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*