Too pooped to pop

Something my Mom used to say when we were frazzled.  And I find it still holds true.  Yesterday was a busy lovely day of the foul-mouthed merc and Patty Wagon for dinner.
Then, instead of actually resting, I found myself awake more than asleep last night/this morning.
I'm so paying for it.

Editing my second book.  I stop at a spot where I'm adding a bridge scene to link two different scenes, and all I could think about was laying my head down on the bed in my office/The Sanctuary and sleeping for a couple of hours.
Not too mention I forgot an important couple of pieces of paper at the day job.
So that all greatly inhales.

I'm just so damn tired.

Instead of finishing the edit, I think I may watch a mindless movie or read a book.  I'd like to watch "Rogue Nation" again.  I own it.  Thanks, Honey.  Or I could read the latest Rainbow Rowell.  Or maybe I could watch "The Magicians" on-demand.  The Lev Grossman books are brilliant.

Yet here I sit.  Brain-dead and too tired to do much about it.  I don't want to lose two or three hours of my day sleeping.  But I don't know if I have the werewithal to do much of anything else.

Last Sunday I wrote 5000 words.  This Sunday?  I'll be lucky not to drool on myself with my eyes open.

Grins*

Whole New World

No.
Not going to break out into the classic "Aladdin" song.  Tempting, though it is.

I've been querying agents.  Necessary process when you want representation.  Not so necessary if you want to self-publish.  And while I don't write for financial gain, nice side effect, I need a broader audience to read my works.
Therefore, I require an agent.
When I truly began writing over a decade ago, I hadn't a clue what I was doing.  Now, with a little experience under my belt, I have a small semblance of a clue.  *grins*
I remember querying agents when I didn't have a book published and wanted representation.  It was...painful.  Some were outright rude.  I remember it well.
But as I query for my five-book series, I've found it's a different ball game.  I've received five rejection emails so far.  And that's fine.  I comfort myself with the fact that I haven't found a good fit yet, and then I pull up the sites that tell me J.K. Rowling was rejected in the double digits.
Here's the difference:  These rejection letters are basically NICE.
NICE REJECTION LETTERS
Who knew?
I think it has to do with the fact that the Internet is a hell of a record keeper.  Agents and agencies that were rude are being called out on sites.  There is no need to be cruel to make a point.  There's never been a need for that.  So now they are apologetic, for the most part, and you don't feel like you've been emotionally eviscerated.
It's quite refreshing.
I've also grown as an artist that I don't take it personally.  That's what a decade of writing will do to you.  It thickens your skin and hones your skill.  Sharpens your wit and gives you enough distance from your work that you don't feel kicked in the nuts when someone doesn't want said work.

I'll continue querying.  I'm not even through one of my tiers yet.  And I'll keep writing because me not writing is something no one wants to be around.

For those that are also querying agents and looking for a literary home, good luck to you.
Keep writing.
Keep querying.
And for goodness sake, don't take the rejections personally.
If your story is ready, it will find a home.
Grins*

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.
piffle

Do I have big plans?
BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
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?
Breathing?
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.
Grins*

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.

*******

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.
piffle

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.
Grins*

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.
heh

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.
Grins*

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 that...it'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 just...the...right...spot.  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.
********

Fifty Shades of...

...my 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.
Grins*

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.
*******

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.

*gasp*

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.

*******

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."
whoa
WHOA
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?
*blinks*
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 that...it'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.
*shuddering*
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.
*******

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?

NOT.  ENOUGH.  FOOD.

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

NOT.  ENOUGH.  EDUCATION.

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.

NOT.  ENOUGH.  REGULATIONS.

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.

ARE YOU LISTENING???
*******

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.
*******

Booty

Yes.
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 market...you 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.

Grins*

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.
Okay.
Here's the problem.
Every time it was pronounced previously...it 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.
*sigh*
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.
Grins*

Terrified

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.
Really???

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.

Grins*

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.
Grins*

Getting it right the first time

When I'm writing my lovely stories, I'm not a fan of the delete or backspace key.  I use them, but I use them sparingly since, to me, that's wasted time.
Editing at the end is different.  Snip here.  Change there.  We're not talking brain surgery here.  I'm not reinventing the wheel.
So imagine my disappointment, okay---pissed off at myselfness--when I realized that an entire scene from my current book is shit.
SHIT, I tell you!
What was I thinking?
Was I thinking at all?
Who wrote that drivel?
It doesn't even fit with the two characters.  Okay, ONE of the characters, but still!!!
WHAT HAVE I DONE???

*breathing*

I tried to fit the square peg in the round hole.  I do that on occasion just to make sure I still can.  But this???  This is wasted time.  This is squandering my precious writing time.  This is...unacceptable.
And I didn't get the click.
I should have known better.

So I'm going to open up my latest writing venture and do some surgery without anesthetic.
Take out the scene and write it as it should be written.
Because meeting my own approval is simply brutal, folks.

On a lighter note, I'm eating Easter peanut M&M's.
Life is good.

Grins*

Update:  Gutted the last third and made it work.  Damn bossy characters.

Cave Girl?

