Thursday, February 11, 2016

My Friday

Oh, yes.
I'm off tomorrow but have to work Saturday.  By the time this fourth Friday rolls around, I'm on the cusp of forgetting my humanity.  I'm tired and restless and need time for myself.  I don't think a lot of people understand that.
I need down time.  Even from myself.  Time to let my mind wander and pluck and embrace.  Time to breathe and know that I can wallow in the moment instead of having to be somewhere else doing something else.

Do I have big plans?
Um, no.

Next week is birthday week, and I have enough things planned for that, apparently, that I believe my day off tomorrow will be one to take it as slowly as possible and enjoy every minute.
And that becomes lost so easily in the day-to-day living.  Hamster wheel on high.  Gotta do.  Should have done.  Going to squeeze as much as I can into this 24 hours because I didn't have time before and OH MY GOD I don't think I can!
But, really?
That little thing your lungs do to keep you alive?
It needs to slow down.  It needs to even out.  It needs to be a priority.
It needs to influence the day more than the day needs to influence it.

I have literally had clerks ask me if I'm in a hurry because I'm twitchy and in fast mode.  And guess what?
It's my day off.
I have nowhere to be.
But I'm still in manic mode.

Have to work on that one.

Friday, February 05, 2016

Pieces of me

Hard at work when all three of my babies, and my baby's baby, came to see me.
Did you ever have that feeling that heart was literally going to BURST with love?
I was close to my mother growing up.  That went away for quite some time.  Now we're back to being amicable, but there's still distance.  My father passed away a few years ago.
But my children?  My 20, 21, and 22 year old???  And my 9 month old grandson?
Holy shit.
They are my world.
I look at them and know that I've done something right.
I'll have bestsellers.  I'll work too hard not to.
But the best parts of my life live in my babies.
They are smart and beautiful and flawed and sarcastic.  They always hug and kiss me and tell me they love me.  They're good people who help others and work hard for themselves.  And no, they're not perfect.  I love them.  I'm not struck stupid by them.  *grins*

So the best part of this incredibly long week happened about two hours ago.  When my beautiful babies and one grandbaby graced me with their presence and spent some time with a woman who loves them more than life.


Thursday, February 04, 2016

You don't know fear

You don't know fear until your youngest child calls and tells you she's been in a wreck with your grandson in the back seat.  She's incredibly upset.  Some high school chick ran a stop sign, and my youngest clipped the chick's back tire while the entire left side of her bumper/lights/fender are fucking toast.
The Baby Chicken had to go to the ER.  Her shoulder and collarbone are separated.  She has her wing in a sling.
Little Man is fine, thank God.  He was, however, quite put out that when BC called the police, he had to stay in his car seat.  Which, thank you God again, was on the OTHER side of the car.
So my adrenals hit overdrive early, and I'm dragging ass right now.
Went to boy child's daycare and took pictures of BC's car.  Contacted the other insurance agency to make a claim.  Hoping this is handled fairly expediently.
*deep breath*

So glad tomorrow is Friday, and there's a weekend on my horizon where I know that MC will be staying with BC and helping with Little Man.  I'll be able to sleep in.  So on and so forth.  It seems lately that every day is fraught with all sorts of hectic.  I'm ready to slow down a bit.  Watch some Thunder basketball.  THUNDER UP!!!  Edit my second book and work on some writing.
And let's hope, unlike the past two weekends, that I actually feel like I've had one, shall we?
Because that would be oh-so-new-and-different.

Totally random.

I like to cook.  I mean...I LIKE it.  And I absolutely love the Pioneer Woman's cookbooks.  The recipes, pictures, and little comments are great.  I currently have her Dinnertime book on my desk.  I shall drool over the pictures and convince myself I'm capable of making at least a couple of dishes.
But let me tell you something.  When I'm a little better off, I'm hiring a cook.  It's just going to happen.  I don't mind laundry and vacuuming and dusting, but by GOD!!!  I need someone to slave in my kitchen and make me delicacies.
From her books.
That is all.

