Category: 7-figure rock star writer

Redemption

Published on by LS HarteveldLeave a comment

warning: Spoilers for Star Wars 9 The Rise of Skywalker

This blogpost is about a breakup, after a 5 year long forbidden affair to a handsome man, strong on the dark side of the Force.
It’s written to my creativity coach Sara (Sara’s Fb page)

Dear Sara,

I feel kind of nervous writing this.
As if it is The Letter of Letters, about The King of Kings and the ending of a saga that has changed the world.
Or at least me.
But maybe it is easier to compare it to Star Wars 9, which will be released in a couple of days.

Star Wars 9 is the final movie of the Skywalker Saga, which was started by George Lucas over 40 years ago. It is now owned by Disney, who try to work the material, in a way that satisfies the fans without fucking it up and disappointing everyone.
So far predictions for 9 are that they’re fucking it up disappointing everyone.

Maybe that explains why I feel Mr.Big and me have done an absolutely amazing job ending our 5 year long affair.
We did not fuck it up.
And we have not disappointed anybody, which wasn’t too hard since nobody knew in the first place.
I think even we, did not expect something that was forged into existence against the odds, against anything we had envisioned or hoped for ourselves, something which has derailed both our lives, probably more than we have realized when it was still happening;
That something like that could be ended in such a loving, supportive way.
We had a breakup that was was so good, you could have built a marriage onto it and live happily ever after.
And it wasn’t even my idea 😉

So first off, I had not intimately seen him in five months. 
We had kept in touch, and have seen each other at least once coincidentally; but there was nothing unusual about the way we had been interacting.
Except that five months not seeing each other in private, was longer that it had ever been.
I leave 95% of the initiative as to when we see each other to him, and in 100% of the cases I leave the initiative of longer dates, or a more intimate setting, up to him.
So when I asked him if he would like to see each other, and he suggested coffee in a public place around 2, there was nothing unusual about it.
I was guessing it would be a get-acquainted again date. And that we’d meet “properly” in days, weeks. But certainly in 2019.
So I did not expect this to be a breakup conversation, and strangely enough I am convinced that neither did he.
I think he really gave himself permission to either postpone it, or to contemplate a little more, feel into the whole vibe of what we had. Did it really needed saying?
And if so, did it need to be now?
Just like our dates had always been open and lighthearted, and our sexual play was never in the foreground until we were both warmed up to the idea, and time and location permitted it – this final date, which could have ended in a traumatizing breakup for both parties, was so in tune that it possessed a certain beauty, intimacy.
It must have benefited from our ability to tune into each other, and to speak about something which on the surface must have looked like a disturbing topic to others – but that was supported by a deep understanding.
In the same way our sex had contained lots of powerplay and mindgames, but no safe words, no rules: something other people would judge to be irresponsible.
But for us it was entirely safe.
We didn’t need words to understand each other.
Our conversation merely explained the details, of why he wanted to break up and why I understood that. But our words were not used to communicate on a deeper level.
That was the same wordless bond it had always been.

When I conduct one story from what he has told me, together with what I have instinctively been feeling (remind me to get back to that), this is the story why we’re breaking up:
In August I could already feel him pulling away from me.
I was doing very, very badly.
From (I think) halfway July to halfway November, I had the worst four months of my life. And the final smackdown of a 16 month period, which started July 2018.
Oh screw that about me getting back and explaining later, what I had instinctively been feeling! It’s so obvious!
Months ago I wrote you a letter which contained the wise words:
“Sara, whenever I m feeling bad, please remind me that it’s always about a man. And if it’s not about a man, it’s still about a man.”
Unfortunately “Being about a man” – although it had sounded simple enough – has proven to be a complex, layered process, with the following elements. Which probably take place in three different time zones or realities!
1. I will fall in love with a new man but not know it/ not be aware of it;
2. I will focus and stress over my writing, my publishing, my yoga or coaching business, and come up and start countless new plans and projects. None of which make me feel any better.
3. Sudden bursts of anxiety at strange moments.
4. Suicidal thoughts related to having to get a real job (and not having ample time to write)
All four things have happened both last year, as well as halfway July-half November this year.
However, the key is that I ve always felt that “I was not alone”. That there was something going on with him, in his life, that was influencing my reality.
Like a glitch in the Matrix.
Sometimes I was even able to pinpoint it later on, when we met within a week or so, after some major shift had happened. And he mentioned something, and it turned out to be the moment I had felt something.
If I would have to put a model to it, I would say all four things are related to him not doing well, or related to him deliberately turning away from me.
If he’s unconsciously pulling back or if his life is exciting and fun, I do not seem to have these strong responses.
But anyway, because this is all so complex, I do not blame myself for trying to solve my life by tackling individual problems.
My fear of a contract job.
My crushes with new men.
My anxiety.
How else would I be able to deal with them?
I can’t call my lover and yell: “Hey, dude, fix your life! I m getting really bad vibes over here.”
So if I combine everything he told me about why he wants to break up, with everything I have subconsciously been picking up, I would say he already started turning away within a month after our last encounter.
And the explanation I got was that he finds it hard that we only share the good times together. Which became even more pressing when something private happened.
Within months after our wonderful encounter, the entire situation had changed so much – first intentionally and then unintentionally – that it had become out of the question that he would still be seeing his secret mistress.
He took full responsibility, and acknowledged, that he had been turning away before. And did not hide behind the new situation.
I appreciated that.
But nevertheless, it did offer a very clear image that this was not something we were going to debate, or investigate. Of course we were going to breakup.
No questions asked, I would even say.
But nevertheless, it did surprise me that my whole world did not fall apart, in the hours and days after. How was this even possible?
It was like a tremendous burden had been lift from my shoulders.
I was free… but from what?

At first I could not believe it, as you can imagine. I thought there was simply no way it was going to be “this easy”. But when hours turned into days, and I m now almost at the one week marker – I can really say:
I am okay.
And there are probably a multitude of reasons for that but the two I want to highlight are: I already did my time, and during our relationship, I was feeling unsafe.
First, I did my time (like in probation):
It has been 5 months since we last had sex.
That’s as if you’re addicted to cigarettes, get pneumonia, and by the time you’re healed you have not smoked for two weeks.
If you quit then, it will be a lot easier because you’ve already been nicotine free for two weeks.
It’s the same with this relationship:
It’s been five months since we’ve been intimate.
That’s totally different to if it had been five days or even five weeks.
I ve already put in my time. More than that. They were the worst months of my entire life. It was the dramatic “four month smackdown”, maybe meltdown would be a better word, where I looked everywhere to find an explanation for why I was feeling so bad.
I have come to terms with this breakup, without knowing what was going on.
No wonder I m not crying now.
I ve cried for four months.
The second reason:
I ve always felt unsafe.
During those five years I ve presented myself as the mistress of a married business man (or banker) with children, and I suggested there were difficulties within that family or marriage, which could explain both his need for fun (me) as well as why he was loyal to them and would never leave them.
But the truth was a lot more complicated than that.
And the consequences if it ever came out, were entirely different from “just” him having to fight for custody. If it came out, it could have consequences for me.
We had a secret affair because of him, and I supported that.
It’s one of the things I can recommend to any mistress, any partner: play on his team. Don’t push your own agenda, but make what’s important to them, important to you.
It’s the reason it worked, all those years.
And it’s the reason I let him go, the minute he wants to leave.
Of course I do.
But what I had failed to see, was how much the secrecy had been to protect myself. And how much anxiety it has caused. Just the thought of what might happen if it would come out, could make me sick to my stomach.
And it often did.
That’s all over now. It will slowly fade into the background, and every year that passes I will be safer. I made it.
I will never go there again.
Sure; Keeping a relationship a secret for my own pleasure? Avoid all the questions, the outer justification, the expectations and all the normality?
That’s one thing.
But to feel unsafe for 5 years, that was very straining.
And it was the reason I did not crash and burn when he broke up with me.
I was getting my life back.

There are speculations about Star Wars 9. And all endings so far seem to agree that Kylo Ren gets redeemed and becomes Ben Solo again.
And then he dies.
None of the endings that have leaked, suggest that Rey and Kylo Ren/Ben Solo will live happily ever after.
It seems a given, that they will not.
In some versions, Kylo Ren just falls into a pit “never to be seen again”.
In others he has a speech, words of wisdom, and consciously sacrifices his life to save Rey, before he falls into the pit.
Star Wars 9 will end with Rey being all alone on a desert planet, with no one who understands her.

There is no happy ending and she’s exactly where she started in 2015.
Just an entirely different person.

