Sunday, July 24, 2011


It's been awhile.

I've dusted the rabble off of my shoulders, washed the chunks of life vomit out of my hair and I have arrived on the other side shiny, squeaky and incredibly ready to get back to bizness.

Writing bizness, that is...(duh you say as the single file line is instructed to purchase the golden ticket that will allow you one great slap of my forehead because I know those of you who may still read this are non-idiots.)

First off, it feels like I should say that I apologize for not blogging for awhile, or for spilling my crazy rambled personal self doubt, through my precious writing life yes, do I have the gnawing thought to erase the last for or so posts? Abso-fucking-lutely, Mister Big. In truth, I'm not and embarrassed and I am not sorry. It happened, I learned from the encyclopedia whalluped at my head from life's stoic hands, but, it was what I needed to do.

And with this last year under my belt, (scoffing at conventional time calenders in lieu of the conception of my revolved situation until the time when the world stopped spinning, for me) my muse has awoken. And she is fired up.

This fire, is not an out of control rage, it's a sweet one that has been cobbled w/ stones and warms your face on a cooler (ha!) summer night while the children play flash light tag fifty feet behind you.

Now I have the power of her and while rolling rampant w/ the creative ideas steaming, streaming over me was a phenomenal feeling, now, I can open my mind up to the stories, ideas, creations I feel pulsing through my veins.

A plan? Well, I have none as of yet, but there is my book to edit, a startling character whispering her dark tale to me (I'm unsure the length, bc it's a completely different experience for me. Usually, I see the ending first and then the rest of the story sings itself to me...this time... I have the entryway, the doormat and the brass knocker, it's pretty schweet.)

As for a footnote I would like to thank those who have not forgotten me while I was away -- Aaron Polson, Tony Rapino Angel Zapata, Bea Sempre, Laurie D, Bettie Turner. I got a beautiful Christmas card from the lovely Cate Gardener in December (which did tickle my Christmas bells :D) For those blogs I once followed religiously-- Shadow, Ken, Mercedes, Ellen, Alan W. Davidson, Tyhitia Green, and so many more, I have missed reading all of your whosywhatsits of the goings on, and I'm still thinking of ya'll fondly.

Wednesday, May 11, 2011

finding the fool

I have been somewhat lost as of late, whimsy has left the comforting frontal lobes of my mind and tucked itself away to recesses unknown. It pops out every once in a while, allowing me to know that my fool is still lurking.

On the writing front, stories have been sprinkling their sparkles over my brain when I sleep -- there is a lot of dancing and I just happened to write two poems last week (thanks for the faith, Aaron, Bea and Tony).

On the short story front, I still have some in the editing pool, some that have been waiting, patiently for me to do something with them. It might be time to delve back in with a scalpel and see how long it would take for the blood to stain my elbows.

And then, I will search for a home for all of them.

But, speaking of finding the fool, while I won't be looking for it, I will certainly keep my arms open for its return.

Sunday, May 1, 2011

The Dreams....

My dreams are coming back to me, stronger, harder and stranger than what they have been in the last nine months...I think this is a turning point. I really do.

The funny thing, I dream, therefore I am.

I haven't dreamt like this since September. But, it's how I first started writing, and it always helps me see where I am in my life.

I think that the little things of this past year are starting to strip themselves away and I'm starting to get a sense of who I am, again. Which is always a good thing. When I dream I am always taken to a bizarre place of something not quite normal, but it makes sense to me. I never have a 'normal' dream. It is comforting.

As I said, the last four nights, these dreams all have something in common, nothing I've figured out yet, but they are linked. A little unknown (or known depending on how into Psychology you are...) fun fact, when we dream of a person, it is never really about that actual person, its about which part of US they represent about US.

Today I had a dream of dancing, but I was dancing alone in the basement of some "friend" whom in reality, I have never met. There was a party, but I didn't want to be around anyone so I went and danced to my own tune in the basement (which was pretty done up), then we were in a car chase with some ninja's and I lost an earring -- earrings that I would never wear, and some dancing monkeys (always I dream about monkeys...I should look that up...)anyway, I think my muse is coming back to me. Well, I know she is coming back.