Tuesday, February 02, 2016

On the hunt

I remember beginning my writing career hellbent on finishing my first story and then wanting so badly to have it somewhere, anywhere, readers could enjoy it.
I'm a bit older and wiser now.  I've actually finished two of a five-book series and am about twenty percent through the third.  And only now have I polished the pieces to begin searching for an agent.
Some of it stems from my home burning to the ground after I committed to a four-book series with time commitments and having my life fall apart.  The other?  I'm giving myself breathing room, and I love it.
There are people I come across that have asked me over the span of these past couple years about my writing.  I tell them, quite honestly, that I need to finish at least the first two of the five before I'll even begin searching for the proper agent.  I also have an Erotic Paranormal and a work of Philosophical fiction on my plate.  Both are started with around ten thousand words each.
It's not like I've been twiddling my thumbs.  But after having books come out sometimes twice a year, I've decided to concentrate more on several projects.
I'd go mad if I couldn't write.
Hell, my family would have me committed, I'm quite sure.

So I'm on the hunt for that perfect fit that I'm sure I'll find.
Because not only am I a writing fool, I'm an optimistic fiend.

Sunday, January 24, 2016

Back in the Game

I never quit writing.  Or thinking of writing.  Or making notes on my phone about writing.  I dream of it.  I go to sleep to the thought of it.  I'm constantly...writing.  Even when I'm not.

I'm working on several pieces right now.  First and foremost would be the five-book series.  Book one is finished.  Book two lacks perhaps three thousand or so words.  I've written about twelve thousand on book three.  As soon as I publish this blog, I'm back at it.

Writers will tell you that no one understands them.  And that's incredibly true.  Only other writers can appreciate the madness that grips when ideas flood your gray matter.  Must.  Write.  Now.

And we bitch about editing or a synopsis or God knows what.  And we certainly do.  But we love it. Every damn word.  Every damn edit.  Every damn breath we breathe into the story.

Creative people are quite mad.  They hear things others don't.  They see things others don't.  They FEEL things others don't.  It as if there's a plane of existence slightly above the one we're meandering around on now.  Where all these characters and their stories are simply waiting to be written.  And when a writer plugs into's magic.

So now I'm going to be searching for a home for my stories.  And I find it interesting how picky I can be.  How I want so badly for my stories to fit in  I won't take less than that from anyone.  My stories deserve nothing but the perfect fit.  They deserve a home where they are appreciated and enjoyed.

That's where my journey is taking me.  Out into the wilderness.  Finding my path.  Books tucked firmly beneath my arm.  Warm patchwork scarf wrapped around my neck.  I'll knock on doors until I find the one where my books and I are welcome to come in and warm ourselves by the fireplace and perhaps have a cup of hot cocoa.

Then I'll know we're home.

Saturday, August 22, 2015

Fifty Shades of... thoughts.

I was going to leave this alone, but I once told a group of people at an Author's Panel to never let something go that you can't get out of your mind.
This blog post will be a testament to that.
So then.
Fifty Shades of Grey.
When it first came out, I had little to no interest.  I had opened the first book at random and read a couple of pages.  It was...meh.  Then the movie came out, and I thought (being a visual person) that I might enjoy the story better that way.
I was wrong.
I'm not here to bash E.L. James.  Not going to happen.  Not in the way she's been bashed before, anyway.  The mere content of these books is a trigger.  BDSM, for many, is a trigger because it's not a consensual act but a horrible power play between someone being the aggressive and someone being the submissive.  But it's not.  While I don't practice the lifestyle, I can see where it might appeal to some.
Christian Grey was indoctrinated into the lifestyle by an older woman.  He thought that she gave him the perfect outlet for those parts of him that he deemed not normal.  The abuses he suffered as an extremely young boy manifested themselves out into this chosen lifestyle.  And while he refers to himself as "fucked up", it's quite clear that he considers being a submissive, and then a Dominant, integral to who he is.
And he believes that only through this lifestyle will he be able to connect physically with someone.  I find the psychology behind that fascinating.
My problem with the story stems from it being contrived.
Good authors try to make a seamless story that readers can follow through with no hitches or bumps in the narrative.  Great authors succeed.
While I didn't read the book, it's been said that the movie closely follows it.  And if that's true, then I shudder at some scenes.
When Anastasia Steele (and God help me, that name is contrived all by itself) drinks too much and drunk dials Christian, he shows up JUST IN TIME to save her from a friend who is becoming too handsy.  My eye literally twitched.
When he happens to show up when she's with her mother, it was all I could do not to stop the movie right then and there.  I mean...c'mon!
And then this older woman is thrown into the mix right in time for there to be conflict.  Seriously.  I hadn't heard her name before, and suddenly she's all over the place.  Ugh.
Stories, no matter the content, should neither be choppy nor contrived.  They should flow smoothly.
Our protagonist, Ms. Steele, walks the fine line between Too Stupid To Live and simply naive.  I struggled with her character in the movie because she made me literally wince.  Falling into his office.  Losing her place in her notes.  So I took a breath and tried to imagine myself in that position.
Early twenties.  Innocent.  Sheltered.  Settled.  Perhaps a billionaire would upset my little world, also.  Doesn't make her more appealing to me, but I find myself trying to understand her actions.
To sum up, it's a "C" movie.  It's not great.  It's not even particularly daring.
Average storyline.  Below average writing.  Above average casting.
Because hello, Mr. Dornan.  I've missed you since they killed your ass off "Once Upon a Time".
There will be two more movies to round out the trilogy.  It'll probably be one and a half too many.

