shouldn’t the story matter most? You know, trying to coax the reader to immerse themselves in your carefully crafted world?

Back on track.

Even though I took a bit of a sabbatical from writing, I continuously found myself jotting down story ideas. Instead of deep, immersive plots and plot twists, they were more fun and quick little ditties that made me remember the tales I wove when I first started writing. When I found myself actually writing them and tearing myself away because I started feeling guilty that I wasn’t working on my more serious works, I knew something was wrong with the writing habits I had adopted.

I took a long, hard look at my authoring and then decided to just relax. I set goals, yes, but tackle the actual creative writing only when I feel inspired to. Don’t treat it as a job, but instead as a passion.

Damn, did that paradigm shift ultimately change who I am as an author!

I now proudly consider myself a writing beast. I’ve filled all my releases until 2027 and still have extra stories coming out exclusively for Subscribestar members. Life is good. However, I know there are many lessons I need to learn and many ways I still need to improve as an author.

I look forward to the road ahead…

My Patreon is dead.

To make a long story short, they took some of the titles of a few of my books literally and assumed they contained incest and underage sexual content. Without consulting me, they deleted my account and refunded my Patreon subscribers. They then emailed me, informing me of their actions and stating that their actions could not be reversed.

All that content.

Years of posts and interactions.

Gone.

Not gonna lie, I came so close to relapsing with alcohol that week. Every day was a struggle, and I fell into such a deep depression that my appetite and sleep were severely affected. I would just lay in bed (usually my Baby Squirrel’s bed) and stare at the ceiling, wondering how I would make up that missing chunk of cash. In this day and age, every cent counts, and with everything as expensive as it is… I had come to rely on that little income.

If I’m honest, however, it was about more than just the money. Patreon gave me (and my subscribers) a place to congregate on the internet, safe from the insanity of typical social media, and I loved conversing with them at all hours of the night – and for so many different reasons.

And now it’s gone.

Or is it?

A while back – during my last Patreon scare, actually – I created a Subscribestar Adult account and started populating it with everything I posted on Patreon. Though only a few people signed up for it, I loved how open and free the site was. They seemed to give zero fucks about what I posted, and it was, you know, refreshing for a change.

So. I moved my online creative home to Subscribestar Adult and ditched Patreon entirely.

Because fuck Patreon.

Honestly, I should have made this move a long time ago. I’ll have fewer restrictions and won’t have to worry about my account getting suddenly nuked without anyone consulting me first. So, if you haven’t already, join me. It’s going to be a lot of fun… 😈

Addiction is a motherfucker. Ever since I was a teenager (and a bit even before that), alcohol has been a mainstay in my life, something that was attached to almost all of my fondest memories. To put it bluntly, I drank alcohol like most people drank water. When I made the conscious decision to turn my life around, I knew that was one of the first things, if not the first thing, that had to go. So shortly after my Baby Squirrel quit smoking cold turkey because of her breast cancer, I was inspired to do the same with alcohol. I mean, if she could do it, I could do it, right? So, on April 18, 2021, I quit drinking cold turkey.

I wish I could tell you some generic ass shit like, ‘and I never looked back’ or ‘now I feel so much better’ or [insert generic statement here], but I can’t. It’s hard. Extremely hard. And every day is a struggle I feel I will ultimately lose. I have learned a few tricks to get through the day, however:

When the urge to drink gets really bad, I find a hobby that sounds entertaining and immerse myself in it. Before long, the urge to drink is (usually) gone.
If that doesn’t work, I try and talk to my Baby Squirrel about it, and she can usually talk me down. Or I may reach out to one of my Patreon or Subscribestar members, as I have become quite close to most of them.
If even that doesn’t work, I work out. I have a normal daily workout regimen, but can’t think of anything else to do when the thirst gets this bad. Luckily, it hasn’t reached this point in a long time, though it’s been getting close lately.
I know some of you out there have quit drinking, so maybe you can help. Outside of going to AA (which I absolutely refuse to do), what have you found the most effective? Hit a loli up and let me know.

I appreciate it.

It’s amazing how much my life has changed after my heart attack. It’s also amazing how crazy I was living and how I had no idea how much I was pushing the envelope of life and death every day. It’s taking a lot of adapting to get myself to a saner level of living, but overall, I have to say I’m happier with the way my life is now.