Please explain to me why the blue hell choosing food has become such a bitch.
After living on sausage balls for nearly a week, I decided...screw this.  So thought I'd do a bit of research and find some more nourishing noshing.
HA
And HA some more

Let's see.  Vegetarian/Vegan?  They suggest using tofu and soy.  But those are "processed".  So that goes against Paleo, right?
And no little cute cartons of egg whites as they are likewise processingarily compromised.
Oh, help me.
Paleo sounds okay, I guess.  I don't mind eating a bit cleaner.  And after looking it up, I'm a bit scared.  Not a fan of root vegetables or "rabbit food".
Now.  I like me a salad.  Don't get me wrong.  Don't care for croutons.  Not a big fan of meat up in there, either.
Simply clean eating?
Um, okay.  But that's a bit of a strict regimen, isn't it?  I'm  not saying I can't live WITHOUT an occasional breaded something.  I'm just saying I shouldn't have to.
Butter vs margarine?
Butter, in all its full fat glory, seems to be healthier than margarine.  Score one for me.  How about ghee?  Should we be purchasing that and using it?  Coconut oil?
*rubs forehead where a nice headache is forming*
And pasta?  I've tried the whole grain.  I...didn't care for it.  So I asked for and received a lovely little tool for Christmas where I can run it down my defenseless zucchini and make "zoodles".  Pretend pasta, if you will.  Still waiting on trying that.  Perhaps this weekend.
Also picked up some spaghetti squash.  Yes.  I love pasta.  But white processed stuff makes me tired.  That's indicative of an allergy, right?
Pass the water.  I think I'm safe there.
Grins*

Don't mind me

My life has a way of getting back on the right track whether I'm ready for it or not.  Mostly not, quite honestly.
When I was in the last relationship in a massive rut where neither of us was happy, but we just stuck it out...house fire.
Little extreme, I'll admit.  I mean, seriously.  Who wants to lose everything they own just to make a fresh start and new beginning?
Oh...and to add insult to injury--the ex and ex-best friend hooking up.  Really?  Wouldn't have been easier to drop a house on me or something?  I rather thought so at the time.
But look at me now.
I'm happy.  Imagine that.  I have a great job.  Great friends.  And I have someone who supports what I do no matter whether I'm immersed in the writing or not.  Brilliant.

Oklahoma has been doing its best impression of the arctic lately.  Icy slick roads.  Weather closings.  And wouldn't you know...my effing car decided to die.
DIE!
Battery was just like...eh.  I'm done here.  So my poor little Escape is frozen in my driveway.  Baby Chicken has been ferrying my ass to and fro.  Love that child.  But guess what?
I go home dragging ass most everyday of work.  My body has its own set of issues, and they tend to tug at me and wear me down.  Today, given no other option, I'm staying at work probably a couple hours past quitting time.
And I'll write.

My life and its situations have this way of snapping back to where I should be whether I realize/appreciate it or not.

Back when I was more of a control freak, yeah--I owned it, I would worry the hell out of myself that things had to be "just so."
Until I had to go to the doctor with severe stomach pains where they found a nice large ulcer.  Because I'm an overachiever even when I'm jacked up.
True story.

I've told friends and family that I sometimes don't catch subtleties and nuances.  I tend to be a bit thick when someone is not hitting me over the head with something.  Then there are those times, without trying, that I am so intuitive it's scary.

Bottom line is this...sometimes we miss the little signs on our road that say "turn here" or "slow down"...but we usually pay attention to the one that says "bridge out".

So I'll be happy with my lot.  I realize that even if I venture off my path, I'll be guided back whether with a nudge or slap.
Entirely up to me.
Grins*

OCD

Afternoon my lovelies.

Time to crank out a blog and then get to writing.

I've pondered over a question asked at the Author Panel I went to last Saturday.

How do I concentrate with OCD?  How do I shut everything else out and write?

Not easy.

First of all, I've been to a therapist/counselor.  I've not been properly diagnosed, but I'm most certainly OCD.

Sometimes it's worse than others.  Whether I have to check the lock my magic number of times or check my alarm the same number.

But thankfully, it doesn't rule my life.

Blocking out everything to write is difficult enough.  But it's a real bitch when I have to make sure that certain items are where they always are.  That I've done everything else that needs to be done.  When I have my water nearby and my ear buds in so I can concentrate ONLY on the story or stories.

This five-book series requires me to listen to my Writing playlist on iTunes which consists of beautiful music sans words or Enya-type or Celtic Woman songs.

Because it fills in the holes I need filled to work on the writing.

I need the background noise so that other things don't bother me.  My phone is on "Do Not Disturb".  I will give the death glare to any who bother me when I'm working in the zone.  And God forbid you interrupt.

While I'm a fairly nice person on any given day, I am a snarling bear woke from its hibernation when jacked with in the middle of a nice writing jag.

Ear buds in.  Writing on.  Woe to anyone who doesn't respect that.

And I mean WOE.

Food has been consumed.  Water sits to the left of my laptop.  iTunes is about to be fired up and put on repeat.

Shall we begin?

*******

To dream the impossible dream

It's scary, isn't it?
Putting yourself out there.  Leaving yourself open to criticism and unkind words.  Cutting yourself open and leaving bits of yourself exposed.
Terrifying is probably more appropriate.

I'm reminded of that ol' "sticks and stones" rhyme reiterating that physically we can be hurt, but words won't harm.
That would be a bunch of bullshit.

Ever been called stupid?  Worthless?  Ugly?  Fat?  Skinny?
Ever had something you've been beyond proud of decimated by words?
EVERYONE has.

Take that in.
Those who utter those words have probably had them thrown at them more than a few times.
And while there is no excuse for all that hatefulness...I tend to feel bad for them.
There lives must be miserable.

When I spoke yesterday at the Author Panel, it really hit home for me that there are a lot of people scared to put themselves out there.  They want to write, but they are scared, unsure, and fragile.

Some people will love your work.  Some people will hate it.  Some people will cherish it.  Some people wouldn't stop to wipe their ass with it.

So fucking what?
Seriously.
Think about that for a minute.
So what?

If you tamp down that part of you that wants to create, then you are EXISTING, my friends.  You are not living.  You are suffocating such a beautiful part of yourself out of FEAR.
And that's unacceptable.

Write that book.  Paint that picture.  Sculpt that statue.

LOVE your creativity and embrace it tightly.  And then set it free into the world.  Give it wings to fly and enough courage to stand on its own.
Not everyone has the strength.
But you're doing yourself a disservice if you're not even trying.

