MARY E THOMPSON

it's a curvy road to happily ever after

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Getting what we want

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Over the last few weeks, everyone has been talking about the end of the year and the end of the decade. There have been countless workshops and posts and ideas and thoughts about making the next decade the best one yet. It’s kind of terrifying.

Ten years ago, I was pregnant with my second child. I was unhappy at my job. I was disconnected from friends and family because I didn’t live close to them. There were a lot of things I didn’t love. But in some ways, life was easier then.

I’ve realized the only way we will ever make our dreams come true is to work hard for it. Obvious, yes. I know. But I’ve decided my new mantra is no one is going to make my dreams come true for me. Because no one else cares about my dreams. They care about their own. And they should. We should all care about our own dreams. About making our own dreams come true.

Can you imagine how beautiful the world would be if we could make our dreams come true? People would be doing things they love, living lives they loved, and spending time the way they loved.

I turn 40 in 2020, and I’ve decided I’m going to work on doing some things I’ve always wanted to do. Some are bigger than others, but mostly, it’s little things, like paying for someone behind me in the drive-thru or leaving a 100% tip or building something by myself. Some are bigger, like being able to run for five minutes straight or doing something that scares me or registering for cooking classes with my hubby.

Every item on my 40 by 40 list will help me get something I want. Because no one else is going to make my dreams come true for me.

What are you going to do in 2020?

What if your book boyfriend actually existed?

I liked safe. Safe was easy. Safe was safe. Ian was not safe. Nothing about him was safe. Not the way he looked at me or the way he touched me or the way he made me feel. But through all of it, he somehow found a way to make me feel safe. Like loving him wasn’t going to destroy me.

But it did.

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Wanting to Fail

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A few months ago, I realized I hadn’t failed enough in my life. Why would I want to fail? I believe failure teaches us, and a lack of failure also teaches us. For me, the lessons I’d learned were not good ones, and I didn’t like it.

There are always going to be failures that are meant to tell us to stop. Things that say, nope, you’re going the wrong way. But there are failures that tell us to try harder, push more, do better. In my life, I saw all roadblocks as failures that meant full stop. So I did.

In high school, I played varsity soccer. I’ve never been fast, but I was good at the game, so I made the team. I didn’t play a single game my first year on the team. When my second year started, I knew I’d get some playing time, but halfway through the season, I was the only player who still hadn’t made it into a game. Instead of pushing myself harder, I got upset and told the captain I was going to quit the team because there was no point in playing if I wasn’t going to get into a game. The coach put me in, but it was an empty victory because I didn’t learn to push myself.

In school, everything was easy. I got good grades and never had to put in much effort, so I never learned how to study effectively.

In life in general, if things got tough, I gave up instead of fighting harder. As an adult, I’ve realized how dangerous that is. It affects everything. I struggle to push through obstacles, and I give up when I think things get too hard.

I’ve set a goal for myself to fail more. To take more chances. To risk things that matter. It’s terrifying to do this, but I also need to learn that failure is not the end of the world. Sure, there are times when a failure means to stop, but not every failure means to stop. Some failures need to mean try harder, push harder, do more. And unless I do that, I’ll never know which are which.

Where do you go when the person you trust isn’t who you thought he was?

Ashleigh married another man, but she never forgot her first love. When she needs someone to keep her safe, she runs straight into his arms…and his bed.

Failure is available now! Read it today on Amazon | Kobo | Apple Books | B&N | Smashwords

Google Play coming soon

We’re all Failures

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There are a lot of F words I really like. Family. Forever. Forgiveness. And if you’ve read my books, you know there’s another one I really like.

But failure is one I can’t stand. Just saying the word makes me cringe. I want to run away. Being a failure is something we can all relate to, and something we all want to run from. Because we’ve all been there. We all know how it feels.

In general, it sucks.

I have a quote on my desk. Zoe York said it during a podcast I listened to a few months ago. It gave me a chance to see failure in a different way…

Failure is the first step toward making something work for me.

Zoe York

Well, damn. As soon as she said those words, I knew I had to write it down. I had to save it.

When we face failure, we have two choices. We can let it define us and cripple us so we never try again. Or we can fight. We can do as Zoe said and keep walking.