~Lauren
An unexamined life is not worth living

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Redemption is the second chapter of 7-figure Rock Star Writer part 7: The End

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The End

Published on by LS HarteveldLeave a comment

{ The End is a very rare Bon Jovi song. The video was originally included here, but was removed from YouTube, losing the cultural reference of the title }

“Did you see it coming?”
Were the first words of the only mutual friend Mr.Big and me had.
Actually he was more a friend to me, and a business relationship to him. I gave him a name on this blog in 2018. When he was also the only friend who knew the man I had suddenly fell in love with that year.
But I forgot which alias this was.
Probably because he played such a pivotal role, being connected to my secret lover as well as to the first-new-crush-in-four-years of 2018.
I just didn’t want to acknowledge the importance of the role Xavier (as I just looked up his name in my old blogposts) had in my life.
As if by not writing about him, I could undo all he knew about me.
Except on a Tuesday when I was heartbroken over the sudden breakup with Mr.Big and I didn’t know who else to call.
“Did you see it coming?” being Xavier’s first words.
Yes and No.
Yes, in the sense that the time period Mr.Big and me did not have sex, had become longer than it ever had. Although Mr.Big had made an effort to kind-of stay in touch. Because he cared about me.
He knew he was running late offering a date, and he also knew I was going through my personal version of 16-month hell, which was reaching its 4-month long crescendo.
His messages tried to be supportive.
He was the first one I emailed I knew I was autistic, without a diagnosis. In light of recent events I think my decision to never get a diagnoses will be even better understood.
Tried to be supportive.
But it was clear my diagnoses and my openness about it, had wiped away the last bit of hope he had of ever having a normal relationship with me.
In hindsight, that is.
At that moment, I just tried to label it as a panicky response from someone who never had to deal with autism. Not as someone who is at his wits end, trying to juggle sustaining a healthy family life, and at the same time give in to a desire for fun, sex, laughter.
For love.
God, I loved that man.
Still do.
One of the things I said to him, was that it was going to be difficult getting a new lover. “You will probably rule from your grave.”
This blogpost is all over the place, I know it is.
It’s just that I had to start somewhere. Putting some words to some paper.
Writing endings to all of the books I wanted to create from the blogposts.
But last night I even considered stop being LS Harteveld all together.
Wipe all blogs clean, delete the sites and take all my books down.
Just cease to exist.

I always felt Mr.Big and me had something which transcended normal life

Because I still believe it was my pen, my decision to write about our affair in order to stand my ground, keep my back straight and not get crushed under the weight of being a secret mistress.
It was my pen way before the autism, that made it difficult for him to choose for me and to smoothly slide me into his life.
Five years worth of blogposts as a secret mistress, would make me stand out like a sore thumb in social relationships.
Not my autism.
Even if I tried to keep my penname and body of work hidden, I would still be a liability. And even if no one would find out, and I would lie for him, he would always know how we had started out.
I was the embodiment of his “betrayal”.
Quotation marks, because I think betrayal is how he views it.
That I am the face of what he doesn’t want to be.
Yet when I see him, I don’t see betrayal at all. I see beauty, uniqueness, giftedness, a talent for loving everybody around him. I see a heightened sensitivity, that has made me wonder all those years how he was able to pull it off living two lives…..
By not allowing me in, that’s how.
By keeping the face of his sins hidden.
“Sins”, again, which I never considered sins.
If a man is a good husband does not rely on how many women he loves, how many lies he tells, how transparent or non-transparent he is. Whether or not a man is a good husband, a good father, a good lover, a good man, depends on many different things, and he appeared to have them all.
Just not the quality he so wished he had:
To love only his wife, and be truthful.
A desire to be normal.
I know how that feels.
And No, I didn’t see it coming.

~Lauren
An unexamined life is not worth living

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The End is the first chapter of 7-figure Rock Star Writer part 7: The End

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Reboot

Published on by LS HarteveldLeave a comment

clip at 3 minutes: “We could have settled this yesterday” Or 16 months ago. Or 2,5 years (Desperately Seeking Susan)

This is a letter to my creativity coach Sara( Sara’s Fb page)
Before our coaching call, I always give her a headsup.

Dear Sara,
.
I look forward to writing you, because I am planning this week’s letter to be the final chapter of my diary 2017-2019, called Reboot
.
Summer 2017 I started a diary Reboot. I already have a cover and intended to create a book starting with that diary, and followed by a selection of diaries and posts from late 2017 to current day.
In retrospect my downfall started a few months before Reboot.
When my best friend moved to America. And a downfall it was! A steady slope downhill.
But it’s over now. 
I ve truly rebooted my life and I m so extraordinarily happy!
So because I have other obligations tomorrow, I will be writing my real letter Tuesday. Just a few hours before our call.
.
I ve also picked up doing yoga with Yoga with Adriene.
Do you know her?
I ve always kind of envied people who started doing yoga this decade. That they didn’t even need classes, they could just do Yoga with Adriene.
She was most famous for doing her 30 Days of Yoga every January, but she also started making new 30 day playlists every month.
So she basically has this project-style of creating, which is of course ideal for me.
And I ll still be doing Bon Jovi freestyle yoga, when I feel like it.
I cancelled Spotify and I bought their (missing) first three cd’s, to get that old school feel. But my daily practice will not be album-long practices, but a video from Yoga with Adriene.
evidence based therapy: pink 80s interior in Desperately Seeking Susan

I feel like a lucky beginner after all!

.
And I also binge watched an 80s double dvd, which turned out to be an 8 part series from CNN from 2016. 
It has resparked my love for this decade, and now that I m done with the CNN series, I m binge watching YouTube on 80s design and interior. And rewatching Desperately Seeking Susan for all of the pinkness in the bedroom, and the white kitchen with 80s poster.
I love that movie, it’s one big 80s design fest.
.
So if all goes well, I ll write a Reboot-closing-chapter-worthy letter on Tuesday, and if not, this is it!!
You know, now that I m typing this, I see this really should be it.
That this light heads-up, is way better than trying to write An Official Worthy Ending To My Book.
.
Because do you know what the big break through was? The thing that healed me? 
The thing which, as Madonna says in Desperately Seeking Susan:
“Why didn’t you tell me? I could have settled this yesterday.”
Or 16 months ago.
Or 2,5 years ago.
The thing that saved me was a friend discovering it had been heaviness, that had been eating me alive.
Time and time again.
The heaviness surrounding a “real job” versus the lightness of going to college.
The heaviness of teaching yoga and being a professional, versus the lightness of building a practice on library books and notes taken from a weekly class.
The heaviness of “a real” relationship, versus the lightness of having a secret affair where everything sparkles.
The heaviness of a mental health diagnosis and possibly even treatment, versus just deciding to do it myself, and watch 80s YouTube videos instead.
.
Not recognizing the “it” was heaviness and seriousness that were bothering me, has cost me years of my life. 
.
There was one thing about this heavy period in my life, that I did value.
And that I know will continue to have deep meaning;
I now recognize that my suicidal thoughts were, although triggered by resistance to life, a much more layered matter. 
It was a longing to be with my father again. And with my two cats Max and Willem.
But it was also a longing to face death because it made me feel alive.
Every time I felt life was waiting for me with a job where I could not be my exuberant, spontaneous self? I ran to face death.
I needed those extreme thoughts as a reminder that I was still alive.
But there was a third aspect;
It was a spiritual awakening.
When I was in my twenties I conquered my fear of death. I went from not being able to sleep alone, to ultimately facing my fears and my phobias in the middle of the night, all by my self. And coming out enlightened on the other side.
This was similar.
For fourteen months I fought my demons, and every now and then they turned into giant monsters, fears for the future.
By contemplating suicide I was never running away from anything: I was looking my fears directly in the eye.
I could not accept a less than perfect job, as long as I was afraid of death. As long as I had not considered the ultimate alternative. 
Just like in my late twenties, when I was struggling with my thesis and transitioning to adulthood, I have overcome my deepest fear (of dullness) by accepting death.
Death was merely symbolic.
Just like when you dream about death, it is not really about death.
It is about the ending of an era, and starting a new one.
My suicidal thoughts were never about suicide: They were the death of my old life, and the rebirth of a new one.
.
What I have come to understand, deeply, is that I am a writer/ expressionist/ thinker. Under my real name I will be the new face of yoga, celebrating a lighthearted self-practice. Under my penname I will stay LS Harteveld:
A writer when writing is required.
I will publish my books as LS Harteveld, and will pick up creating YouTube videos. But I do not have one core message here, nor can I be bought or become famous under this name, in any way that requires me to speak in front of an audience.
I need LS Harteveld to be free.
And under my real name, all my writing, and anything yoga: 
It will be forever light and fun. 
.
The dark times are over.
.
And considering the last time a shift like this happened, were the late nineties;
I trust I am rebooted and good to go for the next twenty years.
.
Rock on.
.

~Lauren
An unexamined life is not worth living

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probably on the right.
Reboot
is the fifth chapter of
7-figure Rock Star Writer part 6: Consent play

My diaries en erotica are available at 

my BOOK SHOP
25% discount on all prices
If you check your cart, you can select your store
f.e. Nederland or United States
with the flag in the upper right corner.

Nederlandse boeken kun je ook direct bij mij bestellen

Back to Basics

Published on by LS HarteveldLeave a comment

This is a letter to my creativity coach Sara( Sara’s Fb page)
Before our coaching call, I always give her a headsup.

Dear Sara,

Have I ever started a letter with:
“Dear Sara, I fucked up?”
Because if I haven’t, then I would like to open with that now.
And it’s not because I was “on the wrong track” or anything like it. More that the right track brought things I did not expect and wasn’t ready for.
But good news first!

My hunch to FULLY go with the Basic Instinct/ Catherine Tramell vibe of things, was right and is very fulfilling. I know I m on the right path/ was on the right path during our last call when you exclaimed:
“You’re sitting just like her! You see?”
Fully leaning back, arms dangling loosely on the sides. I see it, Sara!
I ve been sitting like that a lot.