Grins*

Everybody has 24 hours

This is what I tell myself, anyway.
On those days where I struggle to dress, make it into work, go home, make dinner.  There are people out there who do more before nine than I do all day.
heh
No shit.
I don't have that in me.  Just saying.
But surely to God I can fit a bit more in than I usually do.

Started to try and fit in treadmill/walking time.  Then there's the writing.  I would love to be able to simply have the writing as the full-time job.  I have literary envy for those that can do that.
Taking care of groceries/paper products/bills.  Making sure every one has food, clothing, and shelter.
You know, the basics.
Then why do I feel like a rag someone has twisted tight?
On a daily basis?

Always thought I had my business on lock.  But lately there doesn't seem enough time to do all I want to do.
Which brings me back to that lovely "everybody has 24 hours".
Waking up earlier will not happen.  No one would be able to be near me.  A morning person...I'm not.
So that means squeezing time in during the day job on breaks and lunch.  And also going home after feeling like someone worked me over with a ballpeen hammer and wringing the last bit of intelligence from my gray matter.
Ouch
Really?
These are the options?
They suck.

But adjustments need to be made.  They say 21 days until you make something a habit.  I guess if I don't end up in a padded room, it may work.
This ought to be...interesting.
Grins*  

Author Panel at Newcastle Public Library

I have the honor of speaking at an Author Panel this Saturday, November 2nd, at the Newcastle Public Library.
Here's the release:
****

The Newcastle Public Library has a wealth of writing knowledge coming into its doors, with six local authors taking part in an Author Discussion Panel at 1 p.m. Saturday Nov. 2, at the library, 705 NW 10^th St.

Panelists for the event will be Darleen Bailey Beard, Caitlin Hensley, Crystal Inman, Merline Lovelace, Linda McDonald, and Mel Odom. They will discuss their careers, the books they’ve written and writing in general. Members of the panel have dozens of published books, including more than 140 alone by Odom.

****

I've been on Author Panels with Merline Lovelace and Mel Odom.  They are always a good time.

So if you're out and about and looking for something fun to do next Saturday, please come by and see us!

Grins*

Turning over a new leaf

Actually, at this point I will require a leafblower, but let's not split hairs, k?
It's rather easy to not do anything.  Most days I'm on autopilot in the morning getting ready for work.  I swear to you that I have no recollection of washing my hair as I'm straightening my wayward bangs.
Autopilot can be great.
Or it can be total bullshit.
I'm leaning toward the latter.
Because sometimes you have to CLAIM those minutes/hours.  Which is not the easiest thing when the day job decides to totally stress you out and monopolize and inhale everything it can.
Selfish shit.
It's like sleeping with someone who is a cover hog whether it be a significant other or animal.  Sometimes it's just easier to shrug and freeze under your sheet.
But really...what kind of favor is that?
None to yourself.
Shrug off the martyr mantle.
Damn it all to hell...you deserve covers, too!
*pulling myself back from my tangent*
AHEM
To continue...time is fleeting.  And the older I am, the more I realize that little factoid.  It'll pass whether you're productive with it or not.
Minutes are extremely apathetic to the human condition.
tick tick tick tick tick

While I have a bit over 40,000 words on book one of my five-book series, I feel the need to write something else.  The other book is not on the back burner so much as occupying another closet in my mind that the door is cracked.  I'm sure I'll go in and wander about when taking breaks from the other work.
But this new piece is different.
And we all need that every now and again, don't we?
Grins*

Buzz Buzz

No, sorry.
This blog post is not about vibrators.  Some of you may want to switch pages now.

In almost every facet of every job you have "buzz" words.  And most you will hear so often that you want to choke the everloving shit out of anyone that dare utters one or more.
And I get that.
But I'm about to throw one out there.
High concept.

That's what every movie/book/song hopes to achieve in some way, shape, or form.
Original and unique with mass audience appeal.

But with this idea comes...wait for it...a lot of pressure.  Loads of pressure.  Sleepless nights.  Days monopolized with fictional issues.  Dialogue.  Plot.  Characters.  It's a LOT.
And I'm so excited!!!
Nervous as hell.  Bursting with anticipation.
While my daughters are the children of my body, these books are the children of my mind.
This latest one is pushing on me, but I'm not quite ready to begin the process of putting it on paper.  Still fleshing it out, so to speak.

Send good thoughts.  I'll be living in my mind more than usual for awhile.
*grins*

Frenetic

That's how I feel most days.  Rushing here and there.  Working at the day job.  Working at the house.  Making sure my kids have what they need.  Having a relationship going on four years.
I'm...busy.
But isn't everyone anymore?
Seems like.

The only time I truly think about my writing and stories and ideas and whatnot is right before I go to sleep.
Not exactly a lullaby, you know?
But I guess it's not only then.  Anytime I'm not occupied with life in general and can take a minute to let my mind wander...it does.
Back to the writing.  To the stories.  To the voices in my head.

But you know what really sucks?
I only let them put a foot in the door.  There is only one time in my life I've let them bust the door wide open and accepted all of it on a day-to-day basis.  And I wasn't working 40 hours a week then.  I'd write 4000 words easily per day up to 7000 on my most prolific.
I immersed myself in them.  And it was glorious.

Balance is not easy.  And I'm not much of a balanced individual.  (Hush, people)
I run till I fall.  Balls to the wall.  Throwing myself into whatever it is that I'm in.

I HAVE to make room for the stories.  Because right now I feel lopsided and out-of-sorts.
Nothing more satisfactory to me than writing.  Nothing feeds my soul like the words.
I need to get past the feeling that I'm being selfish with my time.  How does one do that?
Definitively, one would guess.

And what do I want to work on?
Well, then.
First book in a five book series.  And a few others in the series.
Erotic Paranormal.
Short romance.

Wish me luck.