I hate to admit that for years, I chose option one. Failure knocked me down. It told me I wasn’t good enough. I was fired from a job and thought I wasn’t worthy of more. It didn’t matter that I wasn’t happy, I failed. And if I couldn’t do that, a job I was trained for and had been in for more than a decade, then how could I expect to do something else? How could I think I could make a difference anywhere else?

It’s a hard slog to believe failure is just the beginning. I’ve been trying to tell myself failure is the first step. That I have to keep going. Day-by-day, I get up, I push forward. There are days I want to let failure win, but it won’t. I won’t let it.

You shouldn’t either. Push. Fight. Work. And see your dreams come true. Then tell failure to go to hell, where it belongs.

Her eyes were watery and blood-shot, but she was still beautiful. She held his gaze. Desire pulsed between them. It wouldn’t take much for him to lean forward and claim her lips. To take what he wanted from her. 

Her gaze darted to his lips, and she licked hers. Her breasts hitched with her breath. Every inch of him tightened, preparing to kiss her again. Ashleigh. His Ashleigh. His first love. 

She leaned in, and his hand slid up her back. Her hair tickled his knuckles. She slicked her tongue over her lips and drew closer. Her breath whispered over his cheeks. His cock hardened under her thigh. 

“Ash,” he whispered, his pulse pounding in his ears. 

Nope, not his pulse. His door.

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Curvy is Patient

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I was always curvy. I developed before all my friends. I looked like a teenager when I was barely in middle school. I was offered wine in a restaurant when I was eighteen, without being carded. I looked older my whole life. But I was still a kid.

My own kids are entering that pre-teen age. The difference in my eleven year old daughter and my nine year old son are becoming more apparent. When she acts like a kid and doesn’t listen, it’s more frustrating because she’s miles more mature than he is, but she’s still only eleven. It’s something I have to work on having more patience with because she should still be a kid sometimes.

I had my first kiss at thirteen. My first boyfriend at the same time. But my second boyfriend came when I was seventeen. I liked other boys, but it wasn’t until my second boyfriend that I started to realize how to act in a relationship, and what a relationship really meant. That we should be friends and something more. That we should be able to talk about more than superficial stuff. That he should be someone I trusted.

That I had to be patient to find the right person.

My second boyfriend wasn’t the right person for me. It was another four years before I met the man who was right for me. But we built a friendship first. It was a friendship based on flirting and getting to know each other, but we were friends. When I asked him out, and he said no (he was going home from college for the weekend to see his family), it didn’t end things. It took a while for us to find a day we could finally go out, but I was patient. I’d learned a long time ago that patience was something us curvy girls had in spades.

Patience taught me not to kiss every boy who liked my curves.

Patience taught me not to do things I wasn’t ready for.

Patience taught me waiting for the right thing is never time wasted.

I fell hard for my husband. He was the one I was supposed to wait for, and he was well worth the wait. He showed me that patience in everything is a good thing, but going for what you want is good, too.

Mainland vs. Island is available now!

Mack knows he wants Scarlett, but the timing had to be right. After a false start, they’re both ready for something new. Something special. Something together.

Ebook on Amazon | Kobo | Apple Books | B&N | Google Play | Smashwords

Curvy is Beautiful

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When I got engaged, I was 23 and a size 16. I knew nothing about planning weddings, and social media wasn’t something I was involved in, so my knowledge came from the people I knew.

Which meant dress shopping was kind of like swimsuit shopping with the knowledge that I would be on display in front of hundreds of people who would all definitely be looking at me.

Why do we do this to ourselves?

Your wedding day is supposed to be one of the best of your life. If you’ve been married, chances are you’re laughing right now at the memory of all the people, all the stress, and all the things that didn’t go as planned.

The dress is a big deal for every bride. I wanted a dress that made me feel beautiful. But most places don’t have dresses for women in double digit sizes. I went to one place that offered to order me a dress if I liked one of the size 6 or 8’s on the rack. You know, the one the owner held together so I could get an idea of what it would look like.

Um, that doesn’t work.

