Hello Lovelies. I am Lylah James, as many of you already know. I am also known as the Queen of cliffhanger. I love to break your hearts with soul shattering scenes and mend the broken pieces together again with some swooning scenes. I write about Alpha males and their sweet strong heroines. If you are looking to swoon, sigh, squeal, scream, sob and fall in love – you are in the right place.

So, shall we get this party started? First, comment some songs suggestions. I am desperately in need of them! Right now – while typing out this message, I am listening to (not so surprisingly) Despacito.

Anyhoo, one of my main work is the Tainted Hearts series. The first book of the series, just got published yesterday (hell yeah!) – The Mafia and His Angel: Part 1. You can find it on online retailers, mostly amazon. Here is the cover, lovelies. Isn't he hot? *thinks of different ways to lick him*

Now if you have never read TMAHA or never even heard of it, I could be giving you 10 reasons why you should be reading it, but I won't. Only because I don't want to give you all biased opinions, lol.  So, I will leave that to my readers. Hey my lovelies, what is 10 reasons why someone should read TMAHA? Leave your comments *wink wink nudge nudge*

I don't want to make this about me or my books... This is about us connecting. Since, I have started writing on Wattpad (I am actually new. It hasn't even been 2 years yet), I have noticed a lot of writers struggling with negative reviews/comments. I have had many of you reach out to me and ask for help.

Negative comments...bad comments/reviews. What can I say? We all get them. Those who don't, then they are lucky! And I hope they never do. I have gotten a few myself. Not a lot, like others have – but I have gone through the process of getting some really nasty comments. I have gone through the process of internally raging towards the person, break down and feel like my writing is not worthy – but guess what? I came out stronger after going through all the emotional process of receiving a bad review.

Stages of getting a really bad review/comment:

1)    Shock. You stare at the comment like a donkey.

2)    Confusion. You can't believe someone would say such a thing.

3)    Anger. Because, HOW COULD THEY? How dare you?

4)    Stress. Oh my God – someone doesn't like my story. What am I gonna do now?

5)    Maybe you cry and drown your sorrows in a bottle of...pepsi (Yeah...no alcohol. We are keeping this PG-13) (says the person who writes smut. Okay back on topic)

6)    You console yourself, while eating lots and lots of cookies and brownies. Oh, and ice cream.

7)    You talk to others to make yourself feel better

8)    You slowly start to feel better because your readers continue to love your writing

9)    You sit down and write one word. Two words. A whole paragraph. 3 hours later...

10) And finally, you realize that you are stronger than this and your story is kickbutt (PG-13, remember?) and that one (or a few) bad comment should not let you down.

Now... here is my little two cents in all of this. (Please note: This is only what I think...or will do...and what I may suggest you do. You have your own thoughts and you can disagree with me)

As a writer, our books are our babies. It's our life, our passion. Our everything. At least to me it is and most of writers too. We put a lot of time into it...plenty of sleepless nights too. Sometimes, I even forget to eat when I'm writing. So much effort goes into writing a book. Its not something easy for us.

So, when we put it out there, we expect good reviews. And guess what? We are highly protective of our baby. Not getting good reviews hurts us to the core and we get on the defensive side. Plain and simple.

But also as a writer, we need to understand critics no matter how harsh they could be sometimes. Yes, I know there is a difference between bad reviews and a plain rude/non-constructive review which leads to bashing the author. When we get a bad review, our first instinct is to fight back. We want to argue and prove our points. Sometimes this works in our favor. Other times, it just doesn't work and backfires on us.

From my own experience, as writer when you argue back, the reader will continue to bash you. There best comeback? Its the same one that everyone seems to stupidly use. "If you wanna write, you need to accept cristism."

I have lost count how many times I have heard this line, towards other authors and sometimes towards myself. They expect us to take and accept everything. They will find everything wrong in us.

From my lesson, I have learnt to ignore and be nice. They are rude? Well, be sweet to them. Sweet in a killer way? Ya know, kill them with kindness? That's my motto.

When you are surprisingly nice to them, they tend to stop. Sometimes I'm even sarcastic but still in a nice way.

As a writer, you can't stop bad reviews. They will come and come and come (my dirty mind is reaallly trying not to think dirty right now). You just have to learn to ignore and focus on the good - the readers that love your work. Because if you dwell into the bad, then you will only stress and hurt yourself. (Speaking from experience here).

As a writer, we need to be professional - just try. Be nice and ignore. Its hard to do. Its sooo hard (my dirty mind, y'all...its exploding). Its painful but you have to do it. Its the only way to save you from headache and heartache. If you indulge them into a back and forth conversation, they will continue to hurt you. (Again, speaking from experience).