And I ve extracted my notes on consent play from a notebook I had been keeping, with the intention of writing (manually) a book. But I m going to type my consent play notes out, and put a new perspective on it.
Write a new ending, or perhaps a new introductory chapter.
Where I conclude that I can’t write a book on consent play, because that is not what I have with my lover. Or had maybe, because I haven’t seen him in months.

What we have is so special, not so much because of the power play or consent play during sex;
It is in the complexity of our play when we’re not in bed.
Exactly the way the relationship between former-undercover-agent-turned-detective Nick Curran (Michael Douglas) and million dollar writer with a double major in psychology and English lit, Catherine Tramell (Sharon Stone), is way more about how they interact outside of bed, than about the way they behave between the sheets.
And there’s so much nuance to their performance. So much complexity.

The major mind-fuck of Basic Instinct (1992) is that there are two coexisting story lines, both with a different killer. Like the drawing of the young girl and the old woman: They’re both there.
One doesn’t exclude the other.
Yet the director Paul Verhoeven insists the movie ultimately portrays Catherine as the killer. That for him it is totally clear who did it.

And all the critics echoed his perspective, without further investigating it, but 27 years later I rewatched this movie a couple of times and I see three things.

1. God, Michael Douglas is hot.

Every time he has seen Catherine, he walks taller, he’s totally self-assured and absolutely irresistible. And he plays his cards with her well, too.
He likes talking with her, because she plays him at his level.

But it’s especially his tooth pick chewing smirk, after he has spent the night at her place and now meets his friend Gus again, that is absolutely golden.
“You fucked her!” Gus exclaims. “Goddamn dumb sonofabitch… You fucked her! Goddamn, you are one dumb sonofabitch –”
Well, he’s not of course.
A dumb son of a bitch I mean.

He’s very smart to have recognized that she’s the only one who can give him the thrill he had working undercover, combined with being the fuck of the century.
As is his explicit appreciation of their encounter.
Which brings me to Catherine.
The second thing I saw this time around:

2. Catherine’s so kind and sweet

Go watch that movie in 2019 and tell me you’re not taken by her sassy remarks, her broad honest smile and her intense sorrow when her best friend is killed.
Sure, she’s ruthless with the five cops who try to interrogate her. She makes them uncomfortable to the bone. But she does it by lighting a cigarette, not wearing underwear, and correcting them when they ask her why she needs a white scarf to tie people up, if she liked men to use their hands.
Catherine: “That’s not what I said.”
cop: “No?”
Catherine: “No. I said I liked Johnny, to use his hands.”

She outsmarts all of them.
Which brings me to the last thing I saw.

3. She’s too smart to be the killer

Paul Verhoeven said she did it. All the critics said she did it. Every page or blog dedicated to Basic Instinct will say she did it. But she didn’t do it.
It wouldn’t make sense.

Why would someone who likes to play games, and likes to manipulate people, get her hands dirty with something as blunt and ugly as killing people when they’re harmless?
There is no fun.

And I think this interpretation of Basic Instinct is made possible because Sharon Stone herself, gave the role its intellectual baggage. Back in the 90s, she was the first one I heard of, who came out as highly intelligent and a member of Mensa.
I think what happened is that although she stuck to the script, you could feel the depth and intelligence of her. The intelligence of Catherine Tramell became so real, that although the script had intended her to be the killer:
It doesn’t make any sense anymore.
In a way, they hired an actress that was too smart for their own good. To this day Paul Verhoeven and everybody else might say she did it.

When I tell you:
Every Mensa member will see that movie, and know that she didn’t.

And if only, IF ONLY, I had spent two weeks doing nothing else than analyzing Basic Instinct: But I didn’t.
I went on a different path as well.

And I will like “management-summary” you through it, although that’s technically not a verb, but here’s what happened:

I am still convinced that my meltdown, and current problems are related to what others would call, and what “science” calls: Autism.

This means that I have no interest in an entire layer of communication, which the majority of the world’s population requires in order to be able to interact with you, and that I wear a mask interacting with them.
A mask which I switch, depending on who I have in front of me.

Now I had already determined that agreeable, cooperative Lauren, would be replaced by the Catherine Tramell mask, for one-offs, and all short and medium sized interactions with the exclusion of friends and family and people I wanted to be nice to.
Not just to save me the energy of bending over backwards, but also because my ice queen mask was a much better representation of what people tend to feel in my presence.

A white coat and platinum blond hair, would be a better mirror of the discomfort they felt, than my “normal person” mask.

In an ideal world I would go for koala imitations and third person Elmo language, but I think this would be even more confusing.
And only fellow “autistics” would be able to appreciate having communication take place on a whole different plane of reality.
So Catherine Tramell would just have to do.

But this fine tuning on my masking strategies, wasn’t going to solve my problems with regard to not being able to work, and my suicidal thoughts and possible other mental health issues.
And in my search for answers, I was sucked deeper into the diagnoses.
Every day there was a deeper understanding, that I qualify, perhaps even over-qualify, on the criteria for autism as they have been defined in the latest DSM in 2011.

Before that, I would have Asperger’s. Which in common tongue no longer qualified as a psychiatric condition, but as pleasantly mad and interesting.

For 25 years Asperger’s had a special position within the realm of mental disorders, and so did the patients who had it.
But ever since Asperger’s has been dropped, and only autism remains, everybody newly diagnosed should say (correctly): “I am autistic” or “I have autism”.
Not “I have Asperger’s”

Now it’s not that I have a problem with calling myself autistic.
But the trouble is: Others do.

The stigma surrounding autism is so heavy that the mental burden that comes with it, is for me, a sensitive undiagnosed Aspie, who knows she’s an Aspie because she loves to go out and have fun with other Aspies, is just too much.
Especially after two years on an erratic slope downhill.

I wrote an in-depth piece on the matter, it’s like my “meta” as we geeks call such a thing, on the entire history of Asperger’s from the 30s to current day.
And my declaration of why I can’t keep going on.
Why I have no choice but to cut myself out of the autistic loop.
If you want to read it:
Goodbye to autism. Plus a new way to greet each other.

Now what I did not say there was what I am going to do to get better. And to get the best help.
And Hans Asperger the discoverer of Asperger would have approved because 50 years after his research on autism which included feisty little boys who constantly challenged him, and whom he called Little Professors;
Asperger confessed he made a mistake.

That these boys didn’t have autism, they were highly gifted.
EXACTLY where I am going to start.
How do I move from here if I am highly gifted?

I had a conversation with an amazing researcher and therapist, whose singular mission seems to be to save people from getting an autism diagnosis, and getting them to a therapist or coach specialized in highly gifted people instead.

Because I recognize myself in the complex, imaginative, play of the highly gifted Little Professors. And in Hans Asperger’s observation that the only way to tell them to do something was by addressing them like equals, show no personal interest in the result, and separate the message from the messenger.

For example, you could ask:
“What’s on your schedule today?
Not: “I want you to do this and this.”

The moment the boys could sense that Hans was emotionally invested in whether or not they did something, they would start taunting Hans with it.
I fully recognize myself in that dynamic.
You have to intrigue and seduce me.
Like my lover intrigues and seduces me.
And like Michael Douglas intrigues and seduces Catherine.
The parents and school teachers of the Little Professors had not been able to do that. They thought they could get away treating them like normal kids.
They were wrong.

Men have thought they could keep my interest without making an effort to intrigue and seduce me.
That never worked.
And the five cops in the interrogation room thought their presence would intimidate Catherine Tramell. And instead she wiped the floor with them.

A few days ago Sharon Stone received the GQ woman of the year award, and she gave a speech commemorating her life changing moment when she crossed her legs.
It was not an easy to follow speech.
And just like the movie there seemed to be multiple ways to interpret it. But one sentence stood out, because of its simplicity:
“We have every right to be powerful, in whatever form of sexuality we choose to have.”

The times that I wanted to know the “truth” about autism or my mind are over. All the wandering in the dark, thinking about what is wrong with me. Getting lost into the cave searching for the truth. Behind every corner a new one. Just one more and I ll be there.
Just one more.
I will never be there.

And with every corner turned, I lose more energy, I lose myself.
I lose.

Two weeks after finding myself in Catherine Tramell pose, video chatting with you on our coaching call, I had managed to entirely fuck it up and lose it all.

The video from Sharon Stone was like a gift from heaven.
It was Friday, a friend sent it to me.
And it felt like a little nudge from heaven:
“Hey Lauren! Put on your white dress, pull your hair up, and go find that man of yours. All this heaviness, it just ain’t you.”

Maybe that’s the ultimate reason I know I will never go down that path of getting an autism diagnosis, ever again. Because although this didn’t bother me the first few months, over the last week I just couldn’t find my sexuality anymore.
I had lost it looking for the truth on autism.

Sharon Stone added something, after telling us we all have our right to our own unique sexuality. And it was the thing that brought it home, just in case you managed to miss it.
She said:
“We have every right to be powerful, in whatever form of sexuality we choose to have.”
And then:
“And no one is allowed to take that away from you.”

No one, Sara.

~Lauren
An unexamined life is not worth living

..

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The subscription button to this blog is on this page,
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Back to Basics
is the third chapter of
7-figure Rock Star Writer part 6: Consent play

My diaries en erotica are available at 

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What my instincts tell me

Published on by LS HarteveldLeave a comment

This is a letter to my creativity coach Sara( Sara’s Fb page)
Before our coaching call, I always give her a headsup.