I'm cranky

Most of you will stop reading right there.
*grins*

There's nothing more upsetting than being subjected to selfishness all day long while other people hop and skip through life like they deserve anything and everything.  Just bend and flex around them because their needs are SO much more important than others.
No...they're not.
I wish someone would explain that to the egocentric individuals.

Everything seems to be in flux, as of late.  It's so damn hot here that I come to work sweating and go home the same way.

I need a vacation.
No.  Seriously.

The many stressors in and around my life are distracting.  I'm tired of being distracted.  But it seems as soon as I shore up my defenses and get some perspective...something else happens.
That seems to be my motto as of late...and then "something else happens".
How incredibly rude.

I would love to have the occupational freedom to take a chunk of time off to hole up in a hotel somewhere, with Simba the Wonder Kitty, and write.  Write until my brain oozes out of my ear, and I'm so exhausted that I crumple unconscious on the bed every evening.

I need a writing purge.  And some Crystal time. 
I don't see either happening anytime soon.
Hell, most days I'd take a candy bar and five minutes to myself.
My needs are so small, people.
hahahahahaha

But I'll persevere.  I'll shelve this annoying shit and get a grip.  Rock on with myself and the writing.  While it's never a smooth road...it's my road...and I'm going on an adventure.

Grins*

Writers need professional help

I went to a meeting Wednesday with a lot of managers in it.  People stood and talked about conferences they went to and new ideas to implement.
One woman stood and talked about seeing an author panel and how the authors went on about "how hard it is to write" "how difficult it is to be published" so on and so forth.
Everyone laughed.
I did, too.
But how funny is that?  Really?

I've been on at least half a dozen author panels.  I've attended at least that many as part of the audience.
It never fails that some author(s) bring these facts up.  Every time.
Because, let's face it.
Writing is fucking hard.

If you've simply enjoyed the finished product, congrats.  The level of blood, sweat, tears, curse words, time, sacrifice and difficulty mean nothing to you.
Along with...why the hell do I have to wait so long for another book from this author???

To a writer...it's a birth.
It's sending a child out into the world walking ten miles uphill both ways.  It's literally taking nothing and shaping it into a beautiful story that will be hated and adored, loved and loathed, by readers who know nothing of you and your struggles.
You will be judged simply by your offering to the literary world.

Writers are odd creatures.  If a writer seems to be normal, believe me, they are simply pretending.  We see things others do not.  We feel things others refuse to feel.  There is a deep and abiding psychosis waiting to suck us in and have its way with us.
And we love it.
Have you ever felt pleasure so keen it's pain?
It's a glorious torture.

Writing is masochism at its best.  Cranking out a story that has been tumbling about in your head for months is neither easy nor fun.  Even when you're finished with the story, there is more to be done.  There are worries that invade even the happy thoughts of publishing.

Only a writer will understand another writer.  Nothing against readers or doctors or lawyers or mechanics or any other profession.  I adore you all.
But unless you've been kept up by stories and voices in your head and dialogue and characters...you're not quite sure why writers bitch and moan about words.
For the love of God...they're just WORDS!

But what I do with the words is my secret.  My skill.  My love.  My passion.  My voice.
I can make you weep with me and laugh aloud.  I can make you scared and excited.  I can weave the words into a story that will transport you from wherever you are into my world.  The world I created.
And for that period of time you read my words...you're mine.  All mine.

There is simply nothing better.

So before we lump writers into a needy profession that loves the sound of their own voice, postures for approval from the masses, and needs attention to function...realize this:
My pleasure comes not from book sales or author panels or good reviews.  It comes from the simple art of putting down words in such a way that a story is born and flourishes and lives.

That's why I write.  The simple truth stems from the reality that I have to.  That something in me that needs writing as I need air to breathe.  For when I don't write...I suffocate.  Parts of me atrophy and wither from lack of attention.
It's a slow death.

This morning I'm off to the writing cave to work on at least one story, perhaps two.  I'll put my ear buds in and listen to my "writing" playlist I made in iTunes while gingerly stepping and finding my way again.
Yes.  I'll curse and step back and close my eyes and do everything in my power to tap out words that I love and can't live without it.  I'll mutter under my breath and talk to myself and sweat and motion with my hands and be off planet for awhile.

But what a trip.

Grins*

Everything has a season

Hello all!

Half the year is over, and here I am.  Realizing that the last story I submitted was July last year.  And shame on me for not keeping up in the meantime.
There are excuses, of course.  In no particular order:
Two daughters graduating
Two daughters getting their license
One daughter taking off for another state
That daughter coming back
Two daughters coming and going
Painting the house
Migraines
Health issues
Expensive car issues
Meeting in-laws
Grandson birthday
Other grandson birthday in July

But these are just THINGS.  Roadblocks, yes.  Pains in the ass...OMG...YES!  But in the still of the night when I try to unwind, I see my stories.  I feel them.  I can taste them.
Same five-book series in progress.  One erotic romance that I really do love and can't wait to get into a bit more.  Maybe 10,000 in on that one?
I miss the words.  I miss the immersion.  I miss becoming pissed off at the characters and glaring at them through my computer screen.

So what am I going to do about this?  I have a short week next week with the holiday.  Closed for business Thursday, and I took off Friday.  I think it's time to quit letting all these external forces sit on my chest and beat at me with closed fists.

I ran into a dear friend yesterday at Wal-Mart.  He writes horror stories.  Always been a storyteller, even when we were young teens.  And the joy I felt in speaking with him, with another writer, lingers in me still.

I'm never fully anything until I let that part of me breathe.  So I'll try and wake the creativity from its hibernation and make nice.  Apologize and see if we can hold hands and be friends again.
Because I can't live without it.

Chrys*

Back to work

Yep.  Time to reacquaint myself with the day job.  I've gotten used to, and enjoyed, working two days and off five.
But also back to work with the writing.  Jotted down more ideas for a single title that has me excited.
My problem is not coming up with high concept ideas.  Oh no.  My problem is carving out the time in my busy day to implement them.