Sometimes the bashers turn out to be the worst kind of haters. What do you do then? Simple. Ignore again. As a writer, you NEED to be able to ignore and continue. Focus on your readers, the one supporting and loving you. Write for them. And most importantly, write for yourself.

Haters will be everywhere. If you have a hater then you know you are doing something right... because most haters are jealous. Right? Kinda. If the hater gets excessive, tell them off nicely or delete their comments.

Now there is a difference between a hater and a bad review. Again, ignore both. Doesn't matter. It's not easy but it's the best solution of them all.

Also, sometimes, whether you believe it or not – bad reviews might help you. Sometimes, they are constructive. Not always, but a few times. There is a difference between a negative review and a constructive one. Constructive reviews might seem like a bad comment, but sometimes they might help you, as a writer, realize what's wrong and how to improve your writing. Sometimes, you just need to hunt for a good in something bad.

Never let others stop you from writing. Let your words flow and continue to weave magic with it. We can create history – we can make a difference. We can create a whole new world. We can make and break people (characters). As a writer, your words are your superpowers and never let anyone else tell you otherwise. Just keep writing, aye?

Be the Queen/King you are.

My post is now coming to an end, but I have decided to leave you all with a little piece of The Mafia and His Angel.

Here is one of the readers' favorite scenes!

The Mafia and His Angel: Part 1 by Lylah James. Copyrighted and full rights reserved.

The sun peeked in my bedroom window, lighting the room like a fiery halo. I lifted my head from the pillow, my black hair tumbling down my back like a waterfall. It was morning already.

Alberto hadn't visited my dreams. I closed my eyes yet again, the sun's waking rays warming my body. I felt warm inside too. Full. Relieved. Maybe a little content. Memories of the night before ran through my sleepy mind and I couldn't help but smile.

Alessio had let me play the piano. My heart quickened at the thought and my smile widened. Alessio, even though he was cold and hard. Sometimes rude and mean. He could be sweet.

I turned around and saw his black suit jacket lying next to my face on my soft pillow. Bringing it close, I placed my head on it. Because of this, I had a good sleep, a sleep without any of the past memories haunting me.

Maybe this was my key to stopping my nightmares. I looked at this jacket, my heart racing against my chest.

After giving it a final stare, I sat up in bed and folded the jacket and carefully placed it under my pillow.

"You are my secret," I whispered, getting out of bed.

I quickly went through my morning routine. After taking a hot shower, I twisted my hair in a bun and then slid into my black dress. Tying the white apron around my waist, I looked at my reflection.

I looked different somehow. My cheeks were rosy and fuller. There weren't any black circles under my eyes but instead, my green eyes were shining brightly. A small smile was playing across my lips.

It was weird. My father had died last night, yet I felt content.

Placing both my hands on the counter, I exhaled. Who knew? Living in the enemy's house, I had found friends, and a mother figure. I was happy here.

On my way toward the stairs, I passed the piano room. My steps faltered in front of it and I stared at the closed door.

Was Alessio still in there?

Curious, I stepped toward the door and slowly turned the knob. The door opened and I tensed. I peeked inside and sucked in a shocked breath at the sight.

Alessio was still sitting in the same spot, bloody and in the same dirty clothes. The first aid kit sat on the coffee table, untouched.

My heart twisted as I stepped inside, and my nose started to tingle. My vision blurred slightly with unshed tears. His head was resting against the back on the couch with his eyes closed.

His breathing was even, his chest moving slowly up and down. Alessio was asleep. I gazed at him as he slept. I walked forward and stopped right in front of him. A few strands of his hair fell on his forehead and before I could stop myself, I bend forward and softly brushed them away. Lines of tension creased on his forehead, showing that even in his sleep, he was riddled with pain.

But as I continued to stare at his sleepy face, I couldn't help but think that he looked kinder.

My gaze raked the length of his body. His black shirt was unbuttoned at the top, revealing a little of his muscled chest. The sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and I stopped at his hands.

They looked worse than the night before. Dried blood covered his swollen knuckles and fingers. I winced at the sight. I had a feeling he wouldn't listen to me but I still hoped. I was tempted to clean his wounds for him, but I didn't want to overstep my boundaries.

I didn't want to anger him more, not when he was already going through so much.

I bit on my lips as I continued to step back, but with each step away from Alessio, my stomach sank deeper.

I stopped and stared at the broken man in front of me.