Dear Sara,

This is what I wrote last time, about the happy ending I foresee, that was, and still is, freaking me out. 

It’s no longer a question of whether or not I will have a redemption arc. I will get back on my feet and start making my own money again;
It is no longer a question if me and ALL of the men I am in love with, will one day have a heart to heart and confess this to each other;
It may not even be a question if I will rise to fame both as LS Harteveld as well as the first and only Rock Star Yoga teacher. My current calm and soothing life style will actually be more appealing to the masses than my tapped-in, turned on, full volume style which is my usual self.
None of those things will come as a surprise.
Instead, just like in Star Wars, the only real question is:
Will I live.

And I added Disney might as well finish me off, because just like Kylo Ren, whose redemption and survival of Star Wars episode 9, has been heavily speculated on, I was never born to settle for happily ever after.
But having said all that, my new calm and soothing life style (that will one day kill me!) has kicked in. And it’s spreading to all the branches of the Tree of Life.
However the order has changed a bit.
Where I had initially focused on autism-friendly work, a frustrating path that cost me weeks and lead to The Land of Nowhere, I have now decided to focus on making my finance autism-resistant first.
Without the protection of official reintegration course or an autism based specialization I am going to need all my mental bandwidth to make my working life a success.
I can’t handle the responsibilities, risks and insecurities that would come from (also) still being an entrepreneur, and complex money and capital issues.
Right now my finance is so complicated, my bookkeeper needs me to get legal advice before we can submit my tax forms. And my bookkeeper is not even autistic!
So streamlining my finance, which will probably include ending my business January 1st, is my priority this week. Ideally I want to be able to have everything automated and do my own tax return in 2020.
The activities I did for my company however, I will keep doing. But they could be limited. For example: Having a company allows me to bill clients, if I m giving a talk somewhere.
Not having a business and in particular not having a VAT number, could very well mean I can’t charge money for my yoga class, private yoga class, talks or other services. Or maybe just super limited.
So aside from losing a couple of weeks trying to get a job first, everything is according to plan.
With finance and job sorted out, the real quest will of course be:
Get my sex life back on track.
Being my main suppliers of excitement, adventure, and even growth, men are my raison d’être. And with a schedule which will contain a real job for the first time in over 15 years, how will I keep life juicy?
I still don’t have real answers for that.

The movie Instinct (2019) which helped me prioritize on what’s important in life. Including in my new boring predictable as fuck life as a normal person

I went to a Dutch movie, Instinct.
And it was about a psychiatrist who is sexually aroused by her charismatic patient Idris, who has been convicted of rape.
In one scene where she tries to make love (not to Idris), she doesn’t even function properly.
It is so obvious that she needs him to be dominant. That she needs all responsibility to be taken away from her, so that she can surrender, submit, lose herself in an encounter without consent.
The story made me so sad.
In a way for myself of course: It’s been so long, since it’s been this good. My lover has not come back to me so forcefully as he once was.
My desire for the new man, the Slash lookalike, is ever present but it is quiet between us… Sometimes I don’t know if it’s still before the storm, or if our love is stillborn.
The second reason I was sad, was because I would have loved it if the film had portrayed two lovers who had went down that path. Instead of only dipping their toes in the water basically. And then messing it up because they got so scared. They couldn’t allow for it to unfold, maybe they were not strong enough.
But I would have loved to see them succeed.
But the third, and maybe the most important reason the movie made me sad, is because this is my theme. This is my quest. In January I went offline in order to write a book on consent play. It was called:
Playing No.
A pleasure guide for women with rape and other consent fantasies
And it drove me mad. Writing took hours of my day. It literally consumed me. And meanwhile even back then I did not know how the money was going to come in and what I was going to do with my life.
I was eaten alive on one side, and trying to escape on the other.
Ultimately I quit writing, I gave up.
The thought of having this book out, on such a sensitive topic, when I soon might be returning to a regular job, scared me shitless.
I wasn’t like Idris and the psychiatrist Nicoline; I wasn’t afraid of my own feelings.
I was afraid of putting pen to paper, and sharing with the world what I knew. In particular since I might soon be working in that same world, seeing the same people every day. People whom I did not want to interact with based on my controversial book topic.
And here I was.
Nine months later, I saw the story played out of people perfect for each other and both in the dark about this aspect of sex. Consent play. It was as if the universe called me back to my writing table, and fear caught me by the throat.
Either I start doing what I came here to do, and write the damn book.
Or I’m going to watch the same story of a misunderstood sexual preference, over and over and over again.
Sara, hold my beer.

~Lauren
An unexamined life is not worth living

..

 

My diaries en erotica are available at 

my BOOK SHOP
25% discount on all prices
If you check your cart, you can select your store
f.e. Nederland or United States
with the flag in the upper right corner.

Nederlandse boeken kun je ook direct bij mij bestellen

coming soon: new books

1. Reboot – a hero’s journey. Diary 2017-2019
2. I M NOT CHANGING MY FUCKING SHOW
3. Big Mistress – confessions, columns and sex advice from the other woman
4. Blote Kont- verhalen over mannen, macht en dagjes uit (Dutch)

The best way to receive updates on when these books are ready is to follow this blog. The subscription button to this blog is on this page, probably on the right.

Let the past die

Published on by LS HarteveldLeave a comment

This is a letter to my creativity coach Sara
(Sara’s Fb page)
Before our coaching call, I always give her a headsup.

Dear Sara,

In the new Star Wars, which will be released right before Christmas, Kylo Ren has his/a helmet back on.
It’s a slightly different design than the one he smashed in VIII, but from afar it looks the same.
I assume they gave him a new helmet, to explain a vision from VII; A flash forward of Kylo Ren with his mask and with the knights of Ren.
In VIII the mask was smashed and no knights of Ren were to be seen.
So if Star Wars IX The Rise of Skywalker contains a scene of Kylo Ren with his helmet on, standing in the rain with the knights of Ren, it will be a surprise to absolutely no one.
That is about how predictable and boring my life has become.
It’s no longer a question of whether or not I will have a redemption arc. I will get back on my feet and start making my own money again;
It is no longer a question if me and ALL of the men I am in love with, will one day have a heart to heart and confess this to each other;
It may not even be a question if I will rise to fame both as LS Harteveld as well as the first and only Rock Star Yoga teacher. My current calm and soothing life style will actually be more appealing to the masses than my tapped-in, turned on, full volume style which is my usual self.
None of those things will come as a surprise.
Instead, just like in Star Wars, the only real question is will I live.
Because just like Kylo Ren I may very well just die.
If he does, it will most likely be because he has to sacrifice himself to save the galaxy. In reality, I think it’s because he’s bored shitless at the thought of living happily ever after with Rey. If you’ve been supreme leader of the First Order in a war-torn galaxy, you d rather just leave before it gets too dull.
I think what I have been trying to do the past weeks, is to be realistic now that I knew I was autistic. I no longer allowed myself to just dive into anything, head-first.
And for my job I realized that it would have to consist of one meaty task and minimize unnecessary socializing.
I would make a great supreme leader in a war torn galaxy.
But since demand for those are limited I made a brave attempt to reintegrate in the workforce, based on my autism. It made so much sense, to look for a specialized job to fit my autism, and reintegrate slowly. After 15+ years of working largely from home, this required planning.
However.
ALL coaches and businesses that were specialized in reintegration were aimed at clients who were funded by welfare or by an employer who was obliged to help them get to back on their feet.
So far, none of them was been able to offer me anything. I need a suitable job, not an assessment on what I can or cannot do. Nor do I bring a bag of money from some sort of organization who is legally obliged to make me reintegrate.
It was an incredible waste of time.
I m absolutely back to square one.
So I have decided to drop the entire Asperger diagnoses, stop writing about it, ignore I have it, and embrace the fact that a happy ending, where I work part-time in a job tailored to my needs, sleeping enough and spending my free time doing yoga to keep the sexual and creative flame inside of my body, was never going to work anyway.
It would be like Kylo Ren being redeemed and then his happily ever after or not, becoming a matter of taste because he is no longer essential to the story.
That’s what would have happened if my plan for a suitable job, while moderately working on my writing and dutifully doing yoga everyday, had actually worked out.
It wouldn’t have mattered if I had lived or died, because my life would be so boring Disney might as well provide me a heroic death saving the galaxy.
In a way, my journey served a function.
I tried to do the right thing, take my reintegration seriously and put my plans for fame and an empire on the back burner. An autistic person reintegrating to normal work life after 15+ years of working independently, should take it easy and not ruin it by overextending herself.
That was a great theory, but unfortunately it is getting me nowhere and I m thoroughly done taking into account any human limitations, of any kind.
I m burning the past, and going back to the one thing I always wanted. And whomever still wants to see me in the future, will have to join me there.
I m going to rule the world.

~Lauren
An unexamined life is not worth living

..

Subscribe to 7-Figure Rock Star Writer

The subscription button to this blog is on this page,
probably on the right.
Let the past die
is the twelfth chapter of
7-figure Rock Star Writer part 5: “1994”: fanfic inspired erotica

My diaries en erotica are available at 

my BOOK SHOP
25% discount on all prices
If you check your cart, you can select your store
f.e. Nederland or United States
with the flag in the upper right corner.