Now, I just looked up some of the definitions on/about some of the more prominant things...oh, crap, I forgot about the ninja's -- hold on one moment please *pushes elevator music for "Tom Jones", to entertain* -- *And she enters grac...HA I couldn't finish that line, there is nothing about me that's graceful*

I suppose it's true,what they said about Ninja's but I am not sure about the other stuff, more to ponder or just let float around in my head for a few more days...

I still have to wait to see where she is going to take me on this wild ride of dreams, and if I get a hankering to write (when don't have it? the problem is finding the space in my head to write out what needs to be written), then I will write.

And again with the random, I was just really inspired by this last set of dreams I had, no story yet, but who knows...the way this road is taking me, I could be writing by the end of the week.

Pleasant Cheers!!

Wednesday, April 27, 2011

Strength in numbers....?

It should be no surprise to anyone when I say "Hey, I haven't blogged in a while". Yes, we can all look at the last post and see that time has past.

I've put my pen down to focus on a full-time job, (only until I get my feet wet there, believe me, I have not given up the dream. Nor will I ever).

I've abandoned Facebook because I have nothing witty or sparkly to say, I haven't even spent enough time on Twitter to figure out how it really works.

And life keeps moving forward.

When a friend of mine told me that her heart went out to me (back in September) because she knew what I was going to go through in six months, I have to admit I was very put off. By nature, I know I can plow through anything when its given to me. I can handle the things put on the table, and blow through them, always trying to give it my all. But the aftermath is what gets me.

Welcome to the Aftermath!!

Anyone who still may be following this blog after my hiatus (thank you btw) probably knows the upheaval of my life at this time. Getting divorced is hard, but it is not really the getting divorced that is hard in my case. It's the finding my feet beneath the pool of dark fog around my waist. Each positive step thins the fog out, right?

No. That is not the way that life works.

I am sitting with myself, only myself, but I am not me which is okay because it is what I need to be right now. But let me tell you, it sucks.

And just when I think that I have it under control, life, the little devil she is dumps some more freezing ice into the bowl and the black fog rises until I can barely see. I'm flailing away through it though, because what else can I do? It's not about strength, it's about doing what we have to do when we have to do it. Finding some sort of peace within myself.

No one will be able to help me but me, though disheartening, more times it is empowering.

The hard part, the hardest part, is allowing myself to be crazy without allowing myself to be crazy. Or judging the crazy, or listening to the crazy, or holding the crazy's hand for a wild night out and waking up in the morning with it next to me waving at me laughing because when I look in the mirror, I don't see myself anymore.

There really is no point to this post, I just needed to do something with my hands.

My grandfather died this week, Pio Zone. He passed away in a chair after a rigorous four week battle with doctor's having to open and close his insides again and again and again. He was 88, born in 1923, he was in the Navy and loved his wife more than life itself so much so, that when she passed 14 yrs ago, and his dementia set in, all he would say was "Where are my cigarettes?" and "I want to be with Chickie". Pio loved to travel, live life, and gamble by cards. He was a fantastic grandfather and just let us be how we wanted to be without judgment, which, in turn, was a gift all in its own.

Today, I sit back and wonder why I need to write this, post this? Tomorrow, I will know it is because I wanted to do it, for me. This post has nothing to do with writing, it is a blanket statement of hidden things in my head, coming out in weird ways -- ways that don't really have anything to do with what is really going on, but they are helping me get over the greater issues. One day at a time, one step at a time...but what happens when your legs wobble and you can no long walk? You take a break, cry, eat bagel bites, watch mindless television, read a book that was said to be "so you and helpful", only to turn out that the lead character really wasn't like you at all and the end was a bust and you get angry now every time you think about it!!! (Oh, and by 'you' I mean me), you go shooting for the first time ever, plan to do things because you need to, do it with ease, (bc nothing is as hard as we make it out to be) -- but still everything is delayed, everyday drags on one million years into the next until you're to the point of exhaustion where your body can't even remember what function your nose has for your face (alright, I'm exaggerating, but it makes sense to me and maybe to some lonely traveler wandering the bloggoshepre, who has gone through a similar experience). And then get to a place where, "I don't know what to do anymore," seems like such a defeating but honest statement that you can't help to listen to the OTHER voice in your head that says "Yes, you do".

I am staring at the inky fog, only seeing black, but I keep going. I believe anyone would do it in my shoes, I don't believe it is strength, I don't believe that it is survival, I believe it is human.

