Thursday, April 28, 2016

More short stories

I tend to forget what a writing blitz I had with my short stories.  Found at least two more that I can publish after I look through them and add covers.
I had one each in seasonal offerings.  Then another Winter one.  Looked through my zip files to refresh my memory.

Weather didn't do much here the other day.  While I sometimes become increasingly agitated with local weathermen, they try to outdo each other daily, I am happy that we have some of the best radars and equipment available.  Now we're looking forward to a wet Friday.  Meteorologists in this state are bashed quite a bit with some in particular exposed to more venom than others.  They do, in fact, need to dial it down before they "cry wolf" one too many times.

Off tomorrow with boy child's first birthday Saturday.
Yes.  Caps. grandson.
I'm sure he'll be burnt around the edges from overstimulation by the end, but I'm sure he will enjoy the festivities.  Going to a local children's museum.  Since Little Man is walking now, it'll be interesting to see what he gravitates to.

I like to read cookbooks.  Read them like regular books.  I have simple tastes and often look for recipes that I can try at home.  Good luck with that.  More than half a dozen ingredients, and I will move on now matter how good it sounds.
Put "It's All Easy" on hold and received it at the library today.  Gwyneth Paltrow's offering.
Let me start by saying that I've read quite a few stories from and about her.  Most of it stating that she can't possibly understand what less affluent people need or want.
But this cookbook is kick-ass.

Just goes to show.  One man's bullshit is another man's fertilizer.

Wednesday, April 27, 2016

Not me

I've tried for a small eternity to pull a ponytail up and have that neat fishtail/fan look that women with straight hair have effortlessly.
Mine looks like a pig's tail.  Thanks curls.
I've tried for years to straighten my bangs so they look halfway decent when I get to work.
I have a nice cowlick right in the middle.  And let's hear it for Oklahoma humidity.  Looks like I've been in a sweatshop for three days.
I don't look cute when tired.  I give "resting bitch face" a whole new definition.
My fingernails grow out square.
My middle big toe is the longest.
I won't pretend to laugh if something isn't funny.
I have bags under my eyes that you could pack a whole family's wardrobe in.

I'm not Tigger.  I'm more Kanga without the cool pocket I can put shit in.

Why is any of this important?  There's a war out there about image.  What is "right" and what is "wrong".
How a person should act.  How they shouldn't.

But I don't give a flying fuck.

I'm forty-four years old.  I'm a mother of three and grandmother of one.  I've loved.  I've lost.  I've picked myself up and brushed myself off.  I've cried.  I've laughed.
There are days I simply struggle to make it through.
And I used to kick my own ass for this.  Why wasn't I doing more?  Surely I could add three or four more things to my waking hours to be more efficient?
What a slacker.

It's hard when you're conditioned to go and do and do and go until you drop.  I still kick myself every now and then for not doing "enough" in my opinion.

I used to work a twelve-hour shift from 7 pm to 7 am.  Pick up my kids from daycare at 11 am.  Take the Pre-K and Kindergarten babies to school and stay up with the baby to do it all over again.
I was freakin' Superwoman.
Now I drive an hour to work nine hours and drive an hour and a half back home.
Guess what?  I'm STILL fucking Superwoman.
And that won't change because of what I do or don't do.
I need to accept my limitations and learn to say "enough" even though I sometimes wonder if that's in my vocabulary.
So cut yourself some slack, my friend.
You do you.  Do what you can.  And quit kicking your own ass.  Your time and energy are better spent elsewhere.

Monday, April 25, 2016

A little personal responsibility

Twice within ten minutes, I encountered two people, one on the phone and one in front of me, that tried to convince me that they weren't responsible for damage/loss to our items.
The one on the phone said she was "sorry, I guess" because her dog destroyed our property.  But isn't it too bad that she can't use her card to get movies?  Yes, ma'am, it is.  Maybe the item should have been put up a bit higher out of reach of canine teeth.
Then another person right in front of me saying they have over $100 in bills since they were kicked out of someone's home and left our property there.  And now they can't access said items.  And what should they do?

Let me explain a little something.
When I screw something up, I'll be the first one to tell you.  I'll take the hit.  Because I'm the one that fucked it up.  No problem owning it.  Never have had.  Never will have.

I've done my best to teach the kids the same thing.  Honesty and accountability.  If they told me of a situation that they messed up and were in trouble, and THEY TOLD THE TRUTH, then I could work with that.
Lie to me?
You cut your own throat.
No time for that bullshit.
Thank you.  Goodbye.

