It's better for me if I hate you

I don't like nice guys, bookishly speaking. At least, not like I used to. I blew through Catherine Anderson's collection, and my favorite book was Baby Love. I was feeling delicate at that moment in my life, and I needed Book Daddy's that wanted to cuddle and take care of their women. This book delivered. 

I then moved on to the Black Dagger Brotherhood Series. Anything but sweet. These heroes made me sweat in the best damn way. I think I dropped off after maybe book 9, when I realized J. R. Ward and I did not mesh politically.

My favorite tropes, AKA categories of romance books, are usually Enemies to Lovers, Opposites Attract, and Fake Relationship. I like sparks from the beginning, and I love characters who are assholes. Not everyone is nice 24/7. I would question the shit out of that. I would immediately think serial killer because I AM A CYNICAL HEIFER. 😌

As a writer, I love damaged characters. I love writing and reading them. These speak to me more than any other, and they have the room for the most growth. I'm having stickers made for my next book event with this print:

But...they do. And we know that they do. But it's deep deep down, and I love the challenge of bringing that up and making the character evolve, emote, and bringing the reader along for the ride. 

Oh, darling. You want to be a dickhead? Please, do. We're going to have SO much fun together. 🥳

I'll be talking about tropes in my books on this blog and my Facebook page. Come chat with me!

Always writing*

I suck at newsletters.

Listen.

I can write a 78,000 word page book in three months readers love. What I can't do? Write a damn newsletter. 

Everyone, and I mean EVERY ONE, is saying I need to have one to sign up readers and keep them abreast of my latest comings and goings. I tried the newsletter thing for like, three months. I sucked at it. I sucked HARD at it.

I would forget what day of the month it was. This happens frequently in my daily life as I work full-time from home. I would feel my content was not up-to-par. I felt like a fraud. And I hated every minute of it.

I decided to give it up for my mental health. 

I've wracked my brain at finding suitable alternatives, and this is all I got. This blog. I'll post here and on my Inman Books Facebook Page.

That should keep everyone up-to-date. I love to blog and blather on about the writing and other subjects.

If you're joining me from the Flirty in Kansas City 2025 Book event, Welcome! I'm feral but friendly and honest to a fault. Okay. I am blunt. Blunt woman. Often uses profanity and does not understand people. Loves books, music, Simba--my golden child, and factoids. Eclectic. Weird. Can probably interchange those.

And...I suck at newsletters. 😌

If I get my shit together together this year, I want a PA, and this ray of light will be in charge of newsletters and making me virgin jello shots.

 

Always writing...

on a book or two or Facebook or LinkedIn or my blog or anything but a newsletter!

Et tu, Amazon?

Snafus are fun, aren't they??? 😑

I mean, here I am, living my life, trying to plan ahead for my next book event, Flirty in Kansas City 2025. Ordering new business cards, swag, and more books.

Well. TRYING to order more books.

And I did. In a timely manner. 

They were supposed to be delivered January 25th. Twenty-five each of two titles. But now? NOW???

Oh. They're being delivered ON THE DAY OF THE EVENT. 😡

What the absolute shit, Amazon?

I have books to sell, don't get me wrong. But I needed more of Canary: Dark Descent and more of my Erotic Romance, Please Come Again. This is a FOUR room book event. Thousands will come through. 

Sure, I'll have a notebook as a back-up, but this is my first real cock-up at an event, and I'm displeased.

Of course, it'll be fine. I'll be fine. It'll be fine. 

Fine fine fine. 😶

I'm going next year, as well. 

I'll have a stockpile ready. 😂

Even when you plan ahead, there's always the other guy. Unreliable little shits that they can be. I'm looking at YOU, Amazon.

Always writing*

...and putting together infinite swag bags...oh, help me...

Age of Aquarius

I'm exhausted.

WM pick-up this morning. It was snowing and like...six degrees. 🥶 Didn't get my meds sorted yesterday since two of the granddaughters were here because they didn't have school. Made and ate breakfast. Sorted the meds. Dishes. Took my own self out with a chair to my left knee. Had to sit the fuck down before I fell. Kudos to coordination. Just not mine. Started laundry. Onto my list of shit to do.