We are, first and foremost, always alone. Numbers...having numbers is great -- but when you sit back and think about those hard times in life, the ones that never seemed to end, the one which puts so much stress and strain on your shoulders you feel as though your neck is going to pop, we were always alone. We had to work it out for ourselves, in the way only we knew how. And if that is by focusing on the small stuff while you process your way through the big stuff, then so be it. If it is taking a gun to the shooting range to murder a little paper man ("Target," Larry the shooting range owner corrected me, "Target"), then that can help.

Even when I was surrounded by people -- husband, boyfriends, friends, family, coworkers -- I still felt alone. Only now, I really am alone -- able to do whatever I really want to do, and yet,, loves to throw shit at you (in a fun, monkey flinging poo kind of way, of course that monkey thinks its hilarious), from every direction.

*This post, is a part of my quirky way of processing things. I obsess about random things because I can not fathom the larger scale issues all at once. Stop by my brain sometime, trust me, you'll have a blast and leave through the crazy door with parting gifts in the shape of a giraffe.

**Dedicated to my Poppy...he lived a grand life and he was happy.

Monday, March 21, 2011

Wading into a Pool of Rusty Nails (or Life Lessons for Fiction) by Lee Thompson

Guest Blogger Lee Thompson comes to visit my site today and spills his guts across the pages!

About ten years ago I moved to Tennessee because I wanted to attend a university that had a great music program. At the time I’d just started playing guitar and really sucked at it but I wanted to learn properly and make a lifetime of music because, pre-writing, music had moved me like nothing else ever had. Seeing that I’d just come out of a long bout of drinking I didn’t have a car or shit for money, and it was okay that I didn’t know a soul in the area I planned to go to, and hadn’t started enrolling. I just ‘went with it’ by buying a one-way greyhound bus ticket from Michigan to Tennessee. I took a backpack full of clothes, my guitar, and sixty-three bucks.

Looking back, I can imagine how crazy family and friends thought I was, but, “Fuck!” I thought. “I’m on an adventure! I’m going to do this!” I didn’t give their funny looks a moment’s worry. I just said, “See ya!” and left. I spent the first night in a motel, went to the university the next morning to start the application. The second night I was on the street with about fifteen bucks in my pocket. It went fast. It was summer and warm, so there was that, but after a few days I started starving. I didn’t have a phone, or change to call anyone at home, nor did I want to. I looked for work and hit fast food joints around sundown and asked, “If I clean your parking lot, you want to throw a burger my way?”

Some of them did, some of them told me to get lost.

Those were lean times.

The locals knew I wasn’t from around there the moment I spoke. I was too stubborn to hock my guitar to grab food for a couple weeks. A few people told me about a homeless shelter where they’d give dinner and a bed for the night as long as I followed the house rule to look for work every day, which was fine because I was already spending the coolness of mornings to seek employment. The homeless shelter booted everyone at 7 am and re-opened in the evening, which was smart, because they didn’t have a bunch of bums hanging around all day.

I spent evenings rubbing shoulders with crack heads, whores, gambling addicts, winos. They all had stories and we’d run across each other during our day hikes. Some of them would follow me and try not to make it obvious, but it was because they weren’t wandering like normal, they had things in their head, a sudden purpose. I always carried a knife. Sometimes, late at night when no one could sleep, we’d share a little history. When they asked my story and heard that I had a family who loved me, had left a job, had sobered up and then became homeless, these hardcore addicts gave me damn funny looks and let me know I’d made a pretty silly choice. And they knew all about bad choices.

It didn’t take long to find a temp agency where they snagged workers and paid them at the end of the day. I was in good shape and smiled quite a bit (probably looked a little creepy, smiling like that when I appeared a bum.) I hired on as a construction laborer right away because they didn’t care how I looked, just that I could bust my ass and not stand around expecting anything for free.

Some of the guys who just bummed around and never looked for work would watch me and a few others, wondering if they should try and rob us (and some people did get robbed, usually early in the morning when they were still groggy and the perp was up all night planning and building the courage) but I carried a knife like a lot of others did, and if I had to I would stab someone in the throat and let them bleed to death in the street because sometimes you have to meet crazy with crazy if you want to keep on living.

