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.

*******

I'm in love with a plastic flamingo...

...hear me out.

I am an eclectic soul. I will dive into the deepest of holes for information I find fascinating, collect factoids like others collect spoons, rocks, or stamps and horrify when appropriate or inappropriate.

I know realize, while entertaining the wonderful in-laws last night, I rattled off several facts about serial killers. 😬

I can only hope that, over the years, they've come to accept this in their eccentric, but well-meaning, daughter-in-law. 

It makes my Google searches a million times more fun, not to mention my Google history. 😶

And my Facebook feed and other social media ads? 😵

Case in point, I'm scrolling my FB feed, and I often come across different books, as I'm an author. But I'd never come across something quite like this. It was a "lawn ornament shifter" book. 

Say again?

A romance between a woman and a lawn ornament shifter, a flamingo to be exact. I'm still processing. 

I'm not even sure of the exact premise, but I want this to be a Hallmark movie, like yesterday.

I mention this only to reiterate: WRITE WHAT YOU LOVE.

I love writing romance, it's literally a part of my soul. But that's not stopping me from writing about a child serial killer. 

My whims and I. 😊

Be secure in who you are and what you want. Don't look to others to validate you. Take that first step. And if you need to shuffle for a bit, then do so. But keep moving forward. Bit by bit.

That's what I'm telling myself now as life has been crazy and chaotic. Only now finding my feet and trying to get back to whatever "normal" even is. Usually N/A. 😎

Lawn ornaments are the new Ryan Reynolds.

Crystal*

It's all coming back to me now...

...well, not all. 

But as I tried to sleep last night, it wasn't chaotic thoughts, per usual, that filled my head, but dialogue.

Blessed dialogue. More specifically, dialogue from Canary: Out of the Shadows. 🥹 

I nearly got out of bed to jot it down, but I didn't. The two scenes were dynamic enough, I knew I wouldn't forget them. 

It's like being in the silence so long and finally hearing a whisper. 

It was...everything.

I haven't touched a Word .docx in probably a month. I'm too author-fragile right now to check. It'll only reinforce the issue more, and I am merely flapping my wings a bit over here. Getting the wind under them again. Feeling how smooth it can be. Remembering.

Going to hop over to OneNote and put the dialogue and scenes in. They're Ray being...Ray. 😄 

Poor woman doesn't know what's on the horizon. None of them do. 

But dark things have waited so long for a chance to play. 

Back to writing*

Limitations

These can come in many forms.

Mine, for nearly the past four weeks, has been depression. I didn't realize, at first, that's what it was. When you're mired in it, it's the norm. But I began to realize...it's NOT the norm. I suffer from depression, anxiety, and PTSD along with chronic pain and a host of other ailments. I live and write DESPITE these assholes.

But I haven't been doing much of either. I've also been battling some type of stomach issue with nausea(???). Which could be, or could not be, related to any number of things I already have. Or hey! Could be something new and different. 😶

Interjecting a bit of humor here. Good thing about depression? You don't have much anxiety because you don't give a shit. Ba dum dum...

No energy. No appetite. Exactly no sense of humor. 

Missed a deadline (for myself) on my book. Am a month behind on all my writing things. I'm exhausted doing nothing. 

Thanks. I hate it.

That's me. Digging myself out right now. Battling daily to do the minimum. I haven't disappeared...exactly. More like my body put me in timeout. 😡

Ungrateful vessel.

Here's to a better November. 

💖

Away from desk

Rounded out the granddaughter birthdays in September. My youngest child's bday is today. She's 29. Last of my babies clinging to the twenties. My middle child turns 29, apparently AGAIN, on October 20th. 

I'm simply happy to actually be sitting at my desk. AT MY KEYBOARD.

Taking youngest granddaughter, newly 3, to shop and lunch this Saturday. I've been spending Mondays and Wednesdays with the heathens (newly 6 and 4 year-old granddaughters). 

This time of year is hectic, and I am beyond the realm of tired. 

Need to make a list for my professional items to round out the year. Need to FOCUS.  

Unfortunately, Amazon sent their toy catalog, and I'm thumbing through there like a mesmerized nine-year old related to Bill Gates. My inner child is so much my outer child.

These toys are next level, and I am HERE for it. Grandson loves Spider-Man and the yellow-haired Anime guy in the orange suit. Don't come for me. Too lazy to Google it right now. Granddaughters love race cars, TMNT, Paw Patrol, Barbies, dress up, and so much more.

In all seriousness, I need to finish "Dream Walker" in the next couple of weeks and push it out by the end of the month. Life has been SOMETHING lately, but goals are goals. Then finish "Canary: Out of the Shadows" which is burning brain cells as I type this.

Onwards and upwards.

Always writing*

...and sneaking peeks at that damn catalog...oooooooo

Dream Walker

I write what I should write. 

In essence, I write what the voices tell me. Does the absolute madness of that sentence bother me? Not in the slightest. The voices say it shouldn't. 😂

While I have over two dozen ideas for books TBW (to-be-written), I don't go willy-nilly into the fray. I have some semblance of order in the madness and gorgeous chaos.

However, sometimes a stray idea wanders in, tells every other story to fuck smooth off, and settles itself into my grey matter with a bottle of Wild Turkey. The liquor flows. The story goes.

Two completely unexpected things happened this year. 

I tried to force myself to write to market. Sweet Jesus. This was horrific. I failed miserably. Wasted my time. Regret. Flogging myself with an ampersand. Shame, etc.

The other being a character named Rissa, who wandered into my world. Okay. She kicked in the doors, scared the shit out of everyone but Ray, and settled in for the long haul.

Her story resonates. I have a thing for damaged characters. A ken for the lost souls. Being a serial killer at the grand age of seven counts.

