Give me a break

We are an amalgamation.

I'm completely tired of white/black/red appropriation.  Done with it.  White people can have dreads.  Really.  They can.  As far as SACRED costumes or clothing, then that's a different story.  There is honor in those threads.  Not everyone deserves to wear them.

But let me tell you a little story about my lunch time today.

My beloved grandbaby boy had an extremely swollen left side of his face yesterday.  His Mom shuffled him off to the ER.  The local ER.  The local ER sucks.  So she took him to Children's in the city.  So much better.
I went to see him at his apartment yesterday, and both his parents were there.  His dad was picking his hair with a pick.  Little Man wanted to play with the pick.  His Mom told everyone that I had a pick, too.  I use it on my bangs.  So I dug out my little blue pick.  Little Man and I took turns putting it in each other's hair.  I'd put it in his, and he'd grin and laugh.  Then he'd walk a few steps, pull it out, and try to put it in my hair.

I actually forgot to grab it before I left yesterday.

Went back over today to check on Little Man.  My blue pick was there.  So we played with it again.  Then he wanted to grab my sunglasses that slip over my eyewear.  I found his Spiderman shades, and we played with those for awhile.  Oldest child was watching Little Man.  Middle child came over a bit before I left.
I checked the time, stood up to gather my things, when Middle Chicken looks at me and says, "Do you know that's still in your hair?"
Oldest Chicken, hereby known as Oldest Asshat, falls out laughing and said, "I wasn't going to tell her."
The little shit.

Here my 44 year-old self would be, bipping back into work, with a pick hanging out the right side of my hair/head.
Absolutely no disrespect to anyone who does wear a pick in his/her hair.  I was simply playing with my grandbaby and having a good time.

There are ways to handle situations that don't alienate others.  And I'm not saying that we should disregard what some may view as theirs, and only theirs, ancestry/lineage/traditions.

But this world is made up of people holding tight to where they came from while also embracing the good pieces of others out there.  Other people.  Other regions.  Other traditions.
None of us is pure anything.
Sorry, not sorry, if that offends you.

We are an amalgamation.  I'm incredibly thankful for that.
*******

Social Media Saturation

I know who Kim Kardashian is.  I've never seen any of her shows, but I could pick her out of a crowd.  Same with Snooki.  Same with Nicole Richie.

I'm sure you have a few of the same.  Whenever you pop on Facebook, Twitter, or Instagram these social media "celebrities" are all over the damn place.  Kim takes her clothes off.  Done to the nth extent.  Paris Hilton does something incredibly stupid.  Exponential numbers here.
And I don't care.  I honest to God do NOT care.

Celebrities don't float my boat.  I find some of them interesting.  It's true.  I'm more drawn to the good works that they've done or continue to do.  Some idiot taped another idiot saying he cheated on his fiance.  Move on.  This isn't news.  It's a damn clusterfuck, but it's NOT news.
In this day and age, when a celebrity passes gas it trends.
Spare me.
Overexposed much?

But isn't that social media sensationalism?  Who can have the most tweets or likes or whatever the blue fuck passes for approval these days?
It's enabling the needy.  That's it.  And those who have a need that isn't met up the ante.  You can only take off so many clothes, people.
And before I get whacked for stating the obvious, I have no problem with my own or anyone else's sexuality.  I write Erotic Romance.  Nudity is fine.  Art is beautiful.  I find the human body fascinating.

However, being a type of role model should probably include doing something worthwhile other than creating an app that sucks young people in so you can buy those new shoes.  There is power in celebrity.
Why would you piss away an opportunity to do some good in the world?
Give back.  Find a place that needs something only you can give.  Work with abused children or animals.  Give to the Red Cross.  Volunteer.  Read to children.  Make a damn difference.  Find a cause that speaks to you and give of yourself.

Don't buy into your own flimsy celebrity.
Believe me, that shit is marked down.
*******

Heroes vs Villains

The only difference between a hero and a villain is perspective.