Saturday, August 08, 2015

Get a set

*blows out breath*
Alrighty then.
I love writing.  Love it.  There's is nothing else that touches me like the words.
So what's my problem?

I've dicked around for hours today because at the end of my list is writing.  But not any writing.  No. It's my TFH novel.
And it hurts me.

Let me explain.
I am an empathetic person to the point I can't watch reality shows because they embarrass and raise my blood pressure.
I stopped watching "Deal or No Deal" because I was living and dying by those sorry ass little fucking suitcases.
The Honey thought I was sleeping during "Tammy" with Melissa McCarthy.  I wasn't sleeping.  I was averting my eyes from the screen because I was embarrassed for her in a couple of scenes.  Ok.  Let's be honest, most scenes.  geez

I banged out several thousand words last time I worked on it.  Now I need to go back and flesh some scenes out.  But they hurt.  It's not pretty.  It's not a romance.
I can literally only take so much of the ugly before I have to take a step or four back.  I can only take so much intensity before it wraps itself around and chokes me.
This story needs to be written.  I need to write it.
It's important.

On a semi-related note:  Killing your darlings.  Stephen King advocates offing characters.  I've only purposely killed one character, and I felt bad.  But I knew he wasn't going to make it from the get-go. A lot of readers become attached to characters.  That's the mark of a good writer and book.  Not only have you breathed life into a character, but they've also found a home with others.  That's powerful writing.

Now I'm wrestling with characters and trying to soothe myself through the process.  It's exhausting.
One of my favorite sayings:  If it was easy, everyone would do it.
Guess I need to get a set.

Friday, June 26, 2015

Equality for ALL

Flags are symbolic.  
When you fly the flag of your Alma Mater, you are proud and recognize the great traditions that the institution represents.
A Confederate flag symbolizes slavery, death, and denigration.
It’s no laughing matter when you post opposing college school flags or NFL flags and say those “offend” you.
Really?  What, exactly, offends you?  Be specific?  Did any of those “longhorns” come and rape your girlfriend?  Whip your father until he died?  Fight to keep you and your kin in chains?  Please.  Do tell.  I don’t remember any of that in the History books.
How about we make a flag that symbolizes prejudice against redheads?  Or short people?  Or tall people?  Or those with blue eyes?  Green eyes?  
Let’s make all rednecks fix cars and hunt.  They don’t need a degree.  And how about all women under twenty-five need to be married.  You don’t need a degree, either.  You can be the little woman that your man takes care of.  And poor people must remain poor.  They obviously don’t have the intelligence to do anything but be a drain on society in general.  Take back women’s right to vote.  We don’t need that.  Who do we think we are, anyway?
Let’s just use the hell out of stereotypes.  Because THAT’S what you’re supporting.  Outdated and societal ills that plagued our nation in the past.  So why can’t you leave it there?  Where it belongs?  I don’t care if we leave Confederate flags hanging in museums.  That’s where they belong.  If you honestly feel the need to pepper your vehicle and your front porch with the same, do it.  Tattoo your damn ass.  I don’t care!!!
However, all government building needs them removed.  Any place that serves the people, all people, needs them removed.  There are no people in this nation that need a constant reminder that they were property in the past.  That they could be harm or killed for simply having a different skin color. 
My grandson is biracial.  And, quite frankly, he’s fucking beautiful.  Woe to ANYONE that says or treats my grandson differently because of his appearance. 
Black people are less than.  Our ancestors fought to prove that.  And this flag shows how proud I am of that moment in history.
Really?  You prejudicial asshole.  THAT’S what you’re proud of?  By the way, I’ve READ the history of the “Stars and Bars” and subsequent Confederate flags.  It’s sickening.
Speaking of history, let’s go back a bit further.
We are on Native American land.  That dirt you’re stomping on with your self-righteous shoes belonged to others long before it was yours.
Do you see the idiocy yet?  If not, look a bit closer.
Where does it fucking stop?