Doc appt this morning.  Then off to the day job.  Need to work the treadmill in there somewhere.  Plotting and planning.

I find that if I don't do the most modest of planning...that it will be 9:30 at night, and I'm ready to lay my  head down with absolutely none of my plans implemented.

Better use of time.

But my big 2013 goal/resolution/idea?
Flexibility.  Physically and mentally.
We'll see how that pans out.
Grins*

The last of the last of the last

I've already stated my extreme dislike of 2012.
So let's move on, shall we?

2013.
Hello, gorgeous.
What are we going to do for each other?

Several years ago, I believe I jotted down goals of a sort.  Things I wanted to do, perhaps.  Some things to accomplish.
So we're giving that another go because I do better with all that business written down.
Let's see.

Need to work on the writing.  Have you ever had an idea for a book...sat on it for too long...and someone else wrote the story?
Third level of hell.  Hate that.  Need to pop on it and make writing a priority.  I don't know whether I would do better making myself write ever so often or penciling it in or what.  But writing?  Yes.  Need to pay attention more to that mistress.

Children.
Sweet Jesus.
I'm going to have to let them make their own mistakes.  This one's a killer.  No.  Really.  I've never been a helicopter parent, but I've always been there for them.  Now I'm going to have to pick and choose the situations for my sanity.
Two are literally adults.  So why can't I get the feeling that they're still "little" out of my head???
Work in progress.
oye

Working it.
My day job.
I will continue to give my all at work but discontinue to bring that crap home with me.  So what if the MB doesn't work?  What can I do?  Wave a magic wand?
I can only do what I can do.  I need to retire my occupational cape.  Dreams about the day job?  I'm really over that.  Unless they are warm fuzzy ones.
More often than not...they are nothing of the sort.

Physically.
My body has had one HELL of a year.  Two, three (?) trips to the ER.  Unbelievable pain in my back/legs/hips.
I'm rather done with it.
That translates into taking better care of myself.  Do you know that the other night was the first time I went to the grocery store and only bought one apple?  Two zucchini?
I'm used to buying in bulk and cooking in bulk.  Don't need to do that now.  Waiting for that to sink in.
Not going to lie.  I loved it.

Mentally.
I know that there are some of you out there who are your own worst critic.  Your standard for yourself is far and beyond any that anyone else could/would set.
Welcome to the club.
This has a place in your life.  But it should not occupy the "be all--end all" spot.  You can make yourself literally sick with this crap.  Fretting and figuring.  Sucking up precious time with crap that is so not worth it.
I've started letting more things roll off me this year.  I hope to continue that next year.
Or you'll find me in the nearest padded room counting the creases in the wall.

Why do we wait for the turn of a year before doing things that need to be done?  Is it so imperative to have that clean break where one year ends and another starts?
Perhaps.  Perhaps it is.
All I know is that 2013 will be better.
Because I will do better and be better.

Hope you and yours have a New Year filled with joy and laughter and moments that make you look back years later and hold them to your heart.

Crystal*

Good riddance, 2012

I'm ready to see the backside of 2012.  The view of the front and middle certainly sucked ass.
While this year had a few highlights...it mainly blew.
I won't miss this year.  I'll likely try and forget it.  And while there are probably some that say "it's what you make it"...I can only fight an uphill battle for so many months.
So.
2013
Will you be my darling?
Do you think we could possibly start out on the right foot?  Dance cheek-to-cheek?  Pursue mutual goals?
I'll try harder.  You try not to trip me every step.  Things like that?
Because I honestly can't take another year like this one.  I've already warned the family.
Things must change.  I have a plan in place.
Now...if only everyone else hopped on board.
Because that's part of my problem.
Doing it by myself.  I've had to do it so long by myself that it is just natural for me to run myself into the ground while telling myself I can do it.
HA!
Reality check.  I shouldn't have to.  I have three "adult" daughters for all intents and purposes.  They are quite capable of pitching in and helping.  Now...if they would.  There's the rub.
They, like I, have become used to Mom doing it all.
Not so much.  Not anymore.  Not this year.

So I wish you and yours a sincere Merry Christmas and Happy New Year.
I hope to be back in 2013 a bit wiser, a bit calmer, and a bit happier.
Crystal*

Hermit

This year has sucked ass.  Let's not sugarcoat this bullshit. 
It's been year of financial hell, personal tribulations, and health issues.
I'm sick of it.
In more ways than one.

But wait!
What if I could just take my little cheeks away somewhere?  Somewhere with wi-fi and a view?  With no expectation from others about what I should be doing and who I should be doing it with???
Grab my laptop and Simba (you knew damn good and well I would be taking boy child with)...and boogie like my ass is on fire.

What would that be like?  Just a woman and her feline on the run? 

I'd come back...eventually.

I've simply come to the point where all the external shit is fucking with my internal voices.  To say I loathe it would not be giving it the full attention nor gravity it so richly deserves.

I'm exhausted.  And I know damn good and well that none of this will simmer the hell down until perhaps next year.  Perhaps.
And if it doesn't?

Watch out for the crazy woman in the blue Escape with her orange feline riding shotgun headed off into the sunset.
She needs a break.

*******

I've come to realize...