Ever had something special about you? Something wonderful no one else could do? Then have it twisted to become the worst thing about you? Used with absolutely no regard to your mental or physical health?

Rissa has.

And the price?

The price was only her soul.

I had to tell her story before I finished Ray's in "Canary: Out of the Shadows". 

I should finish this month. I lack right around 10,000 words or so. Some stitching. Definite polish. 

But the story? The awful story? And Rissa's redemption? Oh. It's all there. 

Mother/Mimi/Writer

Yes. In that order.

I always thought once I reached a certain age, I would have less complications in my life. I now know that was bullshit to the highest power. 

There are second-generation issues from my babies.

There are third-generation issues from my gbabies.

Everything else steps aside for them.

I write every weekday morning, Saturday, and occasionally Sunday. This morning, I chose to write and work on my book cover for "Dream Walker". (I DO like my period outside the quote marks.)

I edit from the beginning of DW, do a bit of stitching (pulling scenes together, adding chapter headings), and write on a couple of scenes.

FB message from middle child. She is encountering a large amount of stress. Would like my thoughts on something. My pleasure. We chat for a few. I think she feels a bit better as we wrap up.

I go back to the written work.

Ten to fifteen minutes later, oldest child snaps me and asks if I'm busy and if he can vent. Nope. Not busy. Hit me, child.

Snappity snaps.

Writing is my passion. I often joke I would be the woman in Bellevue, back in the day with a piece of chalk in her hand, content to scribble on walls the rest of her days. I know for sure I wouldn't have been let loose on the streets. But I digress.

But those who come from me are my soul. These are the pieces of me left long after I've disappeared from this earth. They deserve my love, time, and support more than any one or thing. 

That is perspective. 

If it takes me a wee bit longer to finish DW, then I suppose it takes a bit longer. 

True dat.

Always writing*

...and searching for the purrfect gif...

   

 

Continuing Education

Everything in this world could use some continuing education. You like to paint ceramics? Keep taking classes to find out new brush strokes or combinations of colors. You like to write scripts? Keep taking classes to keep up with what's in demand. You like making slime? Keep watching YouTube videos for what you can put inside slime that won't disintegrate.

And if you love writing books, well, you've a world of continuing education in front of you.

First of all, the book world is constantly evolving. "Never" is never used. Writers will "never" like they've "nevered" before. I love it. Second of all, market changes on a dime. Vampires are big. Now not so much. Buggy (Amish) are big. Now not so much. What's hot right now? Dark Romance. Reverse Harem. Women are ruling the world AND in-between the pages. 

What do writers do?

We educate ourselves.

I would advocate taking at least six courses/workshops/going to a couple conferences a year. This keeps you connected to the living breathing being that is the writing world and especially your genre(s).

I wasn't able to go to a workshop I registered for last week because I was watching granddaughters, but I caught up this morning. An hour and forty-five minutes on Planning and Brainstorming by Jen Graybeal. It was fantastic and FREE. If you ever get a chance, take one of her classes or workshops.

I have an Oklahoma Romance Writer's Guild Meeting at 2 pm. If you can join a group of likeminded individuals, please DO! This is ALSO free! Wonderful to have a supportive peer group.

At 3 pm, I'm attending another workshop. This one is "Secrets of a Bestselling Amazon Book Page" with Penny Sansevieri. I believe this one cost $10.

It's incredibly important to continue with learning your craft. Honing. Shaping. 

Learning never stops, guys.

If you're in love with what you do, then this is truly a labor of love. 💖

Always writing*

...or attending some writerly business...

The world keeps spinning

I'm in the "WOAH WOAH, you wily bitch...slow your ass down" phase.

It's Thursday, right?

Monday, I got up at 3:35 in the AM because a family member had surgery. Didn't leave the hospital until nearly eleven. Vaguely remember arriving home to shove something in my mouth and fell into bed where I stayed until nine the next morning.

Body? Displeased. Brain? Slightly scrambled. 😬 

Tuesday, I picked up groceries. Well, I park, and the wonderful associates at 'Hood Mart bring them out to me. Shout out to EJ and Kameron! Brought them home(the groceries, not the associates) and attempted to meal prep and whatnot. Was in the kitchen until two in the afternoon. Trying Keto. Wore myself out. In rocker recliner rest of day.

Wednesday morning, I received a text from hospitalized family member saying she's sprung, and I put on clothes and drove down to rescue her. We waited for Rx to be filled. Three out of four. 😒 Dropped her at home and then came back to the city to go to Sam's to finish the rest of the grocery list. 

It's hot.

Have y'all noticed?

The heat wears on me like bags of sand around my waist. I feel like I'm swimming in mud uphill. I loathe it. So I grab a cart I can lean on and amble into Sam's. 

Grab my stuffs.

Check out my stuffs.

Drag my ass back to my car.

Unload.

Park cart.

Shuffle back to car.

Start car and put air on HIGH.

Leave butterfly shades on front because I'm sweating like a dog. 
Eventually cool down enough remove shades and get the hell home.

Repeat grocery hell.

Strip down and slingshot bra (secretly hoping to never see it again). Lay on bed. Fan on. Briefly wonder what day it is and decide I really don't give a shit.

End scene.

Actually in the Sanctuary today. Hoping to write before it gets too hot in here to do so. I'M DONE WITH SUMMER, THANK YOU.

Always writing*

...and bitching about this bullshit heat...

What do readers like?

"A little bit of everything."

I asked every reader who came to my table yesterday what they liked to read. Nearly every one gave the answer above. I love that because that's what I write.

The problem being...the powers that be tell writers to stick to one thing and make it your "brand" except I don't stick to one thing. I like several things. I read eclectic. I write eclectic. I can't brand myself as a paranormal romance author or contemporary romance author or fantasy author or urban fantasy author because I write them all. 