And now, guess what?
EVERYONE has the right to marry.
LEGALLY marry anyone they choose.  Regardless of sexual orientation.
Some people are up in arms because OMG…these homosexuals are throwing their sexuality in my face.  Sick bastards.  Twisted people.
I can guarantee you that there are some so-called “straight” people out there that are doing things that would trigger a homosexual individual’s gag reflex.
Bedroom things can stay bedroom things.  Privacy is sacrosanct. 
Marriage is simply that legal bond that says two people believe that they are meant for each other and wish to be bound together in this world for life. 
For those that wish to throw the Bible at this argument, please don’t.  It doesn’t hold water.  Because if you wish to pick out passages talking about marriage, then you need to read all the definitions of it in the Bible.  And some of those, my friends, are distinctly horrible.

All people should be treated with dignity.  If you’re incapable of that, then YOU are the one with the problem.

Sunday, June 21, 2015

Fooled Myself

Happens sometimes.

We tell ourselves that when the kids are out of the house, we'll have more time.
This is horseshit.
I told myself that when I had the last kid graduate that I would have more time for the writing.  Also horse feces.
I've moved since then.  Two hour commute daily.  I have a beautiful grandson.  One child in Florida. I'm planning a wedding.  I work forty hours a week.  Throw in some health issues and YAHTZEE!
I was talking to my therapist the other day.  (Yes.  I have a therapist.  I believe EVERYONE should have a therapist.  I need someone who will actually listen to me and then give me another perspective.  It is marvelous.)
Anyway...I was going on about stress.  My body hurting.  Wanting to come home and exercise and write.
So she asked about my schedule.
I get up at 6.  Out the door at 645.  At work around 745.  Work 8-5.  Leave work.  Get to the city around 6-630.  Pencil in tanning.  (It's my only vice.)  Now it's almost 7.  Need to eat dinner.  In bed by 8.
And she says, God bless her, "sounds like you don't have enough time in the evenings."
Did she say that I don't have enough time in the evenings???  That I don't have to mentally beat myself up for dragging my ass home and hoping there's something in the fridge I can eat cold or nuke within a couple of minutes???
holy shit
Well, then.
And do you have any idea how nice it was to hear that I can quit being so damn tough on myself because I'm NOT fitting everything I want to in a day?
That maybe, perhaps, I can focus more on the weekends when I DO have time?
That I don't have to be Superwoman and fit things into my day that will actually take a toll on me instead of enrich the day?
Who the fuck knew?
I've been hardwired to do as much as I can in one day as humanly, or inhumanly, possible.  Sacrifice my health.  My sleep.  My own guilty pleasures.  Hell, I don't know if I even have guilty pleasures, anymore.  And since I'm having to type's doubtful.
But I'm not growing any younger.  In fact, I seem to be aging.
Would you believe that I found a wayward eyebrow sticking STRAIGHT OUT from the rest of my eyebrows?  Just sticking out like it was about to shish kebab something.  I was utterly aghast.
What the hell is that all about?  Before you know it I'll need to trim nose hairs and the like.
Before I get lost in all the ways I'm sure my body will betray me...
Life is not what you think it's going to be.
Plans are made and ruthlessly destroyed.  Timing is a nice thought but hardly ever works out.  Just when you think you've got a hold of it, you don't.
Trust me.
You don't.
So.  I've learned to adapt more.  I try to use what little time I have in the evenings to unwind.  Maybe catch up on the news.  Play a game on my Kindle to unwind.  But I'm turning the corner on the massive expectations I placed on my time-deprived self.
I will use what I have when I have it.
If that means jotting down notes on a story but not touching it until the weekend.  So be it.
Because this progress, as slow as I might find it, is at least PROGRESS.
So I'm going to wrap it up here.  Open up a couple of stories.  Write the stories that pour out of my soul.
And I'm going to be happy with it.  Because what joy can be found when stress squeezes the life from it?
I deserve that joy.
And so do you.