Nederlandse boeken kun je ook direct bij mij bestellen

coming soon: new books

1. Reboot – a hero’s journey. Diary 2017-2019
2. I M NOT CHANGING MY FUCKING SHOW
3. Big Mistress – confessions, columns and sex advice from the other woman
4. Blote Kont- verhalen over mannen, macht en dagjes uit (Dutch)

The best way to receive updates on when these books are ready is to follow this blog. The subscription button to this blog is on this page, probably on the right.

My f**k that shit moment *

Published on by LS HarteveldLeave a comment
( performance artist Marina Abramovic )

*The term F**k that shit moment was coined by Katrina Ruth (Facebook).

This is a letter to my creativity coach Sara
(Sara’s Fb page)
Before our coaching call, I always give her a headsup.

Dear Sara,

The good news is, my conclusion from our previous call is still valid.
I really do believe that I can “store” my creativity in my body, in my sexuality, the same way Voldemort hid his soul in horcruxes in the Harry Potter books. Or, as I later recalled, the way Sauron hid his spirit in The One Ring.
My body, like a horcrux or the one ring, has the capacity to preserve the spirit and my creativity in the form of an active sexuality. Staying in its coarse and tangible form, until better times when it can expand again into writing, into creating videos, into BEING Lauren Harteveld, where one sexual encounter can nourish me for months because I keep writing about it.
Like the hall of mirrors (thank you for that metaphor) where the sexual experience can be relived, again and again, through the art it produces.
But if I start working for an employer, or for whatever reason do not have ample time to create art, then I will get myself an action packed sex life to keep the juices flowing. Until better times.
That all still stands.
As do the two main conclusions from my previous letter to you:
To not eat shit sandwiches for purpose work.
And the second conclusion in my last letter: It (every problem) is always about a man.
So you see, all good news.
Lessons were not wasted, they were remembered. And if anything I have become MORE determined to live by them.
But.
However.
Oh no wait!
Before I get into the nasty bit, where I got bitten in the ass (and not in a good way) by an old “friend” I need to tell you the fourth big epiphany I got.
So we had the Big 3:
1. Use my body as a horcrux
2. Don’t eat shit sandwiches for purpose work
and
3. It’s always about a man. And when it’s not about a man, it’s still about a man.
The next one would be:
*drum roll*
4. Work like an autist
I can’t even remember how I put one and one together… Or why I didn’t already. But it suddenly became crystal clear that the reason I dreaded a job so much was because I wasn’t approaching it as an autistic person.
As soon as I started owning my Asperger, I knew what it meant for my ideal work environment, but also that a key element to me being such an avid writer was that it offers Flow.
Flow is a state your brain comes in when you’re totally absorbed by your work.
For me this is a normal everyday state, in particular since I started writing.
I completely zone out of the real world when I write.
To my surprise I have met little – if any – people who are so used to working in flow. Apparently it’s not something one can just summon to happen. Most people assume flow is acquired through discipline.
But since I ve never been disciplined in my life I sincerely doubt that.
When I took the time to design an autism-friendly job, working for an employer, I saw two things.
One: I want to work from home (preferable) or on a company work floor between other anti-social people who just bury themselves in their cubicle.
And two: I want to work on one project, much like a computer programmer.
This was huge.
Like I said, I cannot imagine I didn’t see this before.
The reason I get into flow when writing, is because it is only one single-minded thing. Flow is guaranteed.
And this one project could be really really big.
In August 2017 I published 10 books. I had been working on eight manuscripts over the years but in one month I brought them home, four plus four plus two bonus books. They were numbered and published in a chronological order.
I would not know a neuro-typical (=a non-autistic person) who would be able to “hold” such a big project in their mind space while working on them.
I suddenly I saw that I could also do this for someone else, for example for a publisher.
Or how I could dive into a large collection of files and sort them out, categorize them, deduct their most important story lines and information. Maybe join a research center, political party or the city counsel.
Either way the key to me is:
One big project at a time, that I can totally dive into.
As soon as I saw this,  I became very happy and excited to get to work!
Meanwhile I had also contacted a reintegration consultant who was going to fine tune this with me, and everything looked amazing.
It was Monday night, and after a couple of days where I had felt really miserable (because of rule number 3 – It is always about a man) I was now on top of my game.
And in bed on time.
I put my alarm clocks to test drive my planning the very next day, and fell asleep feeling hopeful and happy. For the first time the thought of getting a normal job no longer made me feel suicidal.
And then I woke up at 2 AM suffering from my undiagnosed heart problems and thought: “Fuck! I’d almost forgotten about that!”
And the whole thing fell to pieces.
As certain as I had been that I, with my autistic qualities, had a lot to offer to a future employer, that’s how desperate I became. It was such a setback to realize I had apparently no idea what my “heart triggers” were.
I had been feeling hopeful, and at that moment I was not bothered by financial stress (which I thought was my dominant heart trigger) because I was convinced I would get a paid job in time, and boom!
The whole plan had to go back to the drawing board.
I m working on a plan B, to finance the time it might take me longer to get a (full-time) paid job. And tomorrow I m going to see the GP to get a referral to the hospital or a diagnoses. I think the heart condition has to do with autism, and I m not keen on medication.
But on the other hand, I am far more willing than I used to be, to take my heart problems seriously.
So right now it’s Thursday night, and my house is the superlative degree of “as if a bomb exploded”. I m unsure why I didn’t tackle that first. I know cleaning and tidying my house, even though incredibly time consuming, is like a healing experience on its own.
I could just see myself sitting here at my desk, typing to you at 10 P.M.
In a beautiful serene atmosphere I like to call “Hotel Chic”. Maybe a glass of alcohol-free wine and I even heard classical music which surprised because I never listen to classical music.
Since I didn’t clean my house, but decided to write this letter first, the situation is a little bit different.
My desk is covered with papers from the past 7 days, with things which I should do, or note down, or not forget. It’s covered in notebooks tied to different projects and different administration.
I haven’t cleaned the floor in any way shape or form, in a week. There is sand from the balcony everywhere and toys for the cats, boxes for the cats and papers for the cats are scattered over the entire apartment. The kitchen is a mess, and I have two loads of laundry to fold. The bathroom is dirty.
All because of a man.
I once read to women a clean environment is like foreplay. That their minds keep racing at the sight of clutter. That is why they feel hot in hotels (hence the desired look “Hotel Chic”) but too anxious for sex at home.
I ve realized this is true long ago.
When a man would come over, and I would spend up to four hours cleaning up my house and myself. By the time he arrived he was almost an extra:
I already felt so good, just from making the preparations.
So I know this is all linked.
To let my body become the horcrux that preserves my sexuality while building up to making 40 hour weeks for an employer, I also need to keep my house in mint condition!
But ever since I had this weird thing with the new love interest, it’s difficult to see that happening.
Oh wow….I suddenly see it!
How could I not.
What if, yes what if, the heart problems were a delayed response to the difficulty with this new man? Because of rule number 3 It’s always about a man.
Yes…
That makes total sense.
So here was the story:
In our last call I realized that I needed to start prioritizing my sex life, in order to be able to “retreat” there. To horcrux myself so to speak.
But naturally, it takes two to tango.
First of all, I hadn’t heard from my lover Big in quite a while. That made what happened with the new interest extra sour. I have heard from Big again, so I feel better now, but last Monday that was not the case.
So I saw my new Slash-like love interest, on the occasion where I expected to see him. But he was a little distant and then he let another woman come between us. He didn’t invite her or anything, but he didn’t exactly object either.
So he was already kind of keeping his distance, sending mixed signals is a better way to put it. It left me feeling puzzled since I had not expected that – and then Poof!
Like a chess pawn, he just placed her between him and me.
So just in case I wasn’t sure if I had interpreted his distant behavior correctly, I now had this woman standing between us, literally.
I excused myself and talked to someone on the other end of the room, didn’t look at him once and left about fifteen minutes after.
The strange thing was, and I know this is going to sound idiotic, but the strange thing was I felt challenged. Not defeated. His disinterest felt like he was hoping for an easy way out, and at the expense of my self-esteem.
Doing this with the pawn-move definitely made me think he’s married or otherwise involved.
And you know what the crazy thing is? If he had said to me: “I’m in a relationship, I don’t want to fall in love with you.” I would have been the first to comply and respect him for that.
I actually did that with Christopher last year.
He told me he didn’t want to see me anymore because of his marriage, and I respect him greatly for that.
But if you put another women between us, hoping I will give up? Oooohhhh, I feel challenged! I will push it so frickin hard that the next time we see each other you will start wanting me with every cell of your body. You will come after me.
I will see him in a couple of weeks.
And to stay in the game with Slash – or at least for it to stay interesting, keep the dice rolling, and store my sexuality, in its purest, most dense form – I need to stop whining, uplevel, and start playing this game like a pro.
I need to become the sexiest horcrux in history..

~Lauren
An unexamined life is not worth living

..

Subscribe to 7-Figure Rock Star Writer

The subscription button to this blog is on this page,
probably on the right.
My f**k that shit moment
is the eleventh chapter of
7-figure Rock Star Writer part 5: “1994”: fanfic inspired erotica

My diaries en erotica are available at 

my BOOK SHOP
25% discount on all prices
If you check your cart, you can select your store
f.e. Nederland or United States
with the flag in the upper right corner.