After two weeks working for the construction crew I saved enough to rent a motel room by the month and get out of the madhouse they called The Shelter. I still saw some of the homeless shambling about in the coming weeks and months, and a few of them tried to stay with me, asking if they could crash on the floor, these guys who had a gleam in their eyes like you wouldn’t believe unless you’d been there, unless you’ve seen violence and hope and hopelessness all fighting inside a person a mere six inches in front of your face, and inching closer by the second.

Even after I had a crappy motel room I still had to walk everywhere because it wasn’t like I could afford a car, and I just enjoyed walking and fresh air, and you can observe and study things when you’re walking. It was a difficult and enlightening time. That year crawled and sped by.

I watched drug addicts—some of them probably decent kids and men at some point in their lives—drag their ghosts behind them, drifting into more of the same, nervous and edgy, always in the same place as if the city moved around them and they never gained any ground at all.

I think some of those experiences (at least in themes) have bled into NURSERY RHYMES 4 DEAD CHILDREN. Spending time with desperate people, and at times being one of the desperate, is something that will always stick with me. Like me, my characters know what it’s like to go hungry, to think things they wouldn’t normally think, to wonder what the hell they got themselves into by charging forward without a plan. There’s a lot of excitement hidden in those quiet moments, alone and still, while the world speeds by though—where you have to depend on yourself and no one else at all. It’s like living and dying at the same time multiplied by ten. It’s seeing the best and worst firsthand and taking from it even as it takes from you.

*Visit Lee at AND visit Delirium to see his new book Nursery Rhymes 4 Dead Children due out in May 2011!!

Tuesday, March 15, 2011

"Oi with the Poodles already..."

Okay, that's a quote from Gilmore Girls, but it is a direct comment for how I'm feeling.

Everything has fallen into place, the stars have aligned, my ducks have found their oblong row, the life I have been working for is tying up its loose ends -- I've started two short stories, both of which are taking their time to birth, I finished Betaing a fabulous novel for a friend, got my book read for my new Book Club, my bills are paid, I got my hair cut in pretty fashion, my two weeks notice is in, I've grieved my old life and now I'm ready for my new endeavor... and yet... It's a strange thing giving up a part of life that I thought I knew.

That being said, as I have dug into myself, uprooted my life and planted my feet somewhere new over the past eight months -- it wasn't hard. Yes, in the moment with the chaos whirling devilishly around me and self doubt gnawing on my every thought, picking apart the tie I knotted together, laughing at me when I cried or fell deeper into insecurity, enjoyed flooding my brain with hindered thoughts of "I can't do it," "I don't know what I am doing," "Everyone thinks I'm a ______(insert deprecation here, I'm sure I thought it of myself) -- it was hard. Very hard, nothing good comes to fruition without hard work. And yet, I'm still standing. Everything I wanted/worked for/doubted is now sitting and placid in my hand.

My point is that working hard isn't as hard as we make in out to be in our minds. Just because our mind fools us and tells us that we suck... or the equivalent (my worse thoughts aren't extremely clever,) doesn't mean that we really do. Thoughts are just thoughts, only we give them weight...ammunition, power. If we can flick them off like the dust fleck they really are, anyone can handle anything at any time. Easy. Right?

And so, I say "Oi with the Poodles, already..." enough is enough. These thoughts have kept me down for too long, and I'm taking my brain and thoughts back. I accept them but know just because I think them, doesn't make it truth.

Monday, February 28, 2011

Redundancy is one you've seen twice before...

Black Label Books liked my latest blog post so
much they borrowed it for their own!
(They asked of course!)
Now, I'm not expecting those to re-read it,
but pop over and see what they have to offer,
you just might like it!

Thursday, February 24, 2011

Writing; the teacher and dicipline I never knew I always wanted

Before I discovered writing, (my muse birthed two and a half years ago, she's fully walking and talking and soooo cute! I just want to pinch her cheeks!) I would not say that I was a disciplined person, I was organized and did my stay-at-home mommy duties because I loved it. I've tried a myriad of things that would, from the outside (I suppose) look like I was really enjoying my life. And I was, there is nothing greater than seeing your babes grow into the people you know they can be and knowing that you have helped them do it, but I lacked that human drive that many with passions always spoke about and is never understood until you are stricken with your passion.