Wednesday, November 05, 2014

Forward Thinking

I don't much use this blog for anything political.  If you're my friend on FB, then you might see a few posts about elections and whatnot, but usually I simply move right along.
Not today, friends.
Not today.
I cannot, I WILL NOT, let this mid-term election debacle go without a word or two.

Republicans won back the Senate.
This state re-elected a Republican Governor who is the epitome of egocentricity.

What happens if your daughter is raped?  What happens if she becomes pregnant from the worst event of her life and won't be given the option to terminate the pregnancy?  And what happens if she lives in one of those GREAT states where the rapist gets visitation rights?
Do you fear for your daughter?  For your GRANDDAUGHTER???

Do you think your daughter should be paid as much as your son for the same job?  Do you realize that the numbers of single parent families are through the roof right now?  So your daughter working her ass off won't make as much to support your grandchild as your son?

Do you know how many households go to bed hungry each night because the minimum wage is far below what it needs to be?

Do you know what I see every day?
I see homeless people.  I see 18 year-old young adults who have to stay at the Salvation Army because they have NO PLACE left to go.  They have no skills and no transportation to acquire them.
I've had customers tell me that they were kicked out of  a friend's house where they were staying because there wasn't enough food for all of them.

Are you listening?


I've seen more pregnant teenagers than I care to count because this state teaches abstinence.  Yeah. That's really making an impact.


We send our kids to school every day not knowing if it will be their last.  I don't want to take your God damn guns.  I only want to make sure that some lunatic who doesn't need an assault rifle never gets one.


So now I'm living in a country that's so divided they can't even work together to better the lives of its citizens.

This great country?
Not so much.
Not if we cannot work together and quit using elections as pissing contests.


Wednesday, September 24, 2014

Don't Give Your Power Away

Don't give your power away.

To the takers who take take take. And the people who manipulate and wind around and wear you down and drain you deep. 

Don't give your power away.

To the leeches who suck you dry and come back again when you've built yourself up. And the people full of sweet words that drip poison if you don't do what they want.

Don't give your power away.

To the assholes who care nothing for you but everything about themselves. And the people who would leave you in a ditch unless you promised them something you don't even have yet.

Don't give your power away.

To the so-called friends who say one thing to your face and several others behind your back. And the people that agree with them and then turn around and agree with you.

Don't give your power away.

To the liars who say want you want to hear when you want to hear it. And the people who talk out of both sides of their mouths because they have no spine and no convictions.

Don't give your power away.

You walk tall. You give yourself love. You dismiss those that try and tear you down while not sinking to their level. You are proud. You are convinced. You know what you want and will not stop until you get it.

And, please...Don't give your power away.

Saturday, September 20, 2014


I'm talking about butt, rear, ass, etc.

JLo put out a music video that may or may not be called "Booty".  Honestly, I don't know the title.
Nor, honestly, do I care.

I watched the video partly because it has Iggy Azalea and partly because I hoped I would like JLo's more current releases.

I will never get those four minutes back.

The lyrics are meh at the best.
The video is trash.

Here's a few things JLo needs to realize:
1.  She is not Beyonce.  Nor will she ever BE Beyonce.  There is one Queen Bey.
2.  Rubbing and shaking your ass at 45 (no matter the shape of the ass) is pathetic.  Your youth ran screaming at the first slap.
3.  Trying for some homoerotic moves appeal to teenage boys.  If that's your only need to reevaluate life.
4.  The cut scenes aren't sexy.  They're nauseating and will more than likely cause a seizure.

Who sanctioned this shit?
Did no one have enough balls to tell her self-proclaimed highness this entire video sucked "booty"?
And Iggy!!!  I expected so much more.  So.  Much.  More.