I was fortunate that I found a dress I loved that fit me perfectly, but I can’t help but think if more places that cater to curvy brides were around then I would have had an easier time. At least five stores, close to 50 dresses, and no fun montage with James Marsden taking my picture. It could have been better.

All of that went into my head when I dreamed up Scarlett. How can you not love a dress designer who creates gowns for those of us with built-in padding? Because it doesn’t matter if your dress is a size 0 or a size 30, you should know you are the most beautiful woman in the room on your wedding day.

Mainland vs. Island is available now!

Ebook on Amazon | Kobo | Apple Books | B&N | Google Play | Smashwords

Excerpt from Mainland vs. Island

I led Scarlett to one of the tables and drew her onto my lap. 

“This is better,” I said, kissing her arm. 

She shifted on my lap and wrapped her arms around my neck. 

“Ooh, even better,” I said with a laugh when I was face-to-nipple with her breast. 

“Tilt that face up,” she commanded. 

I did and raised an eyebrow at her. “Are you like that in the bedroom?” I teased. 

She gasped then smirked. “Maybe one day you’ll find out.”

Curvy is WORTHY

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I screwed up last week. I was looking at the page for Chubby & Charming and read a review.

Before I even tell you about it, I want to say please don’t go looking for this review or this reviewer. This is not an attack on one person, and I don’t want it to be. That’s not what we’re about, what I’m about, or what this post is about. Reviewers are free to share their thoughts, and I hope they continue to do so. Always.

Anyway, so this review said the reader didn’t like that Mandy didn’t feel she was worthy of love simply because she’s fat. I sat with that for a while. It bothered me, because that wasn’t the point of Chubby & Charming. It wasn’t to showcase an insecure woman who wasn’t worthy of love. It was to show that we’re all alike. No matter who you are on the outside, we’re all the same on the inside. We all have doubts and insecurities and fears.

We are all worthy.

This review made me sad, and quite honestly, a little ashamed that I hadn’t made that clear. I sat on it for a while, but I started reading FabUPlus Magazine and was reinvigorated. Beautiful, curvy women fill the magazine, talking about loving their bodies and themselves and being healthy and beautiful and amazing.

I realized I was jealous of the reviewer.

Ouch.

I hate being jealous. Not that it’s an emotion I’m unfamiliar with, but it’s one I don’t like. It makes me feel icky. But that’s what it was. I was jealous that the reviewer had never felt insecure. That she had never known what it was like to look at a person who she saw as attractive and immediately assume she wasn’t good enough. That she didn’t know how painful it was to be less than simply because her dress size was more than.

I try to write stories that are real, and for me, all those feelings are real. Even though I have an amazing husband who constantly tells me I’m beautiful, I look in the mirror and see my flaws. The double chin and chubby cheeks, the belly that hangs down, the bingo arms, the thunder thighs. All those things I’d love to change about my appearance.

At the end of the day, none of those things tell the story of who I am. They don’t tell a stranger if I’m kind or mean, if I’m a wine drinker or beer drinker, if I’m happy or depressed. But too often, we make assumptions based on those things.

I would love to write a story about a curvy woman who has boatloads of confidence and no doubts or fears or insecurities, but I don’t know ANY woman like that. We all have those, and I want my characters to be real. Chubby thighs, flabby belly, and extra rolls included.

If that reviewer ever reads this, I truly hope she knows I’m sorry for making her feel like curvy isn’t worthy. Curvy is worthy. Skinny is worthy. Alive is worthy.

My newest curvy girl romance is out August 20. Scarlett loves making wedding dresses for curvy girls, but she’s not looking to make one for herself. Mack might try to change her mind, though.

Excerpt from Mainland vs. Island

I couldn’t stop my grin. I reached for her as she leaned toward me. We both stopped, a breath apart, and stared at each other. 

Fire licked at my veins and demanded I show her just how much of a spark there was between us, but I needed to wait. To draw it out until she was panting with need. Then, and only then, would I close the paper thin distance between us and set the night on fire. 

“Mack,” she whispered on a ragged inhale, dragging me to her with the air around us. 

The moment our lips touched, I knew I couldn’t stop with one kiss. The surprised gasp that parted her lips said she felt the same.