I remember discussing happily-ever-afters and heroines and heroes during a talk at the Red Dirt Festival.  I stated that I thought every one deserved a HEA and proper romance.  I brought up the fact that Medusa was not evil.  She'd been punished for something beyond her control and TURNED into a monster.  Cinderella's step-sisters deserve their own HEA.  Good God, they'd lived with their mother for far too long.  She'd twist a nun into a psychopath.  They never stood a chance.

Readers love villains.  I'm not talking about the pure evil character who tortures, rapes, and kills.  I'm referring to characters who have their own agenda and don't understand why others are so against said agenda.

Tom Hiddleston is Loki.  Loki is, perhaps, one of the most misunderstood characters of our day.  When I read Norse Mythology in my younger days, I thought he was quite the fucking asshat.  Trickster, indeed.  But the Thor movies cast him in a sympathetic light.  And you really can't go wrong with Mr. Hiddleston.  Even when he is shoving some multi-pronged eye-fucker-upper into some man's ocular orifice and grinning maniacally while doing so.  He is burdened with glorious purpose, and we love him for it.
Readers/viewers simply want to sit down with him over a cup of tea, pat his hand, and tell him that they will try to fix whatever the problem may be.

The Green Goblin in the Spiderman movies.  (Toby not Andrew.)  Dafoe's character becomes deeply twisted when exposed to the green badness.  He completely loses his shit and tries repeatedly to kill Spiderman.  But even in his death throes, his love for his son shines through.

And for some brilliant anti-heroes, how about some Boondock Saints???
Connor and Murphy just living their lives.  Working and drinking.  Then they becomes mixed up in a clusterfuck of gang wars and bodies start hitting the floors.

What do you do when you're a killer and have all these horrible predilections???  You become a serial killer of serial killers.  Thanks, Dexter.

Being a hero isn't simple.  But being a villain is beyond complex.

Have you seen Megamind?  Yes.  The Dreamworks picture with Brad Pitt, Tina Fey, and Will Ferrell as Megamind.
It's amazing.  In the beginning of the film, it shows baby Megamind in his little ejection pod heading for a wonderful affluent home with acres of land and money to spare while his planet blows up behind him.  But Brad Pitt's little ejection pod pings our Megamind away from the house and to the penitentiary.  Brad Pitt's hero character has every possible need met while our little blue-headed friend doesn't have the best role models.
Their lives are shaped accordingly.

Not every hero is a pure hero while every villain is not a pure villain.  There are too many nuances in their stories that need to be peeled away in layers to reveal why they are who they are.  Therein lies magic.

We, as authors, need to be able to craft characters in such a way that readers empathize/sympathize/understand why our characters are the way they are.  We need to let their deepest emotions and secrets bleed through the work so that readers can understand and not simply dismiss.

Not only are we the voice of the hero and heroine, but we are the voice of madness and fear.
Nothing better.
*******

I just...can't.

I work around the beloved books.  Sometimes one will catch my eye, and I'll discover a new author. LOVE when that happens.
Other times, I'll see something so outrageous or funny that it haunts me.
A couple of examples would be:  Dick and Jane and Vampires.  Her Dearly Unintended.

Now.  I thought this whole Dick, Jane, and "creatures of the night" shit was a joke.  I grew up on Dick and Jane and Spot.  They are SACRED to me.  SACRED.  So when I stumbled across this book where this bloodsucker was a misunderstood miscreant who simply wanted a friend or two, I lost my shit.  It's a children's book.  I would have found it a bit entertaining if there was an adult riff on it.  There would have been some humor in there.  This?  Not so damn much.

Came across "Her Dearly Unintended" and simply gaped at the cover.  I think it may be a Buggy/Bonnet Romance (Amish), but I'm not sure.  I'm quite sure, however, that it would be rated G or PG if such things were applicable.  Or, at least, that's what I would think before I got a good look at the cover. This girl is about to fuck some shit up.  She has a hammer and some rocks in a bucket. Say hello to your maker because your time here is through, sucker.  I think the trees behind her are where she'll hide the body.
Anyone else feeling "The Lottery"?