I cannot fathom how adults are so quick to slither out of saying it was their fault.  When it obviously was.  What in the hell?
My fear being a new generation of human beings that think NOTHING is their fault.  Good God! I shudder to think.
I've seen this crap on FB and Twitter.  It's ridiculous.

Simple fact...if you've done it, then it IS your responsibility.
Own it.  Try to make it right.  Apologize.

Storm Season

It's that time again.
Spring in Oklahoma which translates to a good possibility of severe weather.

When I worked 12-hour shifts at the factory, the kids were in daycare.  Apparently there was a Tornado Warning one day when they were still there, and baby child was put in a closet for her safety.
That did not go over well.
I'm pretty sure I was the only Mom with a two-year old who could pick out Pottawatomie County on the map and read a radar.  I thought for the longest time she would be a meteorologist.  But her talents lie elsewhere.

They're predicting bad business tomorrow.  I think Central Oklahoma is 6 out of 10 for some major shit going down.  Long-track tornadoes, baseball size hail, and 80 mph winds.  Always a good time.
I've taken to sending my lovely adult children "MMU"'s.
These are "Mom Meteorological Update"s.  I do a group message with pertinent information about the weather.
One time, ONE TIME, I did not update everyone, and I caught hell for not notifying them.
Keep in mind that they all have phones.  And baby child actually has more weather apps than I do.
But I'm better for them than David Payne or Mike Morgan.
And, honestly, I feel better knowing that I've given them a heads-up on some potentially damaging weather.
Factor in to that I have a grandson now, and I guarantee I put the rest of the weather people to shame. Priorities, man.  Priorities.

We Oklahomans are a bit odd when it comes to weather.  Yes, we often are outside filming EF3's or 4's.  We want to ride it out and experience Mother Nature firsthand.
I remember watching a thunderstorm from our front porch one time, and the lightning struck maybe a 1/3 of a mile up the hill from the house on a light pole.
Scared the shit out of all of us.  And thank God I yanked the porch screen open so we could all flee back inside, or I'm sure we would have made one of those holes in it like a cartoon.
Good times.

Sunday, April 24, 2016

Wal-Mart will be the death of me

This is the second time in as many months that I've gone to ye olde neighborhood market and come back with a sore throat.
I am not a happy individual right now.

My right nostril has given up the ghost while my throat feels like razor blades are stuffed inside. What in the blue hell is this all about?

I'm religious about washing my hands and using sanitizer.  Yet, here I sit.  At my desk.  With a sore throat and a bad attitude.


Doing a bit of editing today.  Third book of the five series.  Now I need to go back and start jotting down more of the story.  I know we're not supposed to have favorites, but the mouthy redhead would have to be mine.  She's so audacious.  Non-apologetic.  Honest to a fault.
We're a bit over 16,000 words in, and I simply adore her.  Too bad things go a bit...awry.
Sorry, Megan!

Then I had the brilliant idea to look at some other titles and stories that I've either plotted out or actually written some down.  And the hard part is sticking to what I should be doing and not jaunting off to write on something else.  Like another Erotic Romance short story.  The work of Philosophical Fiction.  The long Erotic Paranormal.

I think the work week should be four days followed by a three day weekend.  I simply do not have the time to finish what I need to in 48 measly hours.  Yes, yes.  I know it SOUNDS like a lot, but it surely isn't.
Especially when it comes to the glorious writing.

Saturday, April 23, 2016


My weekend is usually split in two.  One day will be a day of running errands, cleaning up around the house, and basically running amok.
One day will be me planted in front of my computer working on the writing.
Guess which one I prefer?

Today is the running day.  My beloved Simba, Patron Saint of Foo Foo Kitties, has his annual vet appointment late morning.  He is a sheltered kitty.  Doesn't go outside.  Has a water fountain of his very own.  Things of this nature.
After losing my kitty family after the house fire, it took me years to be able to form a connection with another feline.  But now I have Sim.  And he's my heart.
I'm sure we'll both be scarred after the vet appt, but usually I'm forgiven in the early evening hours. And it's only once a year.  Thank God.  So I'll shove his little contrary booty in the carrier and cart him off to the doc.  Sim's my 18 poundish Wonder Kitty.  Add a large carrier onto that, and I'm calling cardio for the day.