Nederlandse boeken kun je ook direct bij mij bestellen

coming soon: new books

1. Reboot – a hero’s journey. Diary 2017-2019
2. I M NOT CHANGING MY FUCKING SHOW
3. Big Mistress – confessions, columns and sex advice from the other woman
4. Blote Kont- verhalen over mannen, macht en dagjes uit (Dutch)

The best way to receive updates on when these books are ready is to follow this blog. The subscription button to this blog is on this page, probably on the right.

The price of *cross-out* how to live in peak experiences

Published on by LS HarteveldLeave a comment
God I m so easily fooled.
Who are these people?
The moderate, every-day-is-planned goal-getters who believe life is a set of healthy success habits.
Who?
And more importantly: Why do I feel guilty for not being able to do that, when I know:
a. That artists don’t work that way.
Managers work that way, people in regular jobs work that way. To an extend even entrepreneurs work that way.
But artists?
No.
They just have to unleash whatever is inside of them.
 b. I know my real art, requires abstinence from ALL the things, when I m working up to it.
My coach Sara has said it for a long time:
My real art are the hours I am with my lover.
When I am a secret mistress.
Where I can only show up because of all the preparation and mindset work I do. 
And since the Bon Jovi concert this truth became amplified:
The build up was months.
On the day itself I didn’t even look at my phone, after 2 P.M.
And it took me almost three weeks to process it, and also to get all the pieces of my life into (a new) place.
If I learned one thing from that concert, it’s that peak experiences take at least half as much time to digest afterwards, as they take in preparing.
So no…
I don’t know when I ll be back.
All I know is that I have three things on my calendar that I want to give my FULL attention, because all three are part of the vision I hold for myself.
And just like the Bon Jovi concert, I have no idea where it will lead or what will change because of it.
I always knew that the bullet-point, getting-things-done approach was somewhere missing the mark, but I couldn’t pinpoint what it was until now:
Daily habits, linear thinking, and an allowing of the little stuff to play a role of importance doesn’t allow for peak experiences.
There is no concentration on the upcoming events if I keep pushing for a daily video or a blog post.
Even a quick “Share your work” heads-up, is lethal.
Communicating keeps me tied to the outside world, whereas for a true peak experience I need to go in. I need to already live from that place, where I want to be at. Already be in the energy of it.
The closer the event itself gets, the more difficult it becomes to be in the real world at the same time.
Right now I have three events lined up. On three consecutive days.
So having learned from my Bon Jovi concert experience, and feeling the anxiety in my body of having to stay visible online when I know I need to start turning inwards now –
You will not be hearing from me.
It took me until now to realize that if I want to have peak experiences more often, I have to move away from having a daily online presence, and into anticipation and alignment.
I need to finally and fully, make peace with the fact that I m not entrepreneur, I live for my art.
Not of it.
.

~Lauren
An unexamined life is not worth living

.
subscribe to YouTube for My Life in Bon Jovi songs.

.

7-Figure Rock Star Writer

This is the fourth chapter of
7-figure Rock Star Writer part 4: A New Life

The subscription button to this blog is on this page, probably on the right.

Follow on Facebook or Twitter,
NEW connect on Linkedin

My diaries en erotica are available at 
my BOOK SHOP
25% discount on all prices
If you check your cart, you can select your store
f.e. Nederland or United States
with the flag in the upper right corner.

Nederlandse boeken kun je ook direct bij mij bestellen

coming soon: new books

1. Reboot – a hero’s journey. Diary 2017-2019
2. I M NOT CHANGING MY FUCKING SHOW
3. Big Mistress – confessions, columns and sex advice from the other woman
4. Blote Kont- verhalen over mannen, macht en dagjes uit (Dutch)

The best way to receive updates on when these books are ready is to follow this blog. The subscription button to this blog is on this page, probably on the right.

Always { concert inspired story }

Published on by LS HarteveldLeave a comment

This House
Raise Your Hands
You Give Love a
Born to

It was Tuesday morning and Lauren knew what she had to do, to save the two elevating, icing-on-the-cake-of-life kind of things she had been most attached to.
But that had been slipping away.
Three things, if she counted her own high, the moments when she herself had felt on top of her game and as if God himself was supporting her in doing what she had come here on earth to do.
But aside from her own ecstasy, the other two things she wanted to rescue were:
The memory of the rock concert and its charismatic front man.
He was someone whom she would have fallen for regardless of his profession or the context she would meet him; But he’d also been the first international star she had ever fallen in love with.
In 1988, two years into being a fan, she was still only 16 years old and had gone to the concert. She could still not believe she’d been so lucky that her parents had driven her to the other side of the country on a week night.
She had not understood the double meaning of any lyrics, but there had been no need to either. She seemed to naturally pick up on the sexual energy of the music itself. That she was the only rock chick in a class full of pop lovers, served her well. She had always had a strong sense of individuality.
By being the only one from her class going to the concert, she had widened the gap even further.
Her lover Mr.Big, seemed to pick up on the significance of what was about to happen. On the day of the concert he sent her a text to wish her a great time, and said that he was moved by the thought of her, all the way back then. An innocent teen, looking up in awe to the rock star on stage.
That was the second thing she wanted to save:
Her relationship with her lover, Mr. Big.
They had been seeing each other for the past four and a half year. She had written about their sex life in the past, and their first two years together had resulted in an erotic diary.
What came after was a respectable affair, one where Lauren was not such a cry baby and didn’t need to write a seven page story every time she slept with him.
Something she had considered quite an accomplishment, and she had been happy to join the ranks of the mature people.
Until she realized, in the aftermath of the concert when she could feel that slipping away because she had not written about that, that writing about their sex life had made it richer and more valuable to both.
And that quitting writing was probably responsible both for the extremely long intervals between their dates, as Mr.Big was definitely contacting her less than he used to.
But that her not-writing, was also responsible for the feeling that they had to start over every time.
Their dates had a fresh but also melancholic feel to them, as two lovers who had been on a break and had been unsure if they’d ever be together again.
Their encounters were no longer bucket-list material.
Instead they were let-s-take-this-very-slowly love making.
Whereas if she had locked the experience in, in a story, their intimacy would have been secured. They would probably have been able to pick it up any time.
Not writing about her sex life had made her feel less exposed, less hunted, less prone to ridicule because she could now say that all erotica had been written years ago and that she didn’t do that anymore.
But she had paid the price.
Even what he had been doing behind her back, and behind his wife’s back, had changed. In the early years she could feel that they were more flings or one-night-stands. Now it seemed to be one woman at a time, who was in his life more consistently over a longer period.
He never talked about it but she could feel it in her bones.
She wasn’t bothered by his other affairs, but it was more that in conjunction with the intervals between their dates growing from weeks to months, that she got irritated with it because she was competitive and wanted to win this.
The other women probably had no idea what they had gotten themselves into. And yet they were beating her.
That was what annoyed her.
It was an ego thing, much more than that she actually believed having sex every two months was worse than every three weeks.
By quitting writing, she was behaving like your average run of the mill woman, who will sleep with you even if you’re married.
And that’s exactly how she got treated.
If she wanted her legendary status back, as the one who understood him, the one to whom he’d always return, and the one who’d be there at his grave incognito but with a deep understanding of how important she’d been?
Or he’d be there at hers, but she had the sad feeling he’d go first.
If she wanted that epic affair back, that no one would ever be able to take away?
She needed to put more skin in the game.
She needed to put ALL her skin in the game, and start writing erotica, despite how exposed it made her feel. She had grown soft, responding with a near panic attack when someone started asking questions about her and Big.
But from now on, there was no more of that.
She was going to bring it home.