...I really DO need a writing cave.  (With a nice desk and all the office supply goodies it can hold)
...Motherhood is just a migraine waiting to happen.
...I can take or leave people
...I have music in my soul.  And, thank God, on my iPod.
...what I THINK I know is subject to change.  Repeatedly.  On an hour-by-hour basis.
...mean people still suck.
...no one lives forever.
...the voices in my head keep me company.
...one small decision can change your life.
...sometimes a smile and a nod is better than opening your mouth.
..."clever" to me is foreplay.  Self-confidence is sexy.
...my movie popcorn must have butter.
...sleeping with my cat, who wants to hatch my head like an egg, makes me happy.
...hearing my children laugh lifts my mood.
...there is nothing better on a cold Sunday than a warm roast.
...losing myself in a good book is a gift. 
...judging someone by their differences and accepting them because of their similarities is fucking stupid.
...cranberry grape juice is delectable.
...if you have my attention, use it wisely.
...I'm the person who, if locked up with crayons, would be scribbling all over the walls and probably perfectly content to do so.
...that listening is a lost art.
...my creative side doesn't need a leash.  It needs free reign.
...happiness is not a guarantee. 
*******

 

Blogger hates me

I know, I know!!! 
I've been bloggerly remiss.  Beat me with the nearest font, and be done with it.  It's been MONTHS since I've posted.
And you have no idea how long it took me even to get ONTO my blog today.
o.O
I thought it was being held hostage.  I really did.
But ALAS!!!  Here I be.  Ready to take this bitch by the horns and make it surrender to my bidding.
BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
I'm so shamelesss.
And this stupid little message keeps popping up.  Um, I should probably publish this before Blogger sucks it into a time void or something.
In shortest terms...I'M BACK!!!
Grins*

Time is of the essence

Time is a squirrely thing. Sometimes it flies by. Sometimes it crawls. But I've found this one thing to be true: If I don't make time for myself, no one else will bother to.
And I'm not being hateful. I'm simply throwing out a few hard truths. Just because you're free, doesn't mean I am. Just because it's convenient for you, doesn't mean it's convenient for me.
And I've found, as the stress and pressure from both personal and professional life intrudes, that I NEED time for myself.
Call me selfish. But don't call me.
I try my best to respect others and their time. I've gotten better, especially with the girls. I've come to realize when a good time to talk is vs. fighting them to pay attention to what I'm saying.
Everyone is different. Time in a bottle is just a song, folks. You can't save Jack.
So I'll continue to call timeouts for myself and hope that others understand that I'm not being rude nor selfish. I'm being self-preserving.
Gone are the days when I empty myself out for others. When I give until I collapse.
So let's be grateful for the time we have instead of trying to push and push and push to fit something into a mold it won't fit nor wants to be.
Time is flexible.
Grins*

Herd of cats

I would rather raise a herd of cats than teenage daughters. Cats have no vocal cords to whine about phone bills needing to be paid. Cats do not wear underwear and therefore do not need bras and panties and socks. Cats do not have opposable thumbs and so they are not texting God knows who about God knows what and thinking that anyone and everyone on the other side of the phone is a "friend." When cats attack you, they come full frontal force with ears back and claws unsheathed. (Except Simba who sometimes prefers a rear assault) Cats do NOT talk shit about you behind your back and then expect something from you. Cats are happy with food, water, an occasional treat and a nice litterbox. They do not have a list longer than my arm which includes pricey shoes that will be worn exactly once. Once again...cats roll naked--except maybe a collar. Cats are happy to see people, and if they're not--then you know it. Purring=good. Ears flat to head=get to steppin'.
So in the midst of this clusterfuck with my three (COUNT THEM---THREE) teenage daughters...I shall kiss my precious little Simba and thank God I had his pom poms snipped so he's not a hormonal asshat, too.
Grins*

2012--More or Less

There's really only two ways about it. More or less.
On the more side:
write more
publish more
focus on myself more
rest more
On the less side:
stress less
worry about others less
It would seem rather simple now, wouldn't it?
I miss writing. I miss it like an ache in my chest. Between working the day job and going and doing and seeing and taking care of others here there and everywhere...I don't do it nearly enough.
The writing is like a forgotten gift. Sitting in its shiny red box gathering dust while I zip all around it making sure everything else is taken care of.
I hate it.
I hate not being able to push everything ELSE to the side while I settle into a chair somewhere with my laptop, the voices in my head, and my "writing" playlist on iTunes.
There are so many expectations now, aren't there? Things we're expected to do. And God forbid those things are pushed to the peripheral while we take a moment.
I want to be a wee bit selfish. *grins* I want to clasp my laptop to my chest like Gollum with his precious and slink off to somewhere...ANYWHERE...I won't be bothered.
What do you want? What do you need that has been pushed to the side???
Grins*

Mixed Bag

You know, I don't even have it in me to check and see when the last time is that I posted. It's been that kind of year.
But the holidays, for the most part, are over. Now it's time to gear up for another year. Another start. And I hope to God...something a little more even-keeled.
2010 sucked on the whole. I had hoped 2011 would be somewhat better. Silly, silly me. That's not to say it was all bad. It certainly wasn't.
While my day job was extremely stressful with database changes and my major concern being a pain in the ass on a daily basis...I feel a great deal of accomplishment with that.
My books continue to sell extremely well with Warrior and the Sparrow being the #1 bestseller for this month at my publisher, Whiskey Creek Press. What He Wants never slows down, and Elemental Guardians are still zipping right along.
But personally? I lost my step-grandpa who was my grandpa for over thirty years in April. I lost my Dad's Mom in October. And early December, the girls' dad passed away.
I've battled depression this year with stress from seemingly every angle including my work/my children/and my writing.
I am having a hard time finding my footing, it would seem, though I feel more balanced right now than I have in quite some time.
I still have books to write--a five-book series that I am UBER excited about--among the top of the list.
So while I've been gone from this blog for an unacceptable amount of time, I endeavor to do better for 2012.
My best to you and yours,
Crystal*