Book covers go through stages/phases.  I remember when all romance showed a man's pectorals. Then we moved to only legs.  The "clean" romances usually show a young woman with a pastoral backdrop looking off into the ether.  Do they all live on farms or around livestock?  Curious about this.
I watched a TED talk one time where a gentleman who spent his professional career putting together book covers for clients spoke of tying story to art.  THAT, I understand.  But if we're going to cookie cutter it, at least choose something BETTER than that instead of worse.  Put as much effort into the cover as the book.  Don't simply slap that shit together and think it will ride.
It most certainly won't.
Grins*

Thunder Up!!!

It's no secret that I love our boys.
I've loved them losing, and I've loved them winning.
I love the community activities and book bus.  I love the Why Not? Foundation.  I love Serge's foundation.  I love KD's multiple charitable acts.  I love Dion's playground.  I love the fact that these wonderful young men give back to our local and national communities.
I'm so incredibly proud of their good works both on and off the court.

But can I just say...DAMN!!!

I mean, holy shit!

I'm, unfortunately, used to ESPN and cable analysts gushing and fangirling all over our opponents.  Waxing poetic about Nowitzki and Ginobili and Duncan.  My NBA twitter feed was exploding last night with gifs about Leonard's makes and steals and whatnot.
The Thunder?
Not so much.
I found it incredibly rude.

All these naysayers need to grow up and move on.  We're not a first-year team.  We are, however, being coached by a first year coach.  As much as I like Pop and Leonard and Duncan, I just have to say...BOO-YAH!!!

As Russ so aptly pointed out, we've been here before.  It's not our first rodeo.  Our young men are locked in.

Yes.  The Warriors are a great team.  With a record like theirs, you can't show much except admiration.  And I heartily concur with Curry being the MVP.  Fine.  Great.  Good.
Moving on.

Our team is better.  It's deeper.  It's multi-talented.  We're a cohesive group that works together for the betterment of the entire roster.
I'm sure we'll beat the Spurs and move onto the next round with the Warriors.
I'm also sure that NBA will continue its lovefest with Curry and Company.
But that's okay.
Because we know what we have.  We know what we need.  And we are not scared to take it.
Warning shot fired.
Grins*

What it's worth

I tend to keep an eye on Oklahoma authors.  I like to see what they're writing.  See the new releases. Things of this nature.

One of my FB friends follows Gena Showalter.  And I thought she put out an AMAZING post that my friend liked.

To sum up, apparently she had been receiving a plethora of displeased emails from fans because her newest release would be hardback.  Instead of backing down, God bless her, she doubled down.  It was a wonderful post stating that she had worked her ass off for five years before being published.  That she continued to work on her craft.  That she was intensely PROUD of the fact that this newest offering would be in hardback.

I may have stood up and cheered.

Because that's the thing, isn't it?

Those of us with artistic bents are expected to nearly give away our offerings.  Painters, writers, dealers in the abstract making it concrete.

It's horseshit.

I'm pretty sure that no one, other than the above, realizes exactly how much time is put INTO our work.  There's not a per hour wage.  There's not usually a set fee for work.  It fluctuates.  

And it's as important as teaching or plumbing or driving truck.

Because it's OUR craft.

When I first began to write, I couldn't believe how many people wanted me to simply give them the stories.  Just email it to them like I hadn't birthed and slaved and bled over each page.  

Like my work was less than.

Fuck a bunch of that.

Simply because my work is a titch different, that doesn't make it free to whoever wants it.  Could you imagine?  Going to a car lot and picking one out and simply driving it away?  No money for those who put the vehicle together and hundreds of man hours for nothing???

It's the same damn thing.

I research.  I write.  I edit.  I pick apart and put together.  I will not apologize for charging for my stories because it's my WORK.

It's my heart, but it's also my job.

So before you pop off with some nonsense about writing being easy, or start making noise about a "real job", I strongly suggest you put that in check.

Before someone does it for you.