I LOVE writing them all. And as I tell readers and will tell them repeatedly...the characters dictate the story, I simply write the book.

Right now that's an urban fantasy I'm halfway through and a contemporary romance I've only started. The next is the third book in my fantasy series trio. 

When I came up with my logo and tagline, I knew what I was doing. It's broad, yes. But who knows what I'll come up with in my writing? My first book in 2005 dealt with the world of Virtual Reality FAR before its time. I've toyed with a book about parthenogenesis. Flipping the script on gods and goddesses. And an idea I had last night about an alcohol study I find fascinating. 

I have to write everything down, or I will not remember! That's the important part. 

Inman Books

Infinite Possibilities

Yes.

Always writing* 

We all do it

Writers, I mean.

We can't help ourselves.

Honestly? We don't WANT to.

It's an itch. A deep, under the skin, nearly to the bone, itch we can only assuage if we give in. And we SO give in...with delight, I may add.

I love post-it notes. This has only gotten worse as I've aged. It's a need, folks. I have my pastel post-it notes in the "using now" tray whilst the other posties hang tight and wait for their turn. Will they HAVE a turn? Or will I simply reorder more pastels??? Depends on my moody ass. 😁

Oh, sweet Lord. I love notebooks. The reason? I have ink in my veins, and I so need to put that down in...you guessed it...notebooks. Of course, I only write in the PLAIN notebooks because how could I write in the gorgeous notebooks with only notes??? No, folks. Saving those for something special. What that special thing is...no one knows. Not even me. Yet, we wait. And we save them like they're the Holy Grail of paper bound in sacredness. (This the tiniest fraction of my cache. Amen)

I have gel pens, colored pencils with multi-colors for the lead, highlighters, pastel highlighters (yes...I am on a pastel kick--but they are so PRETTY), and colored pens.

Of course, if you read my last blog, you know I only write my notes with one pen. 

The irony, right?

BUT...when my one pen ran out of ink and was being wonky, I simply reached over and snagged a pen, silver thankyouverymuch, and continued writing. Do I need this many back-ups? 😂 

Of course not! But I think I'm going to use them to write letters to the gbabies. Mimi is that extra.

I'm also a complete sucker for planners. I've actually purchased a 2025 from Amazon, already. But I'm not sure I like the feel of it. That matters, of course. My last two were from the same company, and I liked both the look and feel. 🤔

To sum up, if you take me into a bookstore, not only will I spend forever in the clearance books looking for that weird title that will somehow light my fire and help when I'm writing, I will drool over every notebook and planner in sight.

Yes, I have a problem. No. I will surely not even try to fix it.

Last note: My now-wife took me to a bookstore on our first date. I told her it was foreplay. 😄

You're people will know you. 💖

Always writing*

...and adding more to the collective...

But...I put it in a space place

I am formally announcing myself as "that person". I have been putting things in "safe places" for about the past three years, and they are gone, folks. G-O-N-E.

I have this absolutely beautiful pen my friend bought me, and I'm on the last ink fill from the original box. I found the pen on Amazon and ordered replacements because I LOVE THIS PEN. The pen is now becoming unstable, and I can't remember where in the zippity-doo-dah I put the replacements. From this year. It's July. I'm unamused.

I cleaned out the blanket/towel cabinet in the big bathroom and finally put my pillowcases in there instead of my clothes closet. I wash the sheets, and I go to replace my pillowcase, only to find that, what in the everloving hell, I can't find that. I tear up the little corner in my clothes closet where the pillowcase resided until I remember, oh *SHIT* I put it with the other pillowcases.  😑 

I've put so many things in "safe places" in the Sanctuary (my office) closet, I've had to reorder them. I still can't find my desk scissors from last November. Probably with my damn pen ink refills. 

The irony. That's what cuts the deepest. These are "special" things that belong in "safe" spaces. 

I had a toy in my office closet that had been there approximately three years that I forgot to give to a granddaughter for Christmas/birthday. Managed to eke that out for the youngest granddaughter's Christmas, I believe. 

For the love of...I'm sitting here blogging, and I glance up at a little black and white box on my desk. I grab it and pull it down.

It's the pen refills. 

😶

I can't with myself.

Crystal*

Owning a business AKA Driving yourself mad over a long period of time

I have never owned a business before. Back in 2005, when I had my first book published, I was in charge of writing the book and finding reviewers. I had no problem doing both. There were several sites with willing reviewers and wonderful owners who helped authors. Nearly 20 years ago. Yes. I'm using the numbers for shock value. I popped up a free site on Tripod/Lycos/one of these I think. Easy to pop in content and links. It's homey-looking. My first attempt. It's still out there. Riddled with pop-up ads, I'm pretty sure.

But it was simpler. A simpler time.

I kept up with all of it.

NOW

If you would like a review, there is often a fee or donation. You can hop in the lengthy line of authors waiting to have your book reviewed by BUSY reviewers/content creators/overworked paid reviewers for the big guys. You can purchase ads that may or may not work for you. There's now a FB group that connects authors and ARC readers. Clever. But make no mistake, it's a JOB. I spent two days searching through reputable review resources and over half no longer took books to review. They had either stopped completely or took a hiatus.

Not only is my short ass writing a book, my vertically-challenged self will also make the cover, format it, find editors, edit it myself about three times, publish it, publicize it. Not my forte. Do I make those slick videos and post on TikTok and Insta? Do those work? Not for me. I've tried. I've tried ads on BookBub, Amazon, and Facebook. Not a fan. 

I sell the most books in person. I LOVE seeing people and chatting and talking about books and ALL THAT! It's my favorite. 💖  

But I have yet to come up with a way to solidify sales on the Internet. But I persevere my friends!

Attending a webinar tomorrow sponsored by the Author's Guild for Self-Publishing Authors. Woot! And attending a Contemporary Romance Writer's Conference (virtually) this Saturday and Sunday. 