Then we're off to the mall to get our rings checked.  Afterwards, I'm on my own for going and doing. Grocery run to stock up the larder.

Actually loaded up all my short stories on Amazon.  The Erotic Romance shorts are on my left sidebar.  I cannot even begin to tell you how much I love the cover for "Taking Pleasure".
It is AMAZING.  Probably need to check around on Amazon and work up a giveaway or two.  Also need to work on my Inman Books page on FB.

No rest for the wicked.
Or the multi-tasking chicklet known as me.

Friday, April 22, 2016

Love and loss

I'll miss Prince.  I'll miss the softspoken genius who defined so much of what it was to be your creative self no matter the cost.  I'll miss the talent and uniqueness that has now gone from this earth.

But I also found out that someone else passed yesterday.
Tim Johnson.

I doubt any of you know him.  But I had the privilege of working with him at Mobil/ExxonMobil many years ago.  I worked in slitting which takes a massive roll of film on a metal core and cuts it down to customer specs.  I don't recall how Tim lost his back-up.  I want to say that maybe she became pregnant.  So I was moved from the machine I was on to 138.  137 and 138 were Camerons. They were located in the back of slitting against the wall, side by side.  And they absolutely flew.

The first time I worked on 138, I was moving the giant roll of film off a rack and onto the machine.  I bumped the edge of the film against the end, and Tim said, "Don't do that again."
Bet money I didn't.

We worked for years together.  Twelve hour shifts.  From 7 am to 7 pm and back again.  Three on and three off.
And I loved the hell out of him.
He was the type of man who would take off his wedding ring at the start of shift and put it on a necklace around his neck.  Then he would take it off the chain at the end of the shift and put it back on his finger.
I heard about his two girls and one boy who played ball and did well in school, and I could see the pride written across his face.  He was a family man.  He was a good man.  I had seen him once not too long ago when he brought his younger daughter in for a library card.
The whole crew arrived.  Tim, his wife-Stacey, Lyndsey, and Dylan.  His oldest was probably at work.  He talked about how Lyndsey had been in an accident but was on the mend.  He told me he moved from slitting out to the warehouse.  He seemed happy.  And that's how I'll remember him.
I've not been around a lot of good men in my life, but Tim was one.  And I know that so many will miss him.  I'll miss him.  And the world will be a bit dimmer without him in it.

Thursday, April 21, 2016

Burning the candle at both ends

I run until I fall.
Never been a moderate person.  I'd like to think I had more sense when I was younger.  Now, I simply don't care.
If something needs to be done, then I'll do it.
Moving on.

The past two days, I've spent looking over three of my short stories to release.  I edited "Intervention" yesterday during lunch.  (Yes.  It had been edited, but I always go back through to see if I can tighten it up or maybe change the words around a bit.)  Pulled my photo from Shutterstock and designed the cover.  It's now on Amazon.
"Conjuring Cade" was today's editing piece.  It's been loaded on Amazon, and I'm waiting my 24 hours to gaze upon its wonderfulness.
Now I'm editing "A Warmer Than Usual Autumn".  But I don't like that name so I'll need to be figuring out something with a bit more appeal to me.

It makes me mentally tired.  Tack that onto my physically tired.  But I also feel ACCOMPLISHED.
And that's the feeling I love.  Yes.  My brain runs non-stop, and I spent all my downtime for three days working on short stories and publishing.
But the results?
So worth it.

By the time this weekend rolls around, I'll have three more short stories on Amazon.  They're all Erotic Romance, and that suits me fine.  There is one story which I honestly cannot decide whether I want to release or not.  I'll ponder that.  Also knowing I have a document full of titles I can pull from if I want to write some more short stories and pop them on Amazon, also.

I need an outlet for the creativity.  I may be nothing at the end of the day but a puddle of wax, but I rocked that shit.

Wednesday, April 20, 2016

Should have known better

Not only is this a Richard Marx song, hello 80's, but it was me last night.

I sleep with ear plugs and a visor over my eyes.  If I can see or hear any stimuli, I'm completely screwed.  My brain will latch onto it with the proverbial jaws of life and not let go.  So I tend to try to shut down everything.
Daredevil and I are just alike.
Other than me not being a fictional blind hero.  But other than that...EXACTLY alike.
Oh.  And I couldn't use his water tank bed because I'm claustrophobic and would stroke out.
But really...everything must be dark and quiet.

Silly me started thinking of the writing.  This is akin to opening the window a crack for a little breeze, and suddenly you're in a tornado.