😑

The Book Me Romance 2025 Event is in August, but the organizer wanted our pre-order forms. She is on her shit. I cannot say the same.

Let me state, in the most delicate of manners, that me creating said document can eat my whole ass. I'm not good at it, and the sheer stress of it literally causes me to spin up and off into unsafe mental areas that make Stephen King's The Territories look like a playground. It's done. That's all I got.

Register for therapy at two.

This new system sucks. I believe it's all about receiving the copay before the session. Perfectly fine with that. But you nearly have to press an open vein to the computer monitor before you finish check-in. 🙄 

Good Lord. Take my money and quit being unreasonable. That's my job.

Swag stuff. Ah, yes. Remember my conundrum about swag business and how much and blah blah blah? 😂 Good times. Turns out I signed up for RWA's Indie Author Weekend this weekend, as I love some continuing education in my craft, and WILL NOT BE inviting middle child up to help stuff 500 bleeping tiny bags of business. 🥳

I will be enjoying my own fucking company and squeezing that in over the next couple of weeks. 😭

I can't with myself. At this point, I don't think anyone else can, either.

But wait, there's more!

The zodiac world tipped over into the Age of Aquarius (my sign) yesterday, and my wee brain, during those hours I should slumber, delivered unto my short ass, a fully-formed book with premise, characters, and ending. 😮 Because why the fuck not?

So I typed that up in my Microsoft OneNote (she's a sexy girl).

My characters for the other three books I'm writing this year are *ahem* less than pleased.

Ray, "Canary", has already told me to sit down and focus, or she's going to do bad things to my fingers. She would, too. 😱

That's me at nearly one o'clock on a freezing Tuesday afternoon. The Honey is home sick. Simba's sacked out on a pile of blankets behind me. I keep kissing his little forehead, and he keeps washing it. bahahahaha

Always writing*

...I LOVE my day planners, but sometimes I don't LOOK at them...😬

 

Oh. You mean NOW NOW???

I crack myself up. And by crack myself up, I mean I drive myself stupid, set my hair on fire, and wonder why I smell something burning. 

I am selling and signing books at Flirty in Kansas City in February. Cool beans. I had it in my wee head the date was near the 27th or 28th. Obviously, the calendar and I are not well-acquainted, as the event is on a Saturday. *ahem*

I look up the date yesterday to write in my shiny 2025 Day Planner. (My love affair with day planners is another post entirely.) I'm looking at the graphic in the FB group and squinting. Enlarge it. Blink. Because no way in fuck does that read February 8th. Frantically Google. Oh, no. That's correct.

Sharp pains literally shoot behind both eyes. I wonder if I'm having a stroke. My tongue is fine. I say my birthday. No. I'm simply an idiot who forgets we track things by numbers, and when the sun goes down and comes back up, that's another number. I look at the date on the computer. Oh. Look at that. January 7th. 

I. Panic. I am overwhelmed.

The amount of things I have to do roll back in forth through my brain like a scene from a cartoon. Hotels, books, swag, and preparation.

My headache goes full-blown, and I start talking to myself to gather and calm. 

First. Hotel. I find the venue, don't want to pay the price for that hotel, and begin the process of finding a nearby hotel that is okay. I've booked one hotel in my life. This is my second. Onwards and upwards.

Books. Ah, blow me. This is a big venue. How many do I take? What if I don't take enough? What if I take too many? I can overthink the shit out of this. I order books. Send the receipt to the Honey and wince. 

Son of a cow! Swag. Almost out. Once again, big venue. Shit shit shit. 500 pcs? Too much? Not enough? I have two more events this year. Brain is starting to melt down. Buy the stickers! Order the bags! The Honey can only divorce me once! Send another Amazon receipt. 