I couldn't be this heartless, could I? I couldn't leave him in this state when I could help instead. Placing my hand over my beating heart, I chewed on my lips. I moved closer to him, slowly.

Keeping my eyes fixated on his sleeping form, I knelt down in front of him. Moving my eyes from his face, I stared at his bruised hands. I opened the first aid kit and removed the antiseptic wipes and some bandages out. There was also a small hand towel folded under the bandages. So I took it out too. After placing them on the coffee table, I turned back to Alessio.

With my heart racing in my chest, I placed my shaking hand on his to see if he was awake.

He didn't move.

I sighed in relief and then took his hand in mine. I waited again. He didn't move.

I picked up an antiseptic wipe and gently cleaned his hands. I made sure my movements were soft and careful so I wouldn't hurt him.

As the blood came off, I saw his knuckles were bruised but not much. The blood made it look worse. His fingers were slightly swollen but thankfully not broken. After cleaning his left hand, I gently wrapped the bandage around his hand, making sure that it wasn't too tight. After I was done, I leaned back and placed his hand on his thigh again.

I glanced up at Alessio, expecting him to still be asleep but that wasn't the case. I sucked in a surprised breath when I saw his intense blue eyes focused on me. I had been so lost in cleaning his injuries that I didn't realize he was awake.

"Alessio," I whispered.

His gaze raked over my face and then moved to his bandaged hand. Both of us stared at it. Sweat formed at the back of my neck as nervousness filled me.

"I...I saw that you didn't clean your hands," I stuttered. Taking a deep breath, I quickly continued. "I thought that maybe I could clean them for you."

I waited for him to answer but he didn't.

"It could get infected. That's why I cleaned it," I said. He still didn't answer.

Oh no. I messed up. I really messed up.

I started fidgeting with the hem of my dress again. Looking at his other hand, I swallowed at the sight. It still needed to be cleaned. Slowly shifting away, I said, "You should clean your other hand."

His expression showed confusion as he kept staring at his bandaged hand. Letting out a sigh, I started to get up but his arms snaked out so fast it was a blur. His fingers wrapped around my wrist and with a tug he pulled me back down so that I kneeling in front of him again. But this time, between his spread thighs.

He held my wrist with his bandaged hand. I tipped my head back to look in his eyes as he gazed down at me with indescribable emotions.

I saw him swallow hard and then he looked down. My eyebrows furrowed in confusion and I stared down too, only to find him pushing his other, still bloody hand toward me.

My eyes widened in realization and my heart flipped as my stomach twisted in knots. I looked back up, my eyes filled with questions, but Alessio didn't answer. He just continued to stare at me silently. Expectantly.

He let my wrist go and I released a shaky breath. With my heart pounding vigorously against my ribcage, I took his hand in mine. His head was cocked to the side as he stared at me. I forgot how dark he was, how sinister and how huge he was. As I kneeled between his thighs, I felt his forceful and dangerous energy around me.

Looking down at his hand again, I got to work. No words were spoken.

There was only silence between us.

But even through the silence, it felt comforting.

I cleaned his wounds just as carefully and gently as before and then bandaged his right hand too. All the time, I was aware of his eyes on me. I could feel his gaze on my skin. And I grew warmer from it.

When I was done, my eyes stayed on his hand which was still in mine. Alessio didn't pull away either. Unconsciously, I found that I was rubbing my thumb over his knuckles. When I realized what I was doing, I quickly let his hand go. It felt back onto his lap.

I looked up and our eyes met again.

Blue to green. Both unflinching.

We stared. We breathed. Together.

When I couldn't hold his eyes any longer, I looked down. A few seconds later, before I could move, I felt a tug behind my head and then my hair was falling down my shoulders in waves. And I saw my hair band in Alessio's hand.

I looked up at him in surprise, and his piercing eyes stared back. Then he spoke. And his words went straight to my heart. My breathing stuttered.

"You look more beautiful with your hair down," he said, his voice gruff from sleep.

***

As mentioned, the book was published yesterday. So, I am leaving with a small little giveaway.

I am giving away 4 ebook copies of The Mafia and His Angel: Part 1 to 4 lucky winners.

It is simple to enter. All you have to do is...

1)    Follow me on wattpad/twitter/Instagram and my facebook page.

2)    After you are done, come back to my wattpad wall and say "done."

A winner will be chosen soon and you will be contacted!

Thank you so much for spending this time with me. If you have any questions or just wanna talk, please leave them in the comments – I will be chilling here and talking with you all. So, let's party and be naughty. God, you have noooo idea how hard it was to keep this PG-13 *sigh*

Lots of love, Lylah xoxo

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