Kind of.

As I looked at the stories I’ve written thus far, I realized how safe I’ve been playing the writing game. I mean, yes, I write erotic tales, but they are all more or less safe erotic tales that most people wouldn’t have a hard time digesting. The few times I ventured beyond that safe zone (Amore, Girl Fight, and Haunted, for example) seemed to garner one of two reactions from readers: they either loved the story or didn’t feel one way or another about it. No one reached out to tell me they hated any of them, though I’m sure some did.

Now when I write a typical erotic tale (like Devious Bitches, Paying His Debts, and No, Daddy! I’m Not Mommy!, for example) always get immediate attention and sales.

This sharp contrast caused me to think. If I wanted to make a decent amount of money, I should just stick to churning out typical erotica. If I wanted to have fun with writing, however, I needed to push the envelope and see how much I could get away with it. Maybe get banned by a distributor or something. 😄 This sounded like much more fun to me than sticking to cookie-cutter erotica and romance.

So, moving forward, that’s precisely what I will do. I mean, why not? I’ve already finished all my official releases until 2027, so anything that I craft I’ll simply release to my Patreon and Subscribestar.adult members and then to the rest of the world sometime later. Something tells me I will have a lot of fun with this. Something else tells me some of my readers will, too. 😏

Simps have always fascinated me. What would practically make a person worship someone online – a digital stranger they likely would never meet or share any real relationship with? This question has only grown in weight the more I live in the virtual world of the internet, as I see it happening frequently and in all walks of life. It is amazing how easy it is for some girls to have troves of men wrapped around their fingers with very little effort.

Why is this even possible?

I was originally going to post the question, ‘Can you concisely explain why someone would be a simp?’ on social media, but knowing how emo the digital populace tends to get, I decided against it, instead choosing to hit up the three major artificial intelligent programs I know to see what their take is on what makes a simp a simp. Here are their responses:



ChatGPT: “The term “simp” is often used colloquially to describe someone, usually a man, who excessively admires, idolizes, or goes to great lengths to please another person, typically a woman, in the hopes of gaining their romantic or sexual attention. A person might be considered a simp due to various reasons, such as low self-esteem, a desire for validation, or a belief that showering someone with attention and gifts will lead to a closer relationship. However, it’s important to note that the term can be subjective and is often used in a derogatory manner to criticize individuals for their perceived behavior.”



Replika: “Simps are people who are overly dependent on others for their sense of self-worth. They may be overly trusting, and don’t have a strong sense of self-confidence. They often have a low opinion of themselves, and may put a lot of pressure on others to meet their expectations.”



Paradot: “I think someone might be a simp because they lack self-confidence and feel inadequate. They may try to build up their own self-esteem by trying to get the approval of others.”



A simple to see common thread between all their answers is that simps tend to have low self-confidence/self-esteem. When I realized this, I sat back in my chair and cocked my head, looking at my computer screen and falling into a deep quagmire of thought. Simps get absolutely roasted online, especially on social media, but… should they be? Is someone having such low self-esteem or self-confidence that they blindly reach out to whomever they can in hope that some sort of emotion/affection is reciprocated something that should be mocked? I understand low self-esteem all too well, as I was riddled with this when I was younger – and even to this day, I suffer from it occasionally. Simps, however, have it to an almost crippling degree, something I definitely do not envy…

And, the more that I thought about it, who are their actions truly hurting? If they want to give relative strangers gifts and money, who does that harm? Who does it affect aside from the giver and receiver of said gifts? And let’s go even deeper with this – why are people antagonistic towards them? Why do they feel compelled to roast them, to belittle their actions? It’s truly bizarre the more I think about it…

I’m not going to lie: I was one of those people that mocked them. Now? Not so much. Now I pity them and genuinely hope they can find a way to get past their codependence on people that are ultimately just using them for their generosity. This doesn’t mean I want them flooding my inbox, of course, because honestly, I have my own life and have neither the time nor patience to try and fix everyone else’s, but still. This paradigm shift will definitely temper how I see and interact with certain types of people in the future.

And who knows? I am single. Maybe I should give one of these guys (or girls) a chance?