Oh, and fuckity fuck. I'm nearly out of business cards. Are you shitting me? NOW? NOW??? *tries deep breathing* *almost hyperventilates*

Quietly brings up VistaPrint. Designs business card. Saves design. Waits until today to order. I'm fooling no one. Sends receipt to Honey. 

Going to ask Middle Child to come help put together swag. 

I'd love a PA, but I don't think I could do that to someone. 😂

Like...I need one. Obviously. 🙄 But I am a lot. And I mostly enjoy my chaos. I'm like a transistor radio. I sound like static to a lot of people. I can be hard to understand because of the way I talk or convey myself. But once you tune in to my channel, you realize all the quirks and oddness are part of the package. 

Always writing*

...yes, I'm BACK to it! 🥳

Phoenix, the creature of myth and legend...

 ...rising from its own ashes and bursting from the soot to soar triumphantly to the heavens again. 

😕

Me:

Burnt and ashy as hell. Choking on cinder and ember.

But I am HERE! Cue "Rocky" music. The trumpet one. THEN the "Eye of the Tiger." 😌

I took the rest of December to try and reset and balance. Did I? Honestly? As much as I could. I attempt to manage my mental and physical health. It's the best I can do. I can understand why I have some of the mental issues I do. But I still hold a large grudge against anxiety because, as I told my therapist, it's like my brain playing chicken with itself, and it surely pisses me off. Physically? Fibro can get fucked. No detours.

Now then.

The writing. One of the loves of my soul. I need it as I do breathing. I didn't write resolutions, as I haven't for years, but I write goals. And the seven I posted in the Sanctuary refer to my writing. Lofty? Sweet Jesus. You could say. But you have to dream big. Never been a problem for me. Now to try and convince my body and mind to place nice.

I tend to feel better when I write because it activates the happy part of my brain. That little corner is dusty as hell right now. Cobwebs. Dark things with bad attitudes. I'll need to open windows and sweep floors and keep it up a bit better.

I want to finish four titles in 2025: Canary: Out of the Shadows, Dream Walker, Incantation, and a Contemporary Romance. Finished in this order except the last two might be interchangeable. 

I'll try to be more present as I have a tendency to disappear when my mind and body go haywire. And just to end this on a good note...my furry son, Simba. I love this little asshole more than I can say. Thirteen years-old and such a heathen. 💖😌

Happy New Year

Crystal*

Sound it out

I started reading at age 3. My Mom would walk across the street to the laundromat, S & P's, and I tagged along. The owners gave me an old hardback about a farm. It's the first book I remember reading. Hip hop to school, and it was my favorite subject. First grade brought SRAs (Science Research Associates, Inc.) color-coded reading system, and I thought I'd reached the pinnacle.

Thumbing through those colors brought me incredible joy. Read a great story. Answer a few questions. Back to the box of color and stories. My love for that little box cannot be overstated. My predilection for this box of many colors and my speed at moving through it brought attention.

The principal and teacher gave me a fourth-grade SRA, and I missed one. Talk ensued. An offer to skip second grade and move on to third. I accepted the offer. And off I went. Reading never failed me. I tested post-high school in elementary on all those standardized test. Reading GIVES. You absorb so much around you without realizing because you're constantly seeking to add to your knowledge. 

I picked up an Eric Carle First Phonics Box to give to a granddaughter for Christmas. I have two in Kindergarten right now. One in Pre-K. One is three. My little stair-steps. 😌

I decided to keep the books here for the girls to read and practice at the house when they come over. I broke them out, for the first time, last night. 

LeeLee sat on her mother's lap, we're all piled in the big bathroom for a reason I can't remember, and read, "Cats cats cats."

It was beautiful.

The best thing? She closed the cover and immediately reached for another book. 😊 And if she heard the phrase, "sound it out" once, she heard it ninety-two times. But she kept going. Read four books in all. 💖

I let her borrow the next five to take home and practice with mom and dad because she's going to read those to Mimi when she comes back in two weeks to celebrate Christmas up here. 

I remember the absolute joy in becoming a reader. The delight in seeing stories come to life.

But watching a reader become?

My heart will never be the same. Nor will hers.

*******