When I started my Novel, I knew that it wasn't going to be ready for a loooooooong time, and usually my fire for something would fade. It never did with writing. Writing gave me the discipline I had been looking for. It taught me that nothing comes out perfect the first time and with a little blood, sweat and tears (cliche, but give me one, we all know it's true :P) any of us could create something we are proud of.

I never knew I was searching for this, to be honest. I thought "I clean my house, take care of my kids, play with them, make dinners, set up play dates, work two days a week, pay the bills, mow the lawn...etc...I have the discipline I need to continue on in my life as a happy-ish person." But I never saw things completely clearly until Mackenzie sprinkled her magic dust over my brain and my heart. And this, my friends is not only something that can help in writing, but it also helped me with every day life.

So here is what writing has taught me;

Nothing comes out pretty the first time. No idea, no story, no piece of artwork, no exercise regimen. The bones are just that, bones. It is up to us to add the muscle, tendons, hair, eyes, teeth, the rhythm we want the heart to beat on.

Hard work is literally ripping your heart open, squishing out the juices of labor and creating something that has a spark of what we are trying for. Only with hard work are we able to get to where we want to go.

I have met those who have just started writing, just became brave enough to put themselves out there, I started in the same place. I have met those with phenomenal talent already published and well on the track to greatness the only thing that separates us? Time, hard work, and experience. There is nothing greater than watching the journey of others, while going through it as well.

Anything you want is possible. You just have to figure out your plan and go for it. Find what works for you (or me) and then, even if you have the bumps and bruises that life will always offer up with it's fists, nothing can stop ya.

Calmness. (Despite the nerve wrecking "What if I'm not good enough?" necrosis that all writers bare -- and is fleeting.) Knowing that something will come into bloom after you dust the petals off, peel them back one by one, until you reach the center, the shined and pretty little package we have been working so hard for. It will always come, if we are patient.

Confidence, I had a fake kind of confidence before I was writing, I didn't have anything that was mine, that I could say "This is who I am. This isn't going to go away and it will only get better with time." It took me a while, several rejections, many many many mistakes until finding the right formula for me to truly come into myself. To look at my skin and say "Hey, I like what is underneath, and I am not afraid to show it to others."

Fear, is nothing but a fog of fluff, you can run your hand through it, watch it disintegrate before your very eyes. It is our own minds that make it larger than life, it is the strength of our own minds that can squash it underneath our boots.

Complaints and frustration only bring you down. Problems are always fixable, even in the fiction world that has come to your head, there is always another way. Always ('cept if a cartoon Coyote throws a stick of dynamite in your lap and you can't get rid of it fast enough. But if a cartoon has beef with you...well....)

Grammar is not as scary as it seems. I have run across so many writers who say the same thing (myself included) "I don't know grammar." Yes. We do. And if you really don't think you know grammar, then learn. It's not hard or as hard as we make it out to be.

Okay. I tend to be wordy so I will cut it off here, but this is not nearly everything that I have learned from writing. Not even close.

Happy writing peeps!! Have a great day! (Oh, and I got a poem accepted!! More info to follow)

Friday, February 18, 2011

Uncertainty Is The In The Eye Of The Fear-Holder

For the last three weeks I have been fiendishly searching for a job. The thing is, it's not that I want a new job, I like my bookstore work and I am good at it, but changes in my life have caused me to need what the bookstore can not offer. And so, I am on a hunt.

I have had some luck with the job search, getting at least four interviews and another one next week. Sadly, I shot the pooch in the toe and have yet to land a job. What is funny is that rejection for a job is similar to a rejection for writing a story. It happens, it's a part of life and with each rejection we're supposed to learn something new, takes something away from it and continue on until we find out the right way to get what we want.

But what happens when uncertainty creeps up inside of us?

It freaks me out, that is what it does.

What if I am not good enough? What if I am just deluding myself, what if...what if...what if... on and on in a crazy beading cycle of negative dervishes that begs to pull me down.

(Here comes the super part)

I like my bookstore job; I enjoy the customers (fodder for fiction) that come into my store. I enjoy the activity and the constant change up of not knowing what is going to happen at any given day, I like the challenge it provides me with, I enjoy my fellow employees. I had a plan and I did not stick to it.

I am freaking myself out for no reason whatsoever.