I should've known better.
Because once I start, I cannot stop.

I'd lay my head down.  Mind wandered.  Thought came to me.  Picked up phone and jotted it in notes.
Five minutes later.  Repeat.
Two minutes later.  Repeat.
Two minutes later.  Repeat.

Somewhere been an hour and a half and two hours later, I finally nodded off.
This is better, however, than me literally hopping up out of bed to sit in front of the computer for an hour or so.  I've done that, also.

More good news is that I have lovely tag lines for four of the five book series.

I love this job.

My commute

They're doing construction on the highway I take to and from work.  That tacks another twenty minutes or so to my already hour drive.
This is basically what it's like every day:

Welcome to my morning commute.
1. If you're are going 45 mph and attempting to merge onto a highway that is going 65 mph, perhaps you don't realize you're totally screwing the 11 people behind you. I hate you. I realize "hate" is a strong word.
That's why I used it.
2. If you cut in front of me in your small car, barely missing my front bumper, because you couldn't wait 60 seconds for me to pass and get behind me, then proceed to drive slower than I was to begin've earned a spot in automotive hell. I've already booked you a room.
3. If you think that driving a large farm truck or semi grants you the right to drive like a bat out of hell, 20 mph over the speed limit, you, sir, are a douche.
4. If you move to the passing lane so you can pass a semi and then proceed to drive next to it for two miles, my disdain for you cannot be adequately put into words. But the words "fuck you" have a nice ring to them.
5. If you weave in and out of traffic without using your blinker/indicator/light that flashes on and off and tells people your intentions, turn in your license immediately and satisfy your idiocy playing Pole Position.
6. If you cut in front of me and slow down, I will ride your bumper like Seabiscuit. Saddle up, bitch.


Tuesday, April 19, 2016

Shutterstock Day 2

I'm trying all sorts of word combinations to find some usable pictures.  Sensual.  Intimate.  Couples.
I keep running into vagina face.  Attractive man.  That beard though...
I'm also seeing a LOT of submissive women.  Not about that life.  Certainly not what I'm looking for to use.
Then there's a naked chick holding an avocado behind her back.  Is this code for something?
Holy shit, there's a lot of ass.  Too much ass.
Or boobs.
For the love of God.

The pattern also holds for men are okay kissing men, but women cannot let their lips touch.  Pop a sucker in-between them.
*eye roll*

I'm having a hard time, haha, finding something I truly enjoy looking at and that I would welcome to represent my work.

Tan lines.  No.
Ass in air.  No.
Models so thin even France wouldn't let them walk the catwalk.  No.

I feel like Meghan Trainor right now.

Better luck later.
Maybe I'll put the cover aside for a couple of days and check through the stories again.


Monday, April 18, 2016

I'm incredibly picky

Realized that most of my short stories rights reverted back to me.  So I'll be finding some covers and releasing them on Amazon.
"Unbreak My Heart" was my first Amazon release solo under C'ann Inman.  I now have around half a dozen more that I'll put up.
But finding the right cover?
Oh.  Good.  Lord.
Trying Shutterstock first.  That's where I found my other cover.  And it was perfect.
Unfortunately, I've been through 106 pages thus far and found only around 7 images.
I don't like models staring at the camera.  I don't like a high cheese factor.  I don't need a pornographic cover, but I'd like something to convey sensuality without the fucktuality.
You know?
There is an incredibly attractive male model with lots of pictures to offer, but he has a beard.
I don't mind a beard.  Never have.  On some men, I actually prefer it.
But every time I see a picture of this guy, it looks like a vagina on his face.
On.  His.  Face.
I just...can't.
Some of the images are all cuddly.  That's great.  Cuddle.  After you screw each other's legs off.
Work with a woman!!!
These are Erotic Romance offerings.

It's like you have the photographic seven dwarfs:  Slutty, Stupid, Cheesy, Contrived, Hopeless, Idiotic, and Pained.
And if I see one more person blowing me a kiss, I'm going to lose my shit.

Puts my short ass in a foul mood.  I found one cover that will fit with one of the short stories.  That's the brilliant part.
But who, in their right mind, needs a woman holding a rose in front of her nipple?  Or, fuck my life, the duckface?  Then you can have the model hold her own boobs, or some guy can do it for her.

There is some weird shit out there, people.  Some damn weird shit.