Wish me well! 

Always writing*

...and trying to market my short ass...

Hello my FBI friend AKA Google me this

We all joke about it. How could we not?

Everyone Googles weird shit now and again. I do it on the daily. Most of it, of course, is tied to my writing and research. 

I need to KNOW things. But my problem is not stopping at surface level. I keep digging until my hands are filthy and my itchy grey matter has been sated. I often wonder what my little FBI friend on the other side of my Google searches thinks. 😲

I need to know what a body dropped at great heights looks like. Do you know your organs rearrange themselves? They shift and deform because of the intensive vibration in the body. Fascinating.

What military-issue knife is best for killing somebody?

What's a regular-size scalpel?

How many bones can be broken in a body before someone actually dies?

What does burnt heroin smell like? Burnt flesh?

What does a sulfuric acid burn look like? That was a short search.

Mapping a brain.

Vibrational frequencies.

Yesterday, I Googled serial killers, for reasons, and it was intriguing and horrifying.

Because there is SO MUCH information about them, their methodology, and their victims. I still have the tab open because I need more background. And we still know, IMO, so little.

There are similarities, of course, but not all serial killers are cut from the same cloth.

And the simple reason listed that there are more men serial killers than women?

Men are more violent.

I disagree on the reasoning.

How many serial killers will the average person walk by in a lifetime? 36. 😮

That's terrifying.

Sometimes I want to Google something and add "for research" at the end, as if that might take me off a Watch List. 😄

Google something awful and then the next search be something like "bunnies frolicking in a park" to tone down the harshness. 😉

Or maybe throw Criminal Minds under the search bus because I could probably get away with *ahem* murder. 😌

Hey! If the wonderfully warped Stephen King hasn't been taken off the streets yet, I should be gold, right?

RIGHT?

*mumbles* I'm a writer. 

sheesh

Always writing*

...usually inappropriate...

Email subscriptions

Once upon an AOL, I had three emails I divided into work, personal, and entertainment. Yes. Three AOL email accounts. Of course, I also had dial-up. You youngsters Google that. I am, indeed, older than the Internet. ✌

I wasn't strict about any of the accounts but xxxxxxxwriter. That's always been the one closest to my heart and the one given to friends and family. But if I saw a website that I liked for merchandise or clothing, I would send it to my more generic email so I wouldn't be slogging through advertisements on my personal/professional emails.

Times changed. The Internet exploded. I don't mean literally, but I did live through Y2K. 😁 

I had a Hotmail email. Yahoo email. Gmail email. At one point in time, I believe I had seven emails, and they all served a purpose. Crazy, huh? 

I hear one ding on my phone now, and I have a look of horror and disgust on my face usually saved for Simba's vomit and people who ignore our "No Soliciting" sign.

I digress.

I subscribed to all sorts of things that held my interest. Everybody had folders. It was AHmazing. Then shit got a bit crazy. Every one wanted an email. Doctors. Stores. Vets. Gas stations. HOA. Restaurants. Dry cleaners. 

EVERY. FUCKING. BODY.

I'm still reeling from the aftermath and treading ever-so-lightly through the email wilderness. I'll admit to being overwhelmed when I open my email, and there are emails from addresses I don't recognize.

C'mon. 

Then I have to take a bit of time to "unsubscribe" which, for some, means pushing that button, going to another screen, giving a reason (does it fucking matter???), sometimes putting your email in AGAIN, clicking another button, and hoping it does the trick. But wait! Even though they subscribed your ass in three-tenths of a second, it'll take three weeks to unsubscribe you---which translates into you probably doing what you just did AGAIN because you won't remember doing it the first time. 😑 

Email subscriptions I have but don't need:

OREO--Jesus wept. I cannot buy these for the hacienda. They are like crack. But sure, send me emails filled with pictures and taunt me.

AMAZON--Yes. I need to know I placed an order. And when the packing crew fondled it. And when the driver put it on the truck. And when it shifted to the left on the truck. And how many hours until it arrives. And where John is in relation to my address. And I want a picture of my front door, damn it!

THERAPY APPTS--Five days out. YOU HAVE AN APPT. Yep. I made it. It's in my calendar. Four days out. DON'T FORGET YOU HAVE AN APPT. Um, okay. Once again...I did the legwork for this. Three days out. YOUR APPT IS IN THREE DAYS. DO NOT FORGET. Fucking hell. Now I'm having nightmares I'm going to forget. Two days out. YOUR APPT IS TOMORROW. Really??? One day out. YOUR APPT IS TOMORROW. DO NOT BE LATE. I can now talk about how much anxiety I have. 😐

Nextdoor--I kick myself for having this one. First of all, the wife gets put in Nextdoor jail on rotation, I swear. But I'm not a big fan of some out of left field opinionated bullshit some yahoo felt like keyboard warrioring that day. This is for safe neighborhoods and recommendations. I don't give five fucks that you bought panties at WM that ride up on the right side, and they wouldn't take them back. No, ma'am. Buh-bye.

But...what if? What if I NEED to buy special Oreos for an occasion? And they offer 10% off through email? What if I forget my therapy appt because the week has been some hairy shit, and I've lost track of days? What if Amazon delivers my package to another address?

Yeah. Sigh.

Maybe I do need them.

Or at least that's what I tell myself when I open my email in the morning and immediately begin the opening and deleting/unsubscribing portion of my day, and these make the cut.

Always writing*

...except when I'm bitching about my emails... 

This week

Every one I've talked to has had a shitshow of a week. Monday was complete ass followed by several more days of "Is this week ever going to die?"

My Monday: We purchased washer hoses to change out. Supposed to be done every five years. Kudos if you do that. Anyway. Wife was at work. Unscrewing and screwing hoses in does not take more than I am capable. Or so I thought.