Whole Lot of
Lost
Runaway
We Weren’t Born to 
Have a Nice Day

The rock star actually had made the joke “The wetter the better,” referring to the rain. She heard it on the recordings, but he had not paused, highlighted, nor draaaaggged out, the joke the entire crowd had been wanting to hear.
It had been tucked into one of the in-between songs speeches, where he spoke to them with a voice that gave Lauren even more butterflies in her stomach than when he was singing.
The last half hour before the show, she had been nervous. It became almost unbearable which might explain why she was the first to recognize the music and the video, that announced the show was starting.
It was still light, so it wasn’t like in a theater where the lights turning off make everybody aware that something is about to happen.
Just seconds before the start of the show, Lauren had confessed to the friendly girl who had stepped aside and had offered Lauren a spot at the barrier.
“I m so nervous!”
The girl was attending the concert with a boyfriend; A tall, rangy guy with short hair, and model-like features.
Nervous, yes. The little woman with the cute curls nodded enthusiastically. Lauren wondered how it was possible that she didn’t particularly care for women in general, and had even walked out on the 50 Shades of Grey premiere, because the energy of all those women in sexual anticipation had made her physically ill;
Yet here at the concert she found the friendliest, most disarming women in the world, towards whom she felt protective and caring. Something she was able to express because she had come better prepared than a single mother going to the beach with three toddlers and a puppy.
She shared the food she had been able to smuggle in, and gave two women sticky plastic and elastic bands to cover their water bottles, since they had all been made to hand in the caps, going through security.
Maybe the reason the atmosphere between the young women and the older Lauren was  so good, was the same reason no one in her class had been listening to this band:
These girls were.
And the music meant so much to them, that they too had gone through lengths to be first row, in the armpit area of a T shape runway that was attached to the stage.
The other armpit was a VIP deck.
The T- shape of the stage, and the VIP deck taking up one armpit, made the first-row area in the Golden Circle extremely small.
Yet these women were there! Just like Lauren!
They were top fans.
The guitars, the anthems, the pounding of the music song after song, had excited them, just as it had excited a 14 year old Lauren.
And they had all drowned into the emotional depths of the heartbreaking ballads.
Yet another mesmerizing thing about the band: That they were originally labelled as being shallow. When every album had at least one song that required a box of tissues and doctor to put your heart back into your chest.
Had the eighties really been such a cruel era that no one had heard that? Or even felt a need to ridicule it?
The wetter the better.
Maybe that explained why the rock star made the joke into a minimal thing instead of going for easy laughs.
And why Lauren missed it because she was not literally listening to him.
Just like she had trouble memorizing the lyrics to the songs – although she had tried and had a notebook with written out songs in her purse – she didn’t hear individual words either, when he talked.
Just the message.
Just his energy.
Lauren took the entire show in as an all body, mind, soul and heart experience. She had even made her peace that the song where the rock star would get someone on stage could be played, and that there would be this awkward little play where the fan would practically assault him (Lauren expected foul play here, most likely the roadies encouraging you to go give him a big hug) and then the rock star would play being the irresistible idol who had women jumping onto him out of nowhere.
It had been the most difficult part of Lauren’s preparations:
How could she work around her resistance to witness this?
Ultimately she chose to label it positively, as the most artistic part of the show. He was taking risks here, something could happen that he did not anticipate.
If it was indeed a premeditated choice to invite the girl to cross his boundaries- for maximum show value – Lauren was sure the rock star realized that ultimately he did not have a say in what would happen.
A smart woman would just be polite, and he would automatically reward that by giving her real attention. Lauren had seen it happen on videos, where after the initial struggle the woman had dropped back into her normal ways, and he had immediately turned extremely sweet and gentle with her.
And lowering the energy to dangerously low levels and risking the connection with tens of thousands of people in the middle of a rock show.
Lauren decided to focus on that:
The admirable risks he was taking.
She made a video about it, and posted it tagging him personally, which was as far as she wanted to go in announcing her coming.
And then she let go.
She would take anything and everything he would give her.
If there were going to be twenty songs with twenty different women on stage and none of them was her?
She’d take it.
She would completely surrender, fully submit. There would be no bad things that could happen. It would all go down the way it was destined to.
And yet there she was.
First row. 
Hyper-aware of the privileged position she was in, looking straight up into the blue eyes of her idol. She felt undeserving.
Despite having studied him, their music, and creating set list poems from every show they had done this year;
Despite preparing for this day in every way she could;
Despite writing about her personal history with him and filming countless videos that contained a reference to their songs;
She still did not feel she had a right to be there.
Which explained why something terrible happened. And it was an accident.
Four days after the concert, when Lauren was still receiving download after download on where her life needed to go, she met a friend who was educated on the field of sexual energy transmission, and when Lauren told him how the concert had been the best day of her life – her gums had been tingling when she had walked home, a feeling she literally only knew from sex. Good sex. – the friend had thought out loud about what had happened.
Had tried to help her label it.
But in the process he had used a triggering word. Although he denied ever using that word one week later, when a broken Lauren explained to him how she had fallen from grace.
And flat on her face.
She had been at the peak of her energy just one week prior, but now she was crawling through the mud, so dark and sticky. Her lover was gone. The connection to the concert was gone.
The word he had used, that crept under Lauren’s skin and slowly but effectively started poisoning her entire memory of the show was:
Stealing.
That she had stolen the rock star’s energy, and that’s why she felt so good, when meanwhile he seemed to be in slightly lesser shape, for his next show 48 hours later.
Lauren remembered trying to deny that she had stolen anything, but the friend had pointed out:
“You said it yourself: He gave everything he had, singing that song. He was completely empty.”
“That song” referred to a fan favorite which was hardly ever played. It had left some fans outraged on social media that it had not been played when they had been attending.
As if not the vocal demands alone, would offer a sufficient explanation why the rock star was unable to perform it on demand. And the lyrics were particularly touching too, as they seemed to be about a struggle with fidelity issues (or maybe Lauren was too eager to translate the apology for a “mistake” into a sex thing) and the song also seemed to forecast the difficulty the rock star had with the higher registers, more than two decades after the song was written.
Lauren imagined having to come to terms with his voice changing, was even more painful for him, than it was for her to deal with the concept that she had stolen something. From someone she deeply admired no less.
She understood perfectly well why the song was rarely played. You could not expect an established, older rock star on tour, to turn himself inside out and bare his naked soul to the world with every show.
That was borderline abusive.
Which was perhaps why the suggestion that she had stolen something from this unique moment, made her sick. That, and that she must have been susceptible to the idea that she had done something wrong, in the first place.
The underlying emotion of being undeserving to be there.
Within one week, she had felt life slipping through her fingers, but she did not blame her friend. Lauren was a sensitive woman, and she had felt there was no ill will in his words.
His remark had been completely harmless if she had not been so eager to blame herself for something. For proving how unworthy she had been.
One week later she saw her friend again, and told him what had happened. And also how she was going to solve it.
She said:
“I realized I had failed to put my concert into writing. Because I didn’t write, I had not claimed my reality.
Just like when I stopped writing about my encounters with Big, and I lost him.”
Although Lauren had no idea if she would ever be able to write herself out of the dirt and back onto the mountain high, or write her lover back into her life – she was grateful for the trigger the friend had given her.
She now knew she could only claim reality by writing it down.
This was extremely important information for the second half of her life.
And since she had promised herself she would learn and understand ALL the lessons of the concert, she embraced even this dark side. Even if that cost her the glow of the concert and it was too late to get her lover back.
Even then.
Her friend asked her if he could help her find a better narrative, since he had been at least partially responsible. And also because he didn’t like seeing Lauren this sad.
This is what he offered Lauren:
“I would not say you stole anything. You received. It was given freely. Just like when a man has an orgasm. Yes, he is spent. But because of the release he can then rejuvenate and replenish. This man is on earth to give this. But he can only give it if there is someone to receive it.”
Lauren felt like crying, but she didn’t want to make the friend feel even more guilty for everything last week’s conversation had caused. But she thanked him for this relabeling.
And hoped she had not unlearned writing.
That the break from it had made her better at it, and that somewhere under all the filth, she’d be able to find back what she had lost.

Keep the Faith
I’ll Be There for You
In These Arms

Lauren was so grateful for all the uploaded recordings of the concert.
She had felt slightly superior, attending the concert without holding any equipment. But she had to eat her words and was deeply grateful for anyone who had recorded something or who had taken pictures. 
Her favorites were a video of The Song, which one of her new friends had shot. And the other favorite was a full audio recording. Although it was on YouTube, it did not contain any video.
This long audio in particular, allowed her to relive the concert in its entirety.
Yet, for the first days she couldn’t bear this registration!
The audio was nothing, compared to the real concert experience.
She actually suspected that most, if not all, criticism on the singing voice of the rock star, was actually due to poor audio quality of mobile phone recordings.
The contrast with the real life experience was so stark, that she didn’t allow for the recordings to stain the memory, when it was still fresh.
It was only when it began to fade, that she started looking what she could find.
And that’s when she found it… again something she had definitely missed when she was there. At the one hour marker, the band played one of their all time favorites, the music was flawless and the challenging singing in the verses immediately hit the mark.
But she could hear the rock star rely on the backing vocals, in the first chorus. Second chorus his singing was fully confident, even stretching his voice further than nessecary.
During the guitar solo the crowd started to sing.
A wordless, swaying melody. It sounded like a lullaby, a choir of angels.
The rock star picked up the lyrics, sometimes trusting himself, sometimes relying on his singers. When all the verses had been sung, there was only a repetition of the chorus.
The crowd had picked up singing their supportive, loving tune.
And that’s when she could hear it.
Like magic.
The rock star found his full voice, his confidence. It was the going all-in, no holding back, every fan hopes to one day witness.
And when the first thought of playing The Song, must have surfaced.
It had not been on any of the set lists.
Not on the standard set list, and not on the one with the songs that could be chosen from last minute.
But at this point, The Song, was just a whisper.
Of the angels, perhaps.