Saturday, April 16, 2016

Family Ties

We watched Amy Schumer last night.  Yes.  She's beyond hilarious.  Like way on the other side of it. Her opening comic was alright.  But the first part of the show was actually her brother, Jason Stein, and his jazz trio.
Even I, who know quite a few words, have none to accurately describe his set.
Picture a grown man assaulting a bass clarinet.  I'm calling his instrument a victim because what he put it through was unholy.

I played clarinet all through jr. high and high school.  I loved it.  I loved band.  And I also love listening to live music.  So my hopes were pretty damn high when they came out.

I'd brought ear plugs because I tend to have sensory overload, and I knew the show would be loud. Mr. Stein hit the first note, and I nearly dropped my purse because I was fumbling around for the ear plugs.  Even when I jammed those bastards in so far they nearly touched, I was still subjected to the sound.

His embouchure was horrific.  That's how his mouth is set on the mouthpiece.  I've listened to purer notes coming from a high school student.  The low notes were splatted out with more spit than air.  The octave above wasn't bad, but there were many squeaks and this awful slurring like he didn't know whether he wanted to hit a high C or the one below it.

I completely understand Amy wanting to support her brother.  That's what family does.  That's what family SHOULD do, at any rate.
But having to sit through his set was auditory assault.  I literally felt pain.

So perhaps Mr. Stein can work on his chops.  Tighten things up, so to speak.  That would probably be a good idea.

And for those who are looking forward to Amy's upcoming appearances, God bless you.
Warning shot fired.

Friday, April 15, 2016

Wet Weekend

Sounds like a title for an Erotic Romance, doesn't it?

But it's actually describing the real possibility here in Oklahoma.  Saturday may be drizzly.  But it's supposed to give us 1"-4" starting Sunday and continuing through the first part of next week.

We're going to see Amy Schumer this evening.  Grab some dinner in Bricktown before.  Then drag our tired asses home and collapse into bed.
Saturday is writing/editing/playing with the words.
Sunday will be church and more playing with the words.

Then back to the day job.

I'd love to see what I could do with actual free time during the week.  I work 40 hours.  I commute nearly 14 hours.

Ever been on a writing jag?  I remember the first time I hit 7000 words in a day.  I felt hollowed out. Couldn't keep my eyes open.  Brain felt like jelly.  Could barely form a cohesive thought.
It was AMAZING!!!

I need that again.

Pondering writing short stories in my meager free time, in-between the novels, and self-publishing on Amazon.
I simply feel the need to utilize what I have, and there are not a lot of publishers interested in shorter stories.
But some stories are made to be smaller.  They're novel snippets.  Snapshots.  Not the whole photo album.
I'll think on this.
I'm not manic enough as it is.


My beloved grandson is walking now.  He'll be a year April 30th.
I remember the day he was born.  I remember holding him.  I remember the first time he smiled.  I remember the first time he held his bottle.  I remember the first time he crawled (that was to me, by the way).  I remember when he recognized his name.
His year has been filled with firsts, and I tuck them away in my heart for safekeeping.

Milestones are important.  They mark both beginnings and endings.
We tend to have a lot in our lives.

I'm absolutely horrid with dates.  It's an OCD numbers thing, I think.  But I remember experiences and feelings.

I remember the first time I had a piece of mine, a poem, picked for publication.  I remember being incredibly proud when my babies graduated from high school.  I remember their births.

It's funny.  I've had quite a few not-so-great things happen as well.  They tend to dim after time. While the good things continue to shine.

I only remember the blindingly sharp pain of childbirth if I specifically try to recall it. Otherwise, I skip right over it to when they little ones are in my arms.  I try not to remember my house burning to the ground and usually only do so if I smell smoke.  The pain of rejection or abuse fades into the background unless something crosses my mind as a reminder.

But all the milestones are there.  And they're each important.

We usually don't have beginnings unless we have endings.  I think we, as humans, tend to hold on to things that perhaps we should not hold onto as long as we do.  You can't grasp something else if your hand is already full.

While I'm not going to break out into "Let It Go" (a song, which I know all the words to even though my children are adults), I think it's appropriate to acknowledge  all milestones.

Appreciate your life for the ups and downs.  Dream big.  And if something doesn't fit you, or you've outgrown it...Let.  It.  Go.

Thursday, April 14, 2016

Subconscious writing

I don't outline my books.  I know the plot, premise, and characters.
And the title.  I won't start a project without a title.