Cold hose off first since it's on top of the hot on the back of our washer. It's being uncooperative. I grab some pliers. Current situation is my full ass, on my stomach, stretched across the dryer, fiddling with some godforsaken cold hose. Finally get the SOB turning in the correct direction...ONLY TO FIND THAT IT'S NOT TURNED OFF.

Panic. Ensues.

Oh. Even though the cold water is turned OFF at the other hose, it most certainly is not. I try to tighten the hose back. I cannot. I lose a pair of pliers between the wall and the fucking washer. MORE CHOICE WORDS HAPPEN.

Call the wife at work to come shut off the water because I don't know how. The main water. She does it at street level.

Laundry room is flooded. I have another pair of pliers and an entire new vocabulary. 

I try to tighten the hose back. Little progress. Lost track of towels soaked and thrown in bathtub to wash later. 

Water finally off. 

Me=FURIOUS.

Also...Me=0. Washer=1.

😠  

I unscrew both hoses...still sprawled across the dryer and uncomfortable as fuck-all. Hot back on. Cold back on. 

Water back on.

Cold water hose still being a whore. Now leaking at the on/off handle.

Water turned off.

Wife wants to call plumber.

Ask her to give me another minute. 

Grab some plumber tape. Wind that shit around the last bit of connection. Screw the &*%%^*(#

cold hose back on.

Water on.

Finally working. Which is great since I have about a dozen towels to wash.

Tuesday, you ask?

Oh, my fibrolicious body was at a 2. Mentally and physically, I could not function. It was a bed day. I felt horrible from head-to-toe. Wasted day.

Wednesday was a bit of a revival. Went to Sam's and WM to grab some groceries.

Thursday--Two of the four granddaughters came up for the day! Always the best but feel like I've been beat afterwards. 💖😂

Friday--did some actual writing and research.

It's too damn hot. My body still aches. Not a lot tastes good. 

This week can pack itself up and mosey along now. 

Please.

Now.

Always writing*

...and saving what's left of my sanity

Smashwords sale!

 Now is your best chance to find my entire eBook collection for 50% OFF @Smashwords as part of their Annual Summer/Winter Sale! 

Find my books at Smashwords all month! 

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I am a creature of habit.

And I'm not. 😁

My neurodivergent self likes to have certain things I know I can trust daily. I wake. Change clothes. Cereal. Meds. Ice water. Work.

Tuesday-laundry

Wednesday-groceries

Every other week is therapy. I do love to chat.

Once a month or thereabouts, my wonderful stylist gives me rose gold hair. I love you, Penny! 💗

But writing?

Writing is everything wonderful and different.

I love romance. Romance lives in my soul. While I'm late to it in real life, I'm the precocious young girl reading Harlequin when it was all "clean." But you can bet your ass when Silhouette Desire came along, I was ass-deep in those pages. 😌

I was the high school girl sending off for honeymoon information for the Poconos because in my little romantic heart, THAT was the place to go after marriage. At this point, I hadn't even dated anyone. But the brochures fed the part of me that dreamed of romance. And I'm a big dreamer. Anyone will tell you. 😍

I thought I could simply write a billionaire romance or two and then shift gears. I have four planned out. BUT...I don't want to. 😮

What the what?

Yeah. That's right. Catch that. I simply don't want to. Not where my interests lie. 

Because the whispers started about a month ago. And I always listen to the whispers. 

Not a romance. Not hardly. Another fantasy. Young woman. Fighting. Experiments. Rage. Murder. Oh. And redemption. 

I started her story.

Nearly 12,000 words right now. I feel her beating on the walls, aching to tell the rest. 

I listen.

There are no hugs and kisses. No sweet words of encouragement.

Only her. Only pain. Only...her story.

You see, I've found I have a soft spot for the damaged female. The cast-off. The counted out. The used. 

She's found her champion. 

I've found my inspiration.

Aren't we both...fortunate?

Always writing*

Yahtzee

Before I started writing this morning, I wanted to blog. Wasn't quite sure of my topic until I opened PublisherRocket to do research on a couple of books.

I'm writing a book that isn't a romance. Not remotely. I think I've found my niche, and I'm excited about it. Caveat:  I will always write romance. 💖

PublisherRocket is a tool for looking at books, keywords, sales, insights, and various other back-end items I never thought about before but make a HUGE difference now. I wanted to see how many authors write what I'm writing now.

Not many.

I looked at some of the successful ones. Looked up their keywords. Then I had a moment of...hold on.

What's the difference between Fantasy and Supernatural? Am I getting this all wrong?

For those unsure, I give you this:

Fantasy usually takes place in another world, where fantastical creatures or magic are normal. In supernatural fiction, though, magic and monsters are not the norm and the mystery of such things is usually closely intertwined in the plot.

Makes perfect sense. Love that. But I also found in some of these keywords that authors used both on some books. That line in the sand disappears, I think, for some readers. I'm going to go check my keywords and make sure I'm utilizing them as best I can. Another tool. 

Always writing*

...oh...and I watched some season 4 Stranger Things in preparation... 

Damning with faint praise

I subscribe to Publishers Weekly. I think I need ALL the book news, and goodness knows, they cover most of the big business of it.

I like to keep track of the bestsellers. And I love to know Dr. Seuss is still killing it. New authors. Old authors with new deals. 

And some reviews.

Print edition has over 17,000 subscribers and is read by over 68,000 booksellers, publishers, public and academic librarians, wholesalers, distributors, educators, agents and writers.

Back to reviews because I read them when my magazine arrives in the mail. I SAVOR Publishers Weekly. I treat it like Reader's Digest back in the day. There is a system in place.