It’s My Life
We Don’t Run

Lauren knew she was probably the most well prepared fan in the crowd. Yet, in hindsight, she realized nothing could have prepared her for seeing the rock star live.
She was a yoga teacher but as far as she had ever believed there was such a thing as “yoga” that was actually A Thing Of Importance – and if she had ever believed that was already up for debate – then the last bits just fell off her seeing the rock star sweat, jump, run, prance.
Spitting at almost regular intervals, a gesture of utter concentration she immediately saw reflected in the determination in his eyes.
He was magnetic and it made her realize she had been slacking. Her body was healthy and strong, but she had failed at having a home yoga practice for years.
And she had never been as strong and agile as the rock star.
Her body had never bounced up and down a stage for two and a half hours, and she seriously questioned if it ever would.
The rock star ran 6 times a week and he also did yoga, although that information dated from a few years back. But whatever he was doing it was working.
She could not remember being so close to someone in such killer shape, although she knew she was now not giving her lover enough credit.
It was a physical thing, but not in the way you would expect.
More a chemistry thing.
Because the rock star had not made an effort to get back into the photo model physique of his 40s, and neither did Mr.Big who was still in his 40s.
But her response to the rock star on stage, did remind her of a fantasy about her lover, which she was unable to pinpoint as to why it was she fancied that:
To wait for him, when he had been with another woman.
Take care of him, bathe him, feed him, put him to bed and to make him feel loved.
Aside from the fact that Lauren didn’t think that was the role Mr.Big had in mind for her, there was something strange about it.
Why did she even want this?
When he was all spent?
It didn’t make any sense.
Yet seeing the rock star on stage stirred exactly the same fantasy with her:
To be there when he came off the stage.
And replenish everything he needed, for a good night’s sleep.
Maybe, although Lauren enjoyed being on the receiving end of someone’s energy, giving back made her just as happy as receiving.

Wanted
Lay Your Hands on Me
Captain Crash

Who Says 
I’ll Sleep 
Bad 

Always
Livin’ on a Prayer

“Did you see?”
One of the friends Lauren had made at the concert, messaged her. “They played Always!”
It was two days after the latest concert of the band. 70.000 People had attended.
Of course Lauren had seen what they had played. She had already felt it. At the exact time Always was played she had experienced a dramatic energetic shift that had been so nasty, she still did not know what to do.
She felt God awful and the weekend had filled up with even more drama, such as a pigeon chick falling on her balcony in the middle of the night.
And Lauren felt her off-energy was contagious.
Someone she had spoken to on Saturday, was robbed within hours after that. Lauren couldn’t help but thinking it had been her icky-yucky energy that had caused it.
Ever since the shift, she had lost energetic connection to both the rock star as well as her lover. Although the steady slope downhill had started days prior of course, when her friend had made the suggestion that she had stolen something.
Every day had been harder, until that Friday night she had felt it snap.
She was still unsure if it really had been the band playing Always, if it was just a coincidence, or if it was her lover being with someone else.
Something she swore she could feel.
Judging from how powerful the shift was, it had probably been both.
But she blamed herself. She was the one who had let the memory fade, and had started being ashamed of receiving so much from him. By now she was seriously toying with the thought of quitting being a fan.
“Yeah I know,” she texted back. “I m sure I m overreacting but I was jealous.”
The girl sent Lauren a smiley and a second line in a separate message.
“Oh Sweetie, I think it was for his wife.”
The words brought out an ear to ear smile, and then the tears started rolling down Lauren’s face.
“One week later he was back at the level where he could sing it again,” the male friend said, to Lauren. It was a tropical night, and they were having drinks at one of the many terraces that were still open.
“He had come full circle. This is the meaning of Life.”

~Lauren
An unexamined life is not worth living

 

Lauren’s erotica (2017) :
Big, Diaries and Erotica

.

7-Figure Rock Star Writer

This is the third chapter of
7-figure Rock Star Writer part 4: A New Life

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coming soon: new books

1. Reboot – a hero’s journey. Diary 2017-2019
2. I M NOT CHANGING MY FUCKING SHOW
3. Big Mistress – confessions, columns and sex advice from the other woman
4. Blote Kont- verhalen over mannen, macht en dagjes uit (Dutch)

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Hello Rock Star

Published on by LS HarteveldLeave a comment
Sara is my creativity coach.  I always send her an email before our call. 
.
Dear Sara,
.
It is tempting to reread my other blog post from today, or rewatch the many videos I created over the past two weeks, in order to reconstruct exactly what happened.
What the right order of things was.
Where I went wrong, and where I went right.
.
Oh, and of course, to write out ALL the resolutions and habits and basically the entire game plan which will serve me well for the second half of my life.
As the Bon Jovi concert was definitely the most profound experience I ever had. It will go down as my best time sex, ever. 
The best sermon I ever heard.
The best Tony Robbins seminar ever given without Tony Robbins.
And the best yoga class, because it definitely got my energy soaring, and I m positive I will never have another physical ailment again.
.
Oh, and I m enlightened.
Of course I’m enlightened, what else would I be after this concert for which I had been preparing even more meticulously than for my dates with Mr.Big, leaving everything and nothing, to chance.
Nothing , when it came to the things I could control, such as preparations for the day and getting into the right mood.
And everything when it came to accepting and celebrating whatever would happen.
.
Fortunately for me, just like Mr.Big, Bon Jovi was a great match in showing up with the right energy. And that’s when the best night of my life happened.
.
And this is the small-can’t-bother-Sara-with-too-long-email version because I could write an entire novel out of that one gig.
Sadly though, I didn’t.
As we discussed earlier I am determined to go more out there with my message, in performance mode, and leave the days of 7 hour blog posts behind me.
.
However – and this could be a beginners fuckup! – my performance, talking about something on video, seems to be a lot less strong when it comes to claiming the narrative. 
Performance does raise my vibration, way more than writing does. And in that sense it is a lot more rewarding. It also costs less time than writing.
But this is my latest key insight about my otherwise perfect choice for video over writing:
It’s not as strong.
.
When I m done with a blog post reality has been claimed, and it is almost impossible for me to get another version of the truth in my head, than the one I put to paper.
I ve used this in my affair with Mr.Big:
What I wrote became the truth.
And it was a good truth. One in which he could see his own power and how we connected, how we were doing this together. I patched up, polished, sowed together the truth if needed.
I often used fiction.
The only thing I always kept intact was the love we had for each other, and then I let the rest of the story serve that. Even the most extreme things we did sexually, were undeniably loving.
.
If anyone had told me, after reading the story, that I should be ashamed of being a secret mistress, there is no way I would have adopted that as the truth.
The truth was on paper.
The end.
.
But after the Bon Jovi concert, about which I did not write but I created daily videos for both of my accounts, and I stayed on the high for days and intended to keep that going indefinitely:
Someone qualified what I had been doing to Jon Bongiovi as stealing his energy.
.
And because I had told myself that everything I needed for the second half of my life, was given to me in that gig, I adopted it as a possibility that I had actually been doing that.
That my energy had come at the expense of Jon Bongiovi himself.
.
And suddenly I could see evidence in my relationship with Mr.Big that this was true: After all, he seemed to need two months between our dates if we had sex.
Regardless of how enthusiastically he had been fantasizing with me, on how amazing it would be to see each other more often.
I saw in this long pause a confirmation that I stole way more than I had been entitled to.
.
And from there, my spirits plummeted.
.
Very soon I started hating myself, and when the 13th and the 14th of June had been the best days of my life, both with regard to Jon Bongiovi as well as Mr.Big who seemed to have a deep understanding of how much fun it was what I was doing, and he sent me a few texts that testified he was supporting me;
But one week later, it was all gone.
.
Last Friday I could just feel both of them, energetically snap out of it. And I felt lonely and heartbroken.
Especially because by now I had designed my entire life around the concept of being a rock star yoga teacher. 
How could I be that, if I was consumed by guilt of being an energetic vampire?
.
This morning I woke up, and got my act together.
Two major decisions were made.
.
1. I need to start writing again.
.
And in particular erotica. I have not written about my sex life in years. The exact same years our dates became more infrequent and sex was intimate and simple because it felt like our first time every time.
Like we’d been on a break or a breakup.
I had been too eager to drop writing erotica, too eager to be a good girl, one who doesn’t kiss and tell.
But with that I almost killed what we had.
It’s a miracle there is something left to save.
.
Also, I intend to start writing about the concert, and come up with a better narrative than me being a no-hands succubus.
.
2. I need to focus on raising my energy
.
The reason I got so much out of that concert is the same reason I get so much out of dating my lover: I prepare.
I get ALL the way up there, the peak of the mountain, way before we even meet. And then that is automatically where they meet me.
If I focus on doing things that raise my energy, so that I am on the peak of the mountain, regardless, it becomes more likely that I find the connection back with Jon Bongiovi and my lover.
And feeling really good where I am, and about what happened.
.
I never want to come down again, to hear what others have to say about my moral code of conduct.
I m going to do everything to get back what I lost the past week.
Including writing what must be written.
.
So that although others might have an unloving interpretation of what it is I do,
at least I will not be listening anymore.
.
..
~Lauren
An unexamined life is not worth living
.
erotic stories are avialable in: 
Big, Diaries and Erotica
.
.

7-Figure Rock Star Writer

This is the second chapter of
7-figure Rock Star Writer part 4: A New Life

The subscription button to this blog is on this page, probably on the right.

Follow on Facebook or Twitter,
NEW connect on Linkedin

My diaries en erotica are available at 
my BOOK SHOP
25% discount on all prices
If you check your cart, you can select your store
f.e. Nederland or United States
with the flag in the upper right corner.

Nederlandse boeken kun je ook direct bij mij bestellen

coming soon: new books

1. Reboot – a hero’s journey. Diary 2017-2019
2. I M NOT CHANGING MY FUCKING SHOW
3. Big Mistress – confessions, columns and sex advice from the other woman
4. Blote Kont- verhalen over mannen, macht en dagjes uit (Dutch)

The best way to receive updates on when these books are ready is to follow this blog. The subscription button to this blog is on this page, probably on the right.