Originally, I was going to try to get some contract writing jobs, plenty of writers freelance for contract sites and while some places are frauds, I am smart enough to know what is and what isn't. And yet, writing "test" mandated from the site I want to go for is (still) sitting on my desktop, waiting for me to finish it.

How is that possible? I set myself goals and I accomplish them. That is what I do, that is what I have done in the past and that is what is going to spur my happiness for the future. Yes, I have been bogged down with a certain amount of stress, but this is nothing none of us doesn't go through, being overwhelmed plays a big part in this. I don't know which direction to go first. I keep telling myself that I will get this writing contract stuff done...but later.... and it turns out, I'm afraid.

Fear is shivering inside of me in a tense little package (with a purple bow to boot) because I haven't written non-fiction for some time now, what if they turn me down, what if it isn't good enough, then my plan to stay at the bookstore and work from home will be destroyed so I am nipping it in the bud before I even try. What if, what if, what if, what if..... again, I have shot myself in the finger without even realizing what I did.


And so, the point! *cries of "Finally" come belting in from the peanut gallery*

Tomorrow, despite my fear, I WILL sit down, I WILL research what I need to, I WILL finish my goal! Uncertainty be damned! (It's the exclamation mark that makes it seem like I am braver than I am, trust me, I am still terrified.) I WILL finish what I started, brush the "what if's" into the blowing wind and box their ears when they come back!

I am still going to continue my hunt, but at least, I will know that I did it my way.

Happy Weekend!

Wednesday, February 16, 2011

The Change

Sorry about the teeny-tiny lil ol' print on my bloggy, here. I've been wanting a change for a while and for some reason the design template hates my computer. It wouldn't show up, at all, so this weekend I hijacked a lonesome laptop (sitting on my kitchen table) and I haphazardly threw this blog design together before the owner tarred and feathered my person (I'm still finding black feathers in my hair, btw) said laptop and person have gone for and I'm stuck with the teeny-tiny-lil'ol print I have here on the side of my blog.

Instead of thinking it's too small tho, I've decided to assume my eyes need exercise and this is the best way to do it!! (how flabby are your eyes? do they need some tunage? come on work em out with me!!)

Happy Writing, folks!

Monday, February 14, 2011


My lovely friend and fellow writer, Annie Duvall, has her debut, "Delicious"
out at Black Label books!!

Did you know that Frankenstein was the first movie from Universal Studios
that didn't come with a warning from a nice man reminding us that it was only fiction and nothing could hurt us...?
**Warning!! Delicious is not for the faint hearted, but it is fabulous!!!**

Happy Valentine's Day peeples!!
*laughs sinisterly and twirls hands*

Saturday, February 12, 2011

The Quirks and Cogs Crankin, Make Up Me

Well, I've realized that my writing has stopped for a short intermission and while this is a progressive writing blog, I miss it when I am not writing. This week has been hectic, however it's all moving in the right direction so instead of writing news, I decided to share some quirks and interworkin's of me...for those of you who'd like a good little chuckle.

Turns out I think I have quite a few quirks so I thought I'd keep it to just the first five that I find most fascinating (she says so very humbly)

1. I have imaginary friends. Different from my muse, McKenzie, she speaks to me in a rhythmic way that I know is going to be a short story, novel and/or poem. These friends formed to help me through my adolescences and teenage years because I was a severe outcast and in turn made myself invisible. I don't know if they were supposed to go away, but they never have, they have evolved with me and some of them became married, some of them had children, but they are always there when I need them to dance, talk to or just laugh at me when I run into a wall that was rude enough to jump in front of me. (Yes, I know they aren't real, I don't *actually* see them, but I "see" them...if you know what I mean, I am sane, they just won't leave me alone )

2. Speaking of walls, I have a magical gift of clumsy. I wake up with bruises that I don't remember how or where they come from, but I swear that it's those damn walls of my house beating me up while I sleep, they probably have sleeping drugs that I don't know about.

3. I talk. I talk alot. My total ramblage filter that so many of everyone else has is very thin and I can't myself from saying what's on my mind (although, I do have to admit it's usually nice stuff, not bad or mean,) or just pouring out whatever comes across confusing most until they are in a head scratching contest to see whom can lose more hair or walk away from me first.