PW is:

cover story

top ten this week

bestseller lists

book reviews

book life

whatever story caught my eye

advertisements with new books

The reviews? Some are a bit salty:

"the author fumbles the ball"

"this ambitious swing for the fences connects more than it misses" yay?

"her plot has grown too tangled to satisfy"

Now I ponder, is a review in PW worth it? If the review comes out to a 4 or 5...does that hurt your book? Or, is the clout from having the review in PW high enough to overshadow the rest?

I realize reviews are a hit and miss. Because books and people are subjective.

Some people will love the offering, and some will hate it because it's Tuesday. It is what it is.

But...is damning with faint praise worth hopping in that car?

Always writing* 

Enneagrams

The Enneagram of Personality, or simply the Enneagram, is a model of the human psyche which is principally understood and taught as a typology of nine interconnected personality types.

Sounds a bit woo-woo, doesn't it?

But not really.

Any personality test gives a set of questions and narrows down answers into different personality traits. Makes sense. Then the answers are grouped together with a cool name that shows how these different personalities handle situations and how they respond in general.

I'm a sucker for these. 

But I hadn't thought about the enneagram much until a fellow author posted about reading Reclaim Your Author Career by Claire Taylor. Into the cart and onto the van it went.

Received it yesterday and am almost finished my first read-through.

Writers should also have Continuing Education. We need to keep our minds as well as our pencils sharp. You cannot keep cranking out books without also working on improving your craft. Writing evolves, and writers must evolve, also. Nothing in this profession is one and done. It's not a cookie-cutter business. Writers must keep reaching. Readers will appreciate the effort.

I'm excited to put what I've learned into my writing to make it better. And that, my lovelies, is ALWAYS the point. 💖

I'm a 5...apparently it's the most difficult, because of course it is...😶

Only a dozen or so...

I have a problem. Not exactly a BAD problem, per se. But it may be getting a tidge out of hand. Or this could be a good problem, and I should simply go with it.

Okay.

Here's what's what.

I have professed my love for Microsoft OneNote. Online notebook I use as my creative post-it notes and author board (correct word?). I use a page as a person, place, or thing. I can pop in text or images and use to go back and forth. Each notebook is a piece of work. The pages inside detail my research with my notes.

Simple.

I open OneNote as I'm not sure whether I'd like to continue with my billionaire book, Liam, or now Jackson has entered the fray. On the other hand Ray, I love her with my soul, has been making noise about finishing her story in Canary: Out of the Shadows. That's easily an 80,000 word endeavor. 

Decisions, decisions.

I decide, as I don't value my sanity (we all know this), to count how many stories I have notebooks for that I've researched and/or started writing. You know, on a whim. 😑

There are a dozen on OneNote.

ONE DOZEN books I've put notes on, and I've probably started 80% of those.  😶

I'm torn between wanting to cheer and checking myself in somewhere safe. Because I also have a list with around eighteen titles with ideas for books and at least half a dozen stories I started that aren't on my OneNote pages. 😳

And I KNOW that I'll keep having ideas as I work through the process of writing the next two or three books. My list won't be going down. If anything, it'll probably remain steady. 

Contemporary Romance, Paranormal Romance, Fantasy Romance, LGBT Romance, Fantasy, Paranormal, LGBT, and more. 

I believe diversity in writing only helps readers and authors. We are all made of so many different things. As long as we keep writing these stories, we will have readers to connect with. 💖

Always writing*

...like...literally...

A better mouse trap

Returned from my Authors on the Riverwalk 2024 book event. I sold some books. A few authors did not. Always makes me sad when I see everyone putting on their party dresses, and we don't have many party guests. These tables were decked out with all sorts of swag, merch, and books. 

Maybe the timing was a bit off with Memorial Day. Maybe some didn't realize it was actually that day. I don't know. I do know Des Moines, Iowa is a lovely place to visit.

When things don't work as I planned in my head (do they ever? really???), I try not to overthink. Emphasis on try. I instantly put on the "what can I do to make it better?" cap. I'm wearing it now.

It came to me this morning. 

Build a better mouse trap.

Guys. I have cheese. I have SO MUCH CHEESE. I need to figure out the best way to use it. That's the struggle. And it is real. 🐭

I've borrowed ideas from other authors that worked for them. 😊 They're good ideas, and I'm glad to implement them. But I haven't found IT. My IT. But I feel like I'm circling it. 

Closer.

Closer.

Yessssssssssssssssssssssss.

Always writing*

Expensive profession

I beg your pardon?

I'm always looking for ways to market my books. I still haven't hit upon the best way. I clicked on a gentleman's ad on FB because a mutual friend "liked" his page. I then spent nearly forty minutes listening to this man talk about his system. Okay. Then the price. 

$1000.

One. Thousand. Dollars.

Once upon a time, my short ass thought I only had to write books. It was often hard enough to simply carve out time. Now? I need to have my cat working a pole for extra money. 😑

This man was kind enough to tell me there are 60,000,000 books out there at any given time. How was I going to make mine stand out? Stellar question, my guy. Stellar question. 

Marketing IS hard for me. I sell more books in person. I like being able to see my readers and chat. But in this digital world, that's the exception and not the rule. I do, however, love making little swag bags and whatnot.

Finally received the last two pieces for my bags I'm making for Des Moines next Saturday, May 25th. 💖 I know 25 VIP tickets were sold, and I sent swag ahead to put in those bags, but I plan on making at least 100 more little bags for those that stop by my table. I'm so excited!

After this, I'll be in Fort Smith, AR, in August. More coming on that later. In the meantime, I'm still trying to figure out this effective marketing thing without spending an arm, leg, and some toes. 😉

Making gift bags!

Too much? Not enough?