*******

The Human Condition

My silly ass is sitting at my desk right now with a heating pad stuffed down the back of my shirt because I decided that doing weights yesterday, after a two-week hiatus, would be a splendid idea.
I'm full of such ideas.  Some I discard.  Most, I implement.
Mom calls it "getting a wild hair".
I frequent this mindset often.

I think that trying new things and being open to change are incredibly important.  I subscribe to the thought of "I'd rather be ridiculous than boring."
I believe that the only way people grow and not stagnate is through healthy forays into different settings and places.

Now.

I see a wide demographic of people daily.  I see rich, poor, male, female, literate, illiterate, functional, and dysfunctional.
Sometimes I want to weep.  When a young man in his early twenties cannot spell the word "south". Or when a thirteen-year old girl doesn't know her address.  When a mom in her forties with a daughter in her twenties and a granddaughter on daughter's hip cannot write down their address correctly, it takes my breath away.
These people will likely not be given chances for a different life.  And most are so downtrodden that they don't wish to try.  Drugs are a huge issue.  Alcoholism.  Abuse.  No sense of self-worth.  People who slipped through the cracks so often they should have one named after them.
And so much apathy that I nearly choke on it.  Some want a better life.  Most don't.  They go through the same routine day after day after day.  Existing but not living.

I don't understand it.
I suppose that's a good thing.

So while I'm in my mid-forties, I haven't given up the ghost yet.  Nor do I plan to anytime soon.  I want to embrace this time I have.  I want to spend it as productively and lovingly as possible.  I want to push my boundaries and do stupid shit.  There's simply so much out there to get into.  Why wouldn't I want to give it a go?
I would.
I will.
Grins*

An app that tries to kill you

I want to be a runner.
Not some long-distance marathoner all lanky and muscled with 2% body fat.
No.  I simply want to run.

Thought I'd download Couch to 5K app so I could get a hold of that.
Holy Mary, Mother of God.
I can easily walk an hour and a half on a treadmill.  I'm all sweaty and funky, but I can DO it.
I created a playlist with songs containing 123 beats per minute and had that in the background while this sadistic animated bitch with red hair told me when to brisk walk and then jog.
I  made it 12 minutes of the 20.

I'm unamused.
My body is also not laughing.

Right hip is trying to secede because she's saying she didn't sign up for this shit.  Poor girl has arthritis.  But not so debilitating that she can't run.  She just doesn't WANT to.
Neck is all stiff and out of sorts.
And the calves?
Mutiny, I tell you.

Doesn't mean I won't try again.  Simply means I need to ease into instead of cannonballing, which is my way.
Think I'll pick back up Wednesday after work.
See if I can convince myself that baby steps forward are better than sprinting and then crashing.
Wish me luck.
Grins*

Potatoe Potatoh

Had an eye appt yesterday.  You know, on that RARE day off.
piffle
I've worn glasses since I was twelve.  So I became rather pleased when I realized I could take my glasses OFF to read books.  This was whole new territory and rather exciting.
Unfortunately, the eye doc did not concur.
I have a prescription for "progressive" lenses.  That would be...bifocals.
Color me displeased.
Also seem to have a bit of pressure behind my eye so that's all sorts of fun, too.  Going to have to go back beginning of June to have some more tests.
Good times.

I never wanted to wear bifocals.  Does anyone else think of Ben Franklin, or is that just me?  Won't be offended if it's just me.  Oftentimes, it really just is.
sigh

Doc was asking about people in my family, and if there was a history of eye issues and whatnot.  I had the pleasure of telling her that no.  I believe I was the only one with such issues.  Along with the only one to wear lenses at such a young and tender age.

It sucks.

Speaking of days off, what a rot.
On those rare days, we are expected to shove everything we don't have time for during the week into a day or two.
This also sucks.
Sucks butt.
Both cheeks.
Do you ever simply want to WALLOW in your non-working day?  Stay in your pajamas?  Leave the toothpaste on the side of your mouth?  Look like Einstein on a bad hair day?  You know...just not give a shit?
Me, too.
Until the realization dawns that at least one of those two days will be spent running around with a list on your phone from five different places that needs to be done before you can go home and collapse.
Is this just me, too?
Doubtful.