There you have it.  Another video that completely ruined the song for me.  Not that I had high expectations, anyway.
But, seriously.


Sunday, July 20, 2014

Word Synchronicity

This post has been floating about in my head for a couple of weeks now.  Just now getting to it.

Something bothers me when I watch certain movies.  I noticed it a great deal in "Divergent".  Loved the book.  Movie was alright.  Read the book first.  That seriously helps.  If not, you'll be a bit lost.
But I digress.

Divergent is the anomaly.  Fair enough.  Our fair heroine, Tris, does not even hear the word spoken until she goes into testing to find her faction.  It's mentioned a few more times during the movie in a hushed whisper.
All good.
So far.
But then in one of the last scenes, everything previously building to a nice climax only for Tris to tell the evil villain that she's dIvergent.
Here's the problem.
Every time it was pronounced was a soft "i".  Divergent.  No prob.  And it's obviously not a word bandied about on a regular basis.
But what is this???
Tris pronounces it with a hard "i".  What the hell?
It's that moment that takes me completely out of the movie and smacks me with the realization that these are simply actors.  Shailene Woodley pronounces the word differently than the other actors.
Another example would be Gandalf in the beautiful Tolkien books.  Elijah Wood pronounced the "l" specifically in Gandalf's name.  I don't particularly recall anyone else in the movies doing so.  Most pronounce it "Gandoff" not "GandaLf".

These are little things.  I realize that.  But I also believe it takes away from the momentum AND the story.
You need synchronicity for anything to flow.
Hiccups in the story will take you right out of it and lessen the impact of whatever you're viewing at the time.

Big things are important.  Obviously.  But so are the little things.  They can make or break a story.
And sometimes those are the most important things of all.

Saturday, April 05, 2014


Never been scared shitless to write ANYTHING before.  Never.  Pretty damn fearless when it comes to the writing stuff.
But now that's changed a bit.  And I guess that's great.  Right?  Being terrified to write something?  I'm not frightened of "it" per se...I'm scared that I will not be able to give it everything I want it to have.
Crazy, huh?
Considering I'll be the ONLY ONE who will be able to do that.
Still fucking terrified.

I spoke at the Oklahoma Library Association this last Wednesday.  Man, I love speaking on panels about writing.
But when asked about the works I have in progress, I popped off immediately with about 10,000 words left in the C&S story.  A third of the way through my Paranormal Erotic story.  And then:
"Have you ever seen something so beautiful, you're afraid to touch it?"
That popped out of me.
And it was the perfect description of this book.
I am scared to death that I'll miss something important.  Or I will not give it all the attention it needs.

In my heart of hearts...I don't believe either of those.  I will sculpt the hell out of it until it's EXACTLY what I want.
But damn.

Daunting.  Good damn word for what this one is.  Because it's huge, my friends.  HUGE.

So I simply need to calm my ass down and let the words come.  They've not failed me before.  They won't fail me now.
Onwards and upwards.
I hope.


Sunday, March 23, 2014

I don't write porn

But I could.

I tend to get that a lot.  You write porn right?
Um,  no.  But thanks for asking.
I write romance.  Sub-genres of said romance could be Time Travel, Erotic, Contemporary, Paranormal, or Fantasy.
Erotica, in my opinion, is literary porn.
Erotic romance is explicit romance with non-PC terms for genitalia and sexual acts.  ROMANCE.
That neat little word there is an indicator of happily-ever-after (HEA).  Porn doesn't care about the HEA.
I do.

When I speak on panels, there are oftentimes questions such as the porn one.  I try to educate, but a lot of people have it stuck in their heads that any explicit romance is porn.  Maybe it is.  Who am I to judge?

Not all readers need a closed door during sexual acts.  Some enjoy reading the explicit.  Neither one is "wrong".
And that's the bottom line for me.
Read what you enjoy.
WRITE what you enjoy.

I may have one sex scene in a book.  I may have twelve sex scenes in a book.  I don't have a handy little diagram that tells me to "add sex scene" here.  And even if there was one, I would tear it up.
I let the story dictate to me the rhythm of the scenes.  Be that ANY scene.

So let's all quit slinging mud on things that aren't our cup of tea.
And roll those sex dice.