I am not a moderate person. Let's bebop right through that strong personality trait and recognize it. If I had to be someplace, and it was incredibly important, and I sprained my ankle or whatnot, I would crawl. I remember doing a stress test years ago in a cardiologist's office. The tech worked that mother up to a major incline while keeping pace. I was huffing and puffing, but I was doing it. He was like, okay, you're starting to struggle, and I was all like...BUT I'M STILL WALKING! 😂 

When I go to these wonderful book events, I'm going in blind. There are not set numbers of books to take nor an idea of which will sell more. You simply don't know. I took a lot to a Christmas event last November. Incredibly disappointing. Number of attendees did NOT hold up. I believe this Authors on the Riverwalk in Des Moines in a couple of weeks will. I'm excited! 

But we'll be driving, and space is limited. I would rather have too many than not enough, but books are heavy, and I'd rather not have a heart attack. 😑 On the other hand, what if I sell out???  😱🥳

These little scenarios are enough to do me in sometimes. I think I've come up with numbers I can live with. Tables are only six feet. I prefer eight. Going to have to smooth my own edges here. 😄

Wish me well. Now, I need to put my little swag bags together.

Oh. Man. 😶

Always doing something with books...

Under pressure

I do this to myself. 

I mean, if I don't, who will? 😶 

I'm the writer and publisher. Simba's content to lay at my feet and sleep. What a life. 😊

Working on the billionaire romance and the third one wants to interfere before the first is written. Working on a dark fantasy romance. And after finishing one of these, I need to write the last book in my "Canary" series. That will be incredibly intense.

And then I have those moments I think all writers do. It's not burnout, it's more like full immersion maybe? Overexposure? Where you eat, breathe, sleep, sweat, and swim in your book and characters. You want to spread your beautiful pieces all over social media and share your creation and its fixtures. Like I want to explode like a freakin' piñata and rain down all the loveliness all over social media.

It doesn't work that way. Wouldn't it be cool, though? To have like an emoji of yourself? And a countdown? And then you're kind of like a piñata, and you beat yourself, and when you actually crack open, your social media would be flooded with the information about your book? Wouldn't that be AMAZING??? 

It's been said that authors should concentrate on a genre and play in it only. That's not me. That way they build their audience of steady readers who know what to expect. I am unable to make orange popsicles my entire existence. I need to make grape. I need to branch off into fudgesicles. I need vanilla cones dipped in chocolate. I need variety.

The fact I write in variety makes it hard for my neurodivergent self to keep up with social media and how and what I post. I've tried to straighten myself out. I am SO crooked. And people who have made a success of this state that posting on social media daily is as must!

I cannot fathom hitting up Insta, TikTok, X, and FB on the daily. argh

Good news is that I've sold books in the local bookstore and will likely do well when I head to Des Moines in a couple of weeks. I love the in-person events with other authors and readers!

I need to put my swag together soon and make sure I have the books I need to travel.

If you're an exhausted author, don't give up! We're a tenacious lot. And if you're a reader, what are your thoughts on social media? Does it influence you that much?

Always writing*

...and putting together swag bags...

 

Storms, stock, and starving

I go to my yearly doc visits. I go for my physical and med check. I go for my "well woman" because she prescribes the mini-pill that guarantees I don't have a period (last was Dec. 2019). I go for the boob squish. The last two, in particular, are not a good time.

But I go.

My PCP has been pushing a colonoscopy for quite some time. I put it off. For years. Finally, I agreed. Partly, because I heard there was a pill prep, and I cannot drink the liquid prep. I would throw it back up. It simply wasn't an option. 

My colonoscopy is tomorrow, and today is liquid diet day. I've never even tried a liquid diet. You know, for shit and giggles back in the day to lose weight. Never crossed my mind. Approximately three hours into this bullshit, and here's why...I need food. 😂

I picked up 7-Up, apple juice, beef broth, and chicken broth. I've had a cup of 7-Up, and I'm drinking my usual ice-water. The real fun doesn't start until five this evening, when I start taking the twelve pills every two minutes to start what I'll call "the clearing." By then, I'm sure I'll have lost my will to live. Sometime in the wee hours of the morning, we do another 12-pill shot and drink more water. Then...NO WATER. I hope they can find a vein in the husk of a being I've become. 😒

This evening will also be a party, while I'm bonding with the porcelain, because Oklahoma is in the bullseye for a bad storm. Hail, long-track tornadoes, and lots of damage if things ramp up. I have my own anxiety, of course, then a large amount for my kids and gbabies who ALSO live in central Oklahoma. So all parts of my being will be on high alert. If I have to throw Simba into the bathtub while I'm still on the throne, it's going down. Nothing is cute when your weather map looks like this:

Wish me well today. I'll be chugging chicken broth, weather-watching, and *ahem* clearing things out.

Crystal*

Time capsule

We are time capsules. Historic caches of goods and information. 

I find that fascinating. Each one of us uniquely made to add something or several somethings to future generations. We do not have to have children to give this gift to. We can give to family members, strangers, or friends. 

No one in my family cares about writing books. But it's always my pleasure to stand in front of strangers and share what I know. If I've given them even one new thing to chew on, I'm pleased. There's a man on YouTube who has the channel, Dad, How do I? to show kids how to do things that their parents didn't or couldn't. Absolutely brilliant. Knitters. Carpenters. Mechanics. Poets. Cobblers. People sharing the best of themselves for others. 

Now. To bring it back home. 

I had an incredibly dysfunctional family growing up. So much history lost. There weren't family stories told to me, and I never understood why. Tight-lipped bunch of people.

But I've tried to raise my own to ask questions about things. Seek answers. If they want to know, then be persistent. I can tell you what I know, and I can try to work my way through those left who may be able to help. Because I want my people to be full. To have a good look of where they came from. Who they came from. What they carry with them. Or they can be the damn rebel and not do a whit of what came before. And good on them! But they need to have most of the picture before making a decision, and that's where we come in. 