But every once in awhile, I'll write a scene that fits in the story because it "clicks" with me.  And then later realize how important that scene really was.
Same thing with my five-book series.
A scene in the first book between two characters is pivotal to all five books now.
And I didn't realize that when I wrote it.
I did not.  Realize it.  When I wrote it.
True story.
At least consciously.

But as I puzzle out the books, I began to realize how that minor character and the interaction sets the stage for a much larger scene later on in the last book.

I've written up to the last twenty percent of books only to write a scene that ties back to a much earlier one.  And while I recognized it was a good scene, I didn't grasp the tie-in until I'd finished writing the second one.

Makes my toes curl.

I'm no Steven Moffat.  But who is?  That man can arc something for five years.

However, I find myself highly tickled when the words not only come, but they stitch themselves beautifully into the story and leave me feeling beyond satisfied.

Tuesday, April 12, 2016


I'm empathic.
Not so much that it's debilitating, but often enough that it makes me uncomfortable.

Sometimes people wonder why I'm not emotional for whatever reason.  Why I tamp down on it. Because crying gives me a headache, and I don't like being at the mercy of someone else's emotions.
It's exhausting.

I would like to think that it helps make me a better writer.  To have the ability to feel deeply the pain/fear/love of others.

Sometimes an event will trigger a memory for me, and I'll see it in my head.  Then I have to figure out if I've actually seen it or read it somewhere.  Because for me, it's incredibly vivid.  It did, for all intents and purposes, happen.

It's one of the reasons I don't watch Reality TV.  Living and dying by choices made and being wound up and all out of sorts is stressful.  I also don't care for the backhanded, back door bullshit that is prevalent.  It chips away at my spirit.

I read "A Hunger Artist" by Kafka decades ago.  Then I had the most horrific nightmare where one of my children and I were the ones in the cage.  It still haunts me.

I can avoid all the emotional rigamarole and only see three minutes of pure emotion, and I'm usually wrecked for the day.

Now.  Having established THAT...

...I'm a HUGE fan of "Bones".  I've explained how I missed it the first time 'round and now I'm glued to it on Netflix.
I felt SICK when Zack Addy was in the hospital, and there was that huge revelation about what transpired.  Now I haven't watched the show in probably a week because the next episode is one in which he guest stars.  But I'm not done with his previous episode!!!
It.  Hurts.
Then there was an episode about having to be a dog down, and I just can't.

I don't fancy myself a wuss.  I'm incredibly strong-willed and put together fairly well.  I'm intelligent and can easily separate fantasy from reality.
But when my emotions are all compromised, it does a number on me.

However, as a song lyric says, "I'd rather hurt than feel nothing at all."

Monday, April 11, 2016

I can't wait.

I'm not a student of the Batman Universe.  And I'm well with that.  I used to watch the show WAY back in the day.  Think Adam West.  Always fond of the Riddler.  Batman with Michael Keaton came out while I was in high school.  Loved him and Jack Nicholson in it.  Kim Basinger did a lot of screaming.  Not a fan.
And I've watched other reincarnations hit the big screen.  Some good.  Some horrid.  I've watched the cartoon which I think is exceptionally done.
But THIS facet of that universe?
Are you freakin' KIDDING ME???  I haven't been this excited since "Jurassic World" and "Guardians of the Galaxy" before that.
What a cast.  What a concept.
With humor and angst and shoot 'em ups.
I'm in Chrys Heaven.
I realize that some hardcore individuals are not happy with Leto as The Joker and Margot Robbie as Harley Quinn.
I think the proof will be in the pudding, my friends.
And I'm grabbing a big ol' spoon.

Sunday, April 10, 2016

Lesser of two evils

"Between two evils, I always pick the one I never tried before."~~Mae West~~

This reads like a motivational poster for the wicked and amoral.  But it also reads as an instructional booklet.

I tend to, ah, buck up against my boundaries.  I'm convinced it was because I was such a good child.  *grins*

I did what I was told.  I made good grades.  I was a nice person.  
And yet...shit still happened.
Bullying, of course.  Various forms of abuse.  Bad thoughts.  Stress.  Depression.
Evil incarnate.

But then I grew up.  And I made decisions on my own for myself and for my children when they arrived.  I've endeavored to show them how to be good people and help others.  Guess what?
Shit STILL happened.

The fucking nerve.