Too annoying to live

We have this nice acronym in romance novels that is TSTL. You know, where the heroine is Too Stupid To Live.
Well, I've run across a different type of heroine this past few days. TATL--Too ANNOYING To Live.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not some heroine purist where she has to fit into a certain mold in order for me to pay attention and like her story. Not at all. It's the idiosyncrasies that make her different and stand out. I'm all over that. I am not, however, forgiving with some female that waits for her hero to shield her and whatnot.
*gag*
You are the HEROINE of the story for the love of God. You are expected to at least shoulder some of the storyline. Don't stand there and wring your hands and bemoan your fate. Get a set!!! Make shit happen.
I read a book a few days ago by a popular author that almost made me flinch in some parts. It was a showstopper, folks. I had to shake off my dislike and forge through the fluff. It was to cleanse my literary palate, so to speak.
I had read halfway through Jaycee Dugard's book "A Stolen Life" and needed to give my heart and mind a respite. Powerful touching story that I simply couldn't read in one sitting. But I digress.
I needed fluff. And I don't mind fluff. I DO mind fluff that is annoying. But I soldiered on and finished the damn thing. Just so I could blog and bash it. LOL
Not really, I was rather hoping it evolved and grew and became better. Not so much. It plodded along with wringing hands and an annoying "climax" where everything resolved itself in roughly three paragraphs. *sigh*
My opinion on characters: Make them memorable. Make them human. And by God, make them strong. And I don't mean strong as in a ballbuster or some Alpha male that readers want to castrate...I mean strong as in frame of mind and purpose.
And for the love of all that's good, don't make characters TATL!!!
Grins*

My boobs are photogenic

Who knew?
I went yesterday afternoon for my first mammogram. Yes. I'm knocking on forty, but I don't think about this until:
1. My children remind me
2. My doctor reminds me
The last time I went to the doc we had SO much fun that she decided to share the love even more and book me for a mammogram.
I was highly nervous. These are my boobs. Being squished between two items while the rest of me is supposed to "relax." And my doc is so cute that after telling me she would have her secretary make me an appt for said mammogram that she made a reference to freezing two dictionaries and placing my breast between them. One of us was more amused than the other.
Let's get this straight. I have not had a mammogram conversation with anyone. If my friends have had one (besides you, C) then I haven't been privy to that. My mother? Are you kidding me? I thought I was the second Immaculate Conception for the longest time. But I digress.
This was unknown territory. And no one gave me a map, a compass, or a freakin' granola bar.
So it was with much trepidation that I left work early and drove to the clinic. Nervous habit had me powdering my face so I would not blind the nurse. Then I realized she could give a flying fuck about anything above my neck. I put the powder away.
I walked up to the clinic and to the check-in counter that was open. The secretary and I joked a bit, and then she gave me directions to Mammography Central. I thought I'd stop in at the restroom first.
On a sidenote: You. Selfish bitch who was blowing up the hospital restroom WHILE on your cell phone??? I loathe you.
Back to my story.
I wash my hands, cursing under my breath, then exit the restroom.
The clinic has a nice redesign. In fact, I was wondering if Mary Kay or Avon got into the boob squishing business. Everything was all lovely and pink and rosy and whatnot. I dialed down my gag reflex and approached the petite chickie behind the computer. Perky would be an understatement, but she was sweet. Kind of like a brunette Tinkerbell. I hatefully wondered if she was a patient as well as an employee. And if that smile stayed on her face while checking out the facilities.
I signed in and sat down. I'm way out of my demographic at this point which I found odd. Everyone in the other seats, only a handful, were at least a couple of decades older than I. Pixie came over and handed me a clipboard with a small section of questions I needed to answer. I always find these amusing. I answered the ten or so and then handed it back. She assured me it wouldn't be too long. Assured. Ha.
Then a nurse with short brown hair called my name. After digging my fingernails from my chair, I follow her into another room that looked more like a long hallway. She shuts the door and gives me the instructions.
Everything from the waist down can stay on. So much for my sexy underwear choice of the day. Everything from the waist up has to come off. Then take the folded up piece of cloth on the chair and tie it under my chin and around my neck. There were antiseptic wipes I could clean the girls off with. And when I was ready...I could follow her through the next door.
So I strip down, tidy up, and then pick the piece of cotton up off the chair.
Two things: The cloth was SOFT, and I loved it. And after I tied it under my chin, I was wearing a cape. I'm sure not everyone wanted to be Wonder Woman, but I was digging it.
Sure, my boobs were barely tucked beneath the cotton. But I had a freakin' CAPE! I strongly resisted the urge to put my arms out and do a couple of fly-bys in my undressing hallway.
I turned the knob and found myself in...the room. It was soft light which I'm sure my boobs appreciated. No one likes fluorescent lighting when they're half-naked.
Then the nice lady moved toward me and begins to maneuver me this way and that. I have profile boobs shots. Straightaway boob shots. Then this one she called the "cleavage shot."
Let's get this straight, it wasn't a picnic. Yes. My boobs were in-between two flat items that squished down and rotated and did all sorts of weird shit to them. And no, I don't care for strangers to handle the girls. But it was NOT THAT BAD!!!
One of the worst parts was having to not breathe when she took the shot. I wish she had mentioned that before as I had just exhaled the first time she hit me with that one. I guess it messes up the images. So my left boob is all out there, and I'm thinking that this isn't so bad when I hear, "Don't breathe." I nearly hyperventilated. But then I got used to the rhythm of "breathe" and "don't breathe".
Did I mention I was wearing a cape?
She finished my chestal pictures, and I was told to wait back in the hallway but not take off my cape yet. Apparently all was clearly visible as I was told that I would get a reminder in a year, and I could change back into my clothes.
I was out of there.
And that's how the girls spent yesterday afternoon.
Grins*

Always the writing

So. You people think I just am falling apart, right? lmao
Well, there are days it feels like that, but that's beside the point. Yes, my dear dear friends...I'm still writing. So before I go into detail about my lastest medical experience, I thought I would list what I'm working on right now and the plans heretofore the abovementioned. hahaha
In no particular order. Okay. They START out in particular order, but then I start babbling about all the rest of the works floating about in my cranium. Bear with me.
1. Five-book series. All titled. First book about halfway finished. All the rest have characters and plots fleshed out. Probable release early next year with the first book and then releases every six months afterwards.
2. Erotic short I'll be releasing through CreateSpace and Amazon to see if I like the way that feels.
3. Erotic long I'm about 20% through and will likely release through Whiskey Creek Press Torrid.
4. No less than three novels with 10,000 words each, so far, that will not be erotic but more Paranormal/Fantasy Romance. Hope to finish these out around 60,000 or so each.
5. Oh...and another Paranormal Romance that I'm sporadically working on while still plotting and writing. This one is research deep. It's quite interesting.
I think that's it. So never fear that I've given up on one of the only things that keeps me (quasi) sane.
And I need to work on the sequel to "One Enchanted Evening." That just popped into my head. So there you go.
Grins*

If it's not one end...