4. I like jigsaw puzzles, "Wait, Wait...Don't Tell Me", and I can watch Amy Paladino's "Gilmore Girl's" over and over again without making my eyes burst from repetition.

5. While I enjoy the outdoors, ie. hiking, rock climbing, repelling, canoeing...etc, I despise camping. Sleeping outdoors on the floor in a sleeping bag does not appeal to me much. Funny. Even I think it's funny, I just want to have electricity and a comfortable place to sleep. That's it. I can walk all day in the peace and serenity of the woods with a child strapped to my back just take me to a cabin or a hotel afterward, please!!

I spilled mine, what are your quirks?

Have a great weekend!! Happy writing/reading/editing/living!!

Thursday, February 3, 2011

Lessons, plans and a little jig to get ya going...

Over the past six months, as I have stated in an earlier blog this week, I have been waiting around for life to situate itself. I am uncomfortable with disarray and have a hard time, when things don't go exactly the way they are supposed to, dropping any anxiety that I have.

Now, I previously thought I had gotten over this little quirk of mine last year, through some help with some extremely good people. However, going through my "new" little experience, I realized I was wrong.

In June of 2010, the doggie poo hit those big metal blades and spread it as far as the eye could see. Every single aspect of my life changed. Not for the worse, but even the good changes take some time to adjust. As I look back on the last months and see my major fo paux's I can take comfort in the fact of knowing while it was (and still is) hard, I have learned a valuable lesson.

Just because I am "adjusting," doesn't mean I stop being me. It doesn't mean that I have to stop living my life and doing the things I enjoy. Just because I don't like how I feel (Tense, anxious, frustrated, helpless, hopeless) doesn't mean that I have to just roll over and watch reruns of whatever was on Bravo. Instead of accepting how I was feeling, I let it rule me.

That is not saying that I didn't do what I had to do, I nursed my sick children, bandaged and tourniqueted the house when it needed to be done. I went to work and capably fixed problems that came my way. But, I still wasn't happy. I couldn't figure out what in the world was wrong with me.

I was continually moving forward, still my feet were spinning circles, Shaggy. (I don't like to be stuck in a metaphysical sense.) I talked people's ears of (close friends, loved ones, not random strangers....cept that one time) trying to physically "Talk" my way back to happy. It still didn't work. While nothing was incredibly wrong, nothing was incredibly right either.

I have to laugh at myself, if someone came to me eight months ago and told me I would have had this problem I would have told them that was their opinion and that they were wrong. I had adopted a zen-ish way of thinking, but it got buried beneath the rabble.

So, I set myself on a "quest" if you will, cooking + writing + quit smoking (for longer than five weeks) + exercise = A Happy Kara. I didn't formulate the plan it just sort of came to me. I KNEW this plan would make me feel better, it had to, that was what I was missing, the Organization! It didn't. I was going through the motions of every day life, doing things to make myself feel better, and I still had a tension in my jaw that felt as if it would snap if I tried to speak.

Then, I got a piece of advice that actually spoke to me, in a different way. A sweet woman told me, "You don't have to like it." Meaning the tension that I was feeling, the zombie-like attitude I have had towards tackling the things in my life. And, she was right. I don't have to like it. I am sitting here tense and frankly uncomfortable with myself. But, I changed my glasses.

I can do anything I set my mind to. (So can anyone, I just want to add that bc I whole-heartily know this) I don't have to always feel light, or even, like I used to. I am still adjusting and just because I have had some negative feelings/doubts about many aspects of my personal being, doesn't make them true. It doesn't mean that I have to dig a whole on my couch and wriggle myself in there just because I don't like how I feel. That will go away. But only with time. No epiphany, or activity (no matter how much I enjoy it,) will just *poof!* give me back the peace of mind I once had.

Yes, I know. It's so simple -- I thought I knew this, but I didn't, not really.

My mind still races at night, my jaw is still tense, I still don't like the way I feel.

But now, I accept it, and I can move forward without those sticky shoes.

Ah, and... the jig, enjoy! Have a great day, everyone!!

Wednesday, February 2, 2011

The Pimp

My blogger-friend and fellow writer
Aaron Polson is excited!!
He has a new story out in paperback!

(click his name to get the full synopsis)

The House Eaters!