So now that I'm older and a bit wiser, I've come to the conclusion that most evil is relative.  I'm not talking about the hardcore shit violating the ten commandments and whatnot.  That's a hard line for me.  
I'm more talking about eating at the Cheesecake Factory when you're on a diet and not getting cheesecake.  It seems painfully obvious to me that sometimes you DO need to pick the evil you've never tried before.  
How else will you have new experiences and form new thoughts?  How will you come to appreciate the good for itself if you only choose it and have no comparison?  And, gasp, what if you LIKE the evil you've never tried before???

What would happen?

I think smiting is out.  That seems to be old school.  People may look down on you.  Then again, people will look down on you if you're not wearing the right clothes.  Fuck them, basically.  
What is the absolute WORST thing that could happen?  THE WORST???  
You regret your decision?  The person, food, clothing, or sport is not your cup of tea?
Look at you.  Adulting and stuff.

If no one, including you, is being hurt, then please explain to me the harm in your choice.  Would your mother lose her mind if she knew?  Maybe.  Would your father be incredibly disappointed?  Maybe.  
But they have their own skin.  Own thoughts.  Own choices.  Own life.

This is YOUR life.  Let me repeat:  YOUR.  LIFE.
You have the right to make good choices and bad choices.  You have the right to royally fuck up and then turn around and make the best decision you've ever made.  You have the right.  Period.

Those two "evils"?  You own those bitches. 
Embrace your life.  
And for God's the damn cheesecake.

Saturday, April 09, 2016

Every story is a love story

I said it.

I'm prone to tangents.  I untether my mind and let it wander about.  It's interesting.

When I say every story is a love story, I mean it.

Love of another.  Romance Happily-Ever After.
Love of an object/item.  More like idol worship.
Love of self.  Any self-help book on the shelf.
Absence of love.  Any non-fiction that tells of war/hate.
Love of violence.  True Crime stories.
Love of animals.  Rescue stories.
Love of the unknown.  Adventure stories.

No matter what book you pick up, there will be love or the absence of love.  The love will be twisted and possessive.  Or the love will be hidden and demure.
But there will be love.

It's a funny thing, love.  It's an intense feeling of deep affection.  And we all have that.  Though some of us don't have it for other beings, we have it for other things.  If we're lucky, then we have both.

I love words.  Absolutely love them.  I want to snatch them from a piece of paper and crush them in my hand and rub them into my skin.  I want to roll them around on my tongue and taste the bitter and the sweet.  I want to inhale them into my being and let them disperse in my soul.

Every story deserves to be told.  All of them.  Whether to instruct or deconstruct.  Positive or negative.  Learning or leaving.  The story, itself, stands.

But perspective.  Ah, she's another beast.

We bring our perspective to everything in our lives.  Our jobs and family.  Our relationships and interactions.  Nothing we say or do is objective, even if we try to be.

But if you do everything with love, that will shine through.  People may hate it.  But that's okay.  That's their perspective.  That is their experience.
And we should have enough faith in our offering that we are able to understand how it may not suit everyone.
Even on the most beautiful day, someone will say it's too hot/cold.
But you and I?
Let's enjoy it.  Let's, shall we say, love it.  Because anything written from the heart is a love story.

Thursday, April 07, 2016


Like lots of love.
Like the app has a precious place on my iPhone.

I have access to movies when they're fairly new.  And that's all well and good.  But the time? Spending two hours of precious time watching something that may be good or may make you want to pull your eyelashes out.
Not a fan.
Or being all hyped up about a certain movie only to have it suck ass from the get-go.  I'm talking to you (Green Lantern) Ryan Reynolds.  I did laugh my ass off during "Deadpool" so we may find a middle ground yet.

But IMDb feeds my story fetish in a timely manner.  I've taken to reading the synopsis of several movies.  One of the last ones I read was "The Revenant".  The only DiCaprio movie I've ever watched was "Inception".  And I enjoyed its confusing criss-cross.  Still unsure of the ending.  *shrug*  Even though the talented man won an Oscar for it, I knew I would not spend time watching the movie even though it sounded interesting.
So I read it.
And I'm good.
(Funny offshoot.  I started to call Leo the "talented YOUNG man".  Then I had to Google his age only to find out he's three measly years younger than myself.  It matters not.  He is so incredibly DYNAMIC.)

I can either spend two hours watching a movie, or I can IMDb it, spend three minutes reading the synopsis, and then move one with my life.
I love it.