Working the day job today.  Off tomorrow.  Already have a couple things I need to do.
Of course I do.
*******

It's a trap

I don't understand why I'm not independently wealthy.  Just doesn't seem right.
Bought a new car Friday, and I want to quit adulting for awhile.  Just want to open the moonroof, crank the tunes, and annoy the shit out of everyone driving around me.
Not too much to ask, right?

I would have loved to have anything remotely like I have now back in the day.  Couldn't have afforded the SOB, but man, it would've been brilliant.
And now that I can afford the SOB, I have to work in order to do that.
What fresh hell is this?

So.  Must work to afford car.  Just want to go drive car but can't because of work.
Quite blows.

I always thought it would be a great thing to be an adult.  All adulting and stuff.  Making decisions. Working for my own money.  Spending my hours like I want.
Ha.
Ha some more.

It's a trap.
I didn't have the knowledge I have now when I was young and so were my kids.  I didn't realize, at the time, how precious that time was.  I don't remember any Christmas Break or Spring Break with any degree of clarity.  But I do remember grabbing books from the library and going home to read FOR HOURS uninterrupted.
Total.  Complete.  Bliss.

Now most of my hours are spent doing something else for someone else so I can afford my shiny new car.  Her name is Pearl, by the way.  She's a good kid.

I will, however, instruct my precious grandson about what I've learned.  Teach him to embrace the moment he is in.  To not wish away time because it doesn't slow down.  It spins faster and faster.  I'll try and show him to appreciate what he has, when he has it.
And maybe view childhood and adolescence with a little more love instead of disdain.
I'll enjoy those moments with him.  Treasure them.  So when I'm old and dotty, he'll know that our time together was one of the best gifts I had ever been given.

And Syrus, don't grow up too quick.
It's a trap.
Love,
Mimi*

Three day weekend

I love three-day weekends.

Took off Friday but didn't rest.  Went car shopping.  Now I have a beautiful Honda CR-V something or other with a moonroof.  The process is incredibly exhausting.

Saturday was grandson's first birthday party!!!  Can't believe Little Man is already one.  We drove an hour and a half, one way, to get there.  All totally worth it.

Came home to watch Game 1 of the second round of NBA Finals.
Holy shit, the Thunder stunk it up.  Awful damn game.  Painful to watch.  Hoping they watch film, adjust, and come back to beat the Spurs' ass.
So that was Friday and Saturday down.

Picked up a few groceries this morning.  I've actually been awake since 6:45 am.  This is the highest order of horseshit.
gah
I HATE mornings.  Not so much mornings, per se.  I loathe WAKING UP.

Now it's the last day of the weekend with Monday looming like a zit on prom night.  And I'm tired as hell.  But I don't want to take a nap because then I'll feel as though I wasted the whole day.
Man, talk about a dilemma.

I'll work on the writing a bit and see what pops.  Maybe notes.  Maybe editing.  Maybe I'll amaze myself, and my grey matter will rebound with a force that is unstoppable.
BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
I kill myself.
Grins*

More short stories

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

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

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

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

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

Not me

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

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

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

But I don't give a flying fuck.

I'm forty-four years old.  I'm a mother of three and grandmother of one.  I've loved.  I've lost.  I've picked myself up and brushed myself off.  I've cried.  I've laughed.
There are days I simply struggle to make it through.
And I used to kick my own ass for this.  Why wasn't I doing more?  Surely I could add three or four more things to my waking hours to be more efficient?
What a slacker.
Um...no.

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

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

A little personal responsibility

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

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

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

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

Simple fact...if you've done it, then it IS your responsibility.
Own it.  Try to make it right.  Apologize.
Take a little *ahem* PERSONAL RESPONSIBILITY.
*******

Storm Season

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

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

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

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

Wal-Mart will be the death of me

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

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

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

ugh

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

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

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

Weekend

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

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

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

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

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

Love and loss

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

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

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

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

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

Burning the candle at both ends

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

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

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

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

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

Should have known better

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I love this job.
Grins*