------>Click, Buy, Read!!<------

Monday, January 31, 2011

The Plan, (in a non-conformist, I don't follow "those" things kinda way)

Saturday I wrote about the jump, well... it's official, I jumped.

Aaaand I landed smack dab in the middle of a "Idontknowwhasit-itis" (That's a fancy way of saying that I have caught a nasty bug which doesn't have a name, but is still draining the crap out of me.) So, while I wait for the NyQuil to kick in I was thinking about my plans....

While my daily time-bar has exceedingly decreased and I am trying hard to fit all the monkeys back in the barrel, I figured I would start with something simple. Cooking.

I used to love to cook. I did it every night for my family and I even made them sit at the dinner table! There was a short time when I didn't do it, for certain personal reasons, but one day a couple of months ago (December to be exact) and I had the thought "I just need one goal. That's it, everything was a whirling dirvish of mass proportions and I need the top to stop spinning so I could sit on it." And I got the thought "Cooking. If I start cooking again, the writing will follow."

And that is what I did. Now, I am not saying that everything I have cooked over the past four weeks has been spectacular, (I just had to grab ketchup to save the Oh-so-dry-Mommy-I-can't-chew-this-roasted-chicken I made a couple of nights ago. My poor kids are troopers...) but the words --three simple words -- came two weeks after that.

Bam. I have started a new novel. (The exclamation point is too expected after the Bam! I think it's more serene this way, huh??)

To grow more courage I shipped off a very weird tale to the kickin mag Weird Tales, yes, lofty goals. But my tale is seriously weird, while I have an idea where it came from I can honestly look at it and say I was drinking the surrealism tea (not slang for anything recreational, I promise) when I wrote it. Anywhoo, I don't expect anything out of it, just the simple fact of putting myself back out into the writing world. Plus I wrote the first poem I've written since October. All in all, it's been alright on the writing front for me. (No acceptances or declines, but again, I have to start somewhere.)

I have also decided to mix and match some things I have learned along the way from writers I respect and admire, with the littler things that helped me get to my comfortable ways of before... Now I am sure I have you on the seat of anticipation with what I am going to do, but I think the NyQuil has finally hit full dosage and I am winding down, fast.

While I will be back, for now, I have no nuggets of wisdom, no springs of terror, just the well wishes for all to have a nice day tomorrow and to watch out because that purple dragon behind you looks hungry!

Happy writing folks!!

Saturday, January 29, 2011

The Long Time Gone, The Stall and now, The Jump...

It had been three months to the day since I've written a blog post (yesterday), it has been longer than that since I have written on the message boards, visited the sites of magazines I hold dear to my heart and exchanged witty banter with people cut from the same writing cloth as I am. I have secluded myself from the world because I didn't know how to handle the world I had finally chosen all on my own... and now, I am taking a jump.


To say that I am nervous is an understatement. I don't know where or how to take the first step towards the place I used to be. The place where I was most comfortable at. So I am blogging, writing, and I am continuing forward until I find that place where I fit, snuggled in nicely, just like I once was.

These are my wobbly baby-steps.

Here is something that is blatantly obvious about me, I never do something unless I am ready, I have an inane need to be prepared. I over analyze like no one's business, I look under the hood, examine the undercarriage, poke the sleeping bear to see if it's still in hibernation mode, jump on the mattress to make sure the springs bounce but don't snap, stretch and pull at them to make sure they don't break and do about one million other things to prepare myself for any sort of problems that may come up for me. And what I have figured out from all of this, through three months (longer if you count the non-attendage of the writing message boards) of "waiting to be ready," is that I am stalling.

And what am I stalling from? What has caused me to be so very cautious? What in the world am I waiting for? A sign? An ephiphany? Another dream that takes me off to a magical place where the characters invade every aspect of my being?

Maybe I am. But I have made a decision, whether I am ready or not, I am taking this leap. I can not wait anymore. While it doesn't fit yet, the sweater can be dampened and pulled to fit me. I don't have to keep searching for the perfect situation, the perfect opportunity, the perfect solution. Because, to be completely honest with myself... nothing is "Perfect," ever. It is only my attitude that causes perfectly-flawed me...I am saying this because, with all of my flaws, my over-analyzing things, running over the same thought again and again and again, like a top that never drops, I am right where I need to be. Is there a better time than that?

I don't know. But I am going to find out.

And from here, I jump.