...it's the other.
The girls (my breasteses, not my children) and I are getting a mammogram this afternoon.
o.O
Yeah. I'm thirty-nine. No. I've never had one before. ARGH! Who thinks UP this shit, anyway???
Do males have to lay out their boys on a cold metal plate while someone tries to make wine out of their grapes? NO, I tell you!!! NO!!!
Honestly, I could be blowing this out of proportion. *shrug*
Bottom line being that this will happen whether I find it painful or not, more's the pity. And, for the record, I'm hoping for the latter.
But it constantly amazes and appalls me at the amount of testing that needs to be done as we age.
All your innards need to be eyeballed. And your appendages. And then the knees begin to ache. And there's a pinched nerve here or there. Your fingers start to swell. Periods start. Stop. Men can get happy. Then they can't. Hair falls out. Hair grows where it's not supposed to.
I mean...MY GOD!!! When will the madness end???
And, by the way, where can I get off?
Grins*

Cowgirl Up OR Why My Feet Were in Stirrups

There was no horse involved. Stop reading here if you wish. *smile*

I don't dislike going to the doctor. In fact, I quite like my doctor. Usually we chit-chat, prescriptions are written, I'm on my way. But I put off my "well woman" exam for around two years.
*sigh*
I may have put it off a little longer if my insurance guy hadn't said something to me. And really, my Mom had a tumor that no one could see or feel so why was I being such a WUSS and not doing this one small thing???
Because it hurts like a bitch.
This may not be true for every woman. Some find it uncomfortable. Some zone out and go elsewhere. Me? I'm in pain the entire time.
I swear to GOD I felt the q-tip in the back of my throat.
So I get to the doc's. Sign in. Called back pretty quickly. Am shown to "the room" where the festivities will take place. Told to change and then wait.
There is a pink paper pile on the patient bed thing. I pick up the first piece. It is made out of that shit the dentists clip across your chest so that you don't dribble on yourself. Paper. But nice gingham like paper, if that makes sense. It looks quite like a pattern for a vest once I get it unwrapped and pray to God I don't rip an important part and have my right nipple hanging out the entire procedure.
That should be the least of my worries.
So I strip down and put this paper blouse on. Then I fold this lovely matching square and drape it across my lower half.
I am...not happy. In fact, I'm muttering "this sucks" under my breath the entire time. It seems to calm me a bit.
In comes the doc and nurse. I lie back so she can do the breast exam. No biggie. I thank the good Lord that though there is cancer in my family, it's not prevalent or pervasive.
The only issue would be that my lovely pink cover-up that is draped across my naughty bits keeps slipping. My doc smiles and jokes that perhaps they need to put a hole in it and catch it on my belly button ring. *grins*
After my breasts have been tucked back into their temporary pink paper home, I must place my feet in the stirrups.
*rubs temple*
I hate this.
I've had three children. I've had this exam done before. It doesn't fucking matter!!!
It is...hell.
Finally, I can remove my feet from those damned stirrups and sit up. Q-tip is labeled and about to be sent off to the lab gods. I can put my clothes back on and try to purge this office visit from my mind.
I live in Oklahoma. Stirrups should be good things. *shuddering* Alas...no.
Grins*

Hijacked by my subconsious

When I lay down at night and attempt to sleep, there is a process at work. I let go of the concrete--the day's events and schedules, and I say hello to the abstract.
Okay. I don't really say hello. I say...AIIIIIIIIIIHHHHHHHHHHH
Because my creative side deems it's suitable to come out and play. Everything the subconscious has filed and set aside while I deal with the real world and its problems.
I am, for want of a better word, cranially hijacked.
I love it.
Have you ever had to get out of bed after midnight when you went to bed at ten and couldn't sleep because you had to jot something down to get it out of your head? That would be a resounding YES!
Have you ever had a running dialogue in your head with characters who want you to write their stories? Indeed.
Ever just had a freeflowing train of thoughts that led you somewhere you were looking for but didn't know how to get there? Ah...bliss. *smile*
Sleep seems a small price to pay, doesn't it?
I've often said I get my best ideas right before I fall asleep. What's a few hours of slumber when your subconscious hijacks you and takes you places that reality can't touch?
Grins*

I am who I am

What possesses adults to take two names and bastardize them into one sickeningly irritating one?
Like Brangelina. Or Benifer.
My latest obsession is Andrew Lee Potts. (There's been no protective order as of yet so I think I'm good to go for now. But I digress.)
He's a british actor and just so happened to play "Hatter" in Syfy's Alice. A different version, of course, of Alice in Wonderland.
Brilliant.
Except when I want to go gaze upon his talented goodness on YouTube...some videos are titled "Halice" as in "Hatter" + "Alice."
*trigger gag reflex*
What do I think when I see the word "Halice"? Wasn't George Hallis (sic?) someone in the government or politics? And then I think halitosis. Hardly the pleasant feeling I want to be getting when I think Andrew Lee Potts.
Just saying.
Or even the hideous dual moniker "Brangelina."
They are philanthropists for the love of God.
It's not cute to slag two people together like that. Quit being so damn lazy and type out a full name. They are individuals. Treat them as such.
Have a little respect.
Rant off.
Grins*