And the movies that I'm looking forward to?  I couldn't tell you how many times I watched the "Guardians of the Galaxy" trailers before I saw it in the theater.  Right now I'm stuck on "Suicide Squad".  I can't wait.

I find it a more efficient use of my time.  When I read the story, I can picture it in my mind.  I don't need surround sound or a ten dollar bucket of popcorn.  I only need the written word and my imagination.
So I can spend that other one-hundred seventeen doing something I KNOW is productive.
Or, you know, watching more IMDb trailers.

Day off tomorrow

I'm so damn excited!!!

First of all, I will be able to sleep in.  Past five.  In the morning.  When it's dark outside.
Second of all, I believe I'll be dropping by Sprouts.  They're building one about a mile away from my house, but they have miles to go on that, and I'm digging their sale.
Third of all, I'm not going into the day job.  Nope.  Not happening.  Whatever cluster of debacle goes on tomorrow...I care not.

I'm nearly giddy.  I think the last time I had Friday off, I was sick.  That's not conducive to anything.  And while I'm sure the day will fly by as days off are wont to's still mine all mine.
*rubs hands together with glee*

Will work on writing and agents and editing and my literary world.  Working the day job Saturday so that day is shot.  Sunday will be...I DON'T KNOW YET!
And isn't it simply grand???

Just have to make it 'til five today.  Then go visit my sweet baby grandson.  Then an hour and twenty commute.  Then I will be home.
Oh, man.
Sometimes it IS the little things.

Wednesday, April 06, 2016

A bit eclectic

I like lots of things.
I rarely pop myself in one group because that's too confining.
As for music, I enjoy everything from Classical to Hard Rock.  Country to Soundtrack.  Opera to Jazz.  If it touches me, I really don't give two shits what "genre" it's classified.

I also utilize this in writing books.
Yes.  I write romance.  I LOVE romance.  It's been the backbone of my reading pleasure for more years than I care to admit.  I will admit, however, that I was a precocious child.
Things have not changed.

But with the romance, I like to spread out.  I've written Contemporary, Time Travel, Erotic, Paranormal, and Fantasy.
And now that I'm looking for an agent, I wonder if they're looking for someone who will stay in the niche that they've painted themselves in.

I'm currently working on a five-book series Fantasy Romance, an Erotic Paranormal, and a Philosophical Fiction.
One may look at these and think that they couldn't possibly have anything in common.
But they do.

I actually think several writers have a diversified view of their works.  And I've listened to local bestselling authors who are stepping AWAY from their bread and butter to check out the buffet.
I love that.
I believe that the more you listen to yourself and your own voice, that you simply cannot go wrong.

So if you've an idea for a multi-genre story or even a story with different elements than the norm...GO FOR IT.
It's never been done.
Until it is.

Friday, April 01, 2016

Trying to be Zen

Note the word "trying".

Zen, in my definition, is the attainment of enlightenment where the bullshit doesn't touch you.  I don't think Webster said that EXACTLY, but I'm paraphrasing.

I endeavor to be Zen.
But I find it incredibly difficult to try to embrace the peace and light while I have an hour to an hour and twenty minute commute every morning and late afternoon/early evening.
And thank you SO much, Oklahoma DOT or DPS or whoever the hell decided to resurface pieces of the highway I take to work and home one mile at a time stretching out over three months.
Kudos, you asshats.

But my issue does NOT lie with them.  (Totally random:  They are using like these flame thrower things on the concrete.  It is uber awesome.)
My issue lies with all the sorry ass hayseed mofos out there who do not use turn signals at all, who slam on brakes, and who think that speed limits are mere suggestions.
I loathe your being.

I work to bring a peace to myself in the morning when I arrive at the day job.  That lasts until a few certain people act like Godzilla to my mental township leaving anger and destruction in their wake.

I try to recenter myself in the afternoon, about halfway through my day, so that I may try to find some semblance of calmness in this hectic world.

It's hard.
And I don't mean "putting pantyhose" on hard.  I mean "the world spits on you" hard.

It seems like this world likes to smack us about and snicker.  And sometimes it's all I can do not to throw up my hands and scream "FUCK IT" as loud as I possibly can.
Now you know why I used the word "trying".

But I don't.

I take a deep breath.  I blow it out.  I think of my kids.  Or my grandson.  My Honey.  My writing.  I think of all the good that I have, and I realize that while I may never reach that Zen status, I'm not quite ready to yell "fuck it" quite yet.