We are living historical beings. Live loud and fully. While your own family may not follow in your footsteps, your mere being may make the entire difference in someone else's world. And we need that NOW...not just in the future.

Always writing*

...and philosophizing...

Weebles wobble

It's been roughly three decades (or so?) since I've been on a bicycle. The Honey has an electric one and wanted me to have one like hers. That's a hard pass because sometimes my wee brain goes into a fog. And the last thing I need to worry about is a throttle on a bike and accidentally pressing it. Because I would do this.

I would SO do this.

*ahem*

We bought a bike from WM forever ago. Had to take it into the shop for all sorts of minor issues. They fixed it right up. And it's been sitting in the garage since. Probably three weeks or so.

NOW.

She is a chill bike. Pink. Kind of looks like a beach cruiser. I even have a little white basket in front. 😊

Lovely.

I decide yesterday I'm doing it. Wasn't raining. Seventies. Slight breeze. Little bit of fear. Because I have a three year-old new right hip. She is comfy. We don't want to upset her at all. No jostling, bumping, and God forbid, falling.

Hop on the bike, the seat is ridiculously high. I lower it all the way down. Calm myself. 

I now need to work on my balance since I need to grab something with my left hand to swing my right leg, either over the middle or the seat, and have no balance. I am straddling the bike. M'kay.

All I need now is to trust myself to put my feet on the pedals and balance my weeblyliciousness. 😐

I can juuuuuuusttttt touch the concrete when I'm straddling it. I pull my legs up and wibble wobble for a minute until I straighten myself out.

Woot!

Feet are pedaling. I only go back and forth down the block. Turning is hazardous at first. Almost eat it when I stop to get a drink. Then that old meme comes to mind.

I would have fallen into grass and would have laughed at myself. But others would have probably been alarmed. 😂

Honestly, I felt pretty good on the pedals. A bit freer. Wind through my hair. Going to make her a part of my weekly routine. Here's to staying upright! 😁

Always writing*

...and trying not to fall on my ass...

I'm how old?

My age is a non-issue. I've already started thinking of myself as 53. (I did the math this morning. I'm 52. Either way...who cares?) Oh. Wait. I'll tell you who cares...my PCP. 😑

I should get my shingles shot along with my flu shot. Oh, and think about my pneumonia shot. AND...a colonoscopy. 🙄 I told Doc that I'll THINK about the shingles duo. But I finally caved on the colonoscopy. I am not happy. Next Tuesday is D-Day. C-Day? And my anxiety is all about it. Doesn't help matters I have this two-page instruction sheet about the do's and don'ts of the colon probing business.

I am, thank the pharmacological gods, taking pills instead of the nasty drinks brewed up. My gag reflex is no joke. But the prep starts five days out. I can't have my buttered pecan ice cream. Nuts and berries are verboten. 😩 Then there's this cool graphic about how my business will go from brown to clear. 😷 I can't wait. 

Moving on from my ass...It's already May. I have so much stuff to do. Getting ready for my book trip to Des Moines for this:

Incredibly excited about the event. Love these to meet other authors and ALL THE READERS! 

I'm off to watch the weather. Oklahoma has been going through it. Hopefully do a TikTok and maybe a Snapchat.

Always writing* 

Goodbye for now

I don't like small dogs. I have never liked small dogs. My exposure to said dogs always included high-pitched yapping and prissy spoiled behavior. I'm a German Shepard kinda gal. Grew up with one or two my entire life. Then a Doberman. I LOVE big dogs. Ones I can throw around, they bounce back, and come back for more. 

I married into a Chihuahua family. He arrived a mere month before the Honey and I started seeing each other. I could fit this little shit in the palm of my hand. 😑 Harley was a long-haired brown Chihuahua. He was the Honey's FIRST EVER pet. 

The Honey and I dated. I lived in another city, and I would come up on most weekends and stay. This dog's feet didn't touch the ground, AND the asshole was manipulative. Apparently, as the Honey said, it's the breed. 😒 Oh. Delightful. Fuck no, that's not delightful. You're being manipulated by a DOG. He would literally pretend she kicked him, and then he would whimper, and she would pick him up with an "awwwww...did Mama hurt you?"  😶😶😶  What in the actual fuck?

Something had to give besides my gag reflex. I started saying something about Harley's bullshit. I'm like...come on! But he was her "precious puppy." 😵 One day I grabbed her precious puppy and play rolled his short furry ass across the carpet. The Honey almost flat-lined. Harley loved it. 😂  Thus, the little shit and I began to get along. I then adopted Simba, my feline son, and gave Harley a brother.

These two idiots. They played. They sparred. They ate each other's food. 🙄 They went on vacations with us. They are our kids.

But animals don't have as much time as people, which is bullshit. Simba turned thirteen yesterday. But we spent the morning at the vet with Harley. He couldn't walk anymore. Wouldn't eat. The Honey knew it was time for him to move on. 

Harley was fourteen. Would have been fifteen this summer. She held him as the vet gave him medicine to send him over the Rainbow Bridge. I had no plans to witness this, but they did it in the same room we waited in. I've never had a pet put down.

It was quiet, almost reverent. 

Quick.

That little asshole left our lives the way he came in...on a wave of love. 

Goodbye for now, Harley. It's quieter here. We think Simba is looking for you. The Honey is a mess. 

And me? Getting along like I always do. Writing down my thoughts. Airing out emotions. Working my way through a box of Kleenex. 

*******

Instant gratification

I suck at TikTok. I keep trying to make it meaningful. Working on that later today. Let's face it, you have a good three to five seconds, if that, to make your case. I ramble on like we're having a conversation. I fail at TikTok. I have to laugh.

Instagram? I do better there. I don't do anything live so I'm mostly posting videos I've already made, at this juncture. They seem to also be too long. 😕

People's expectations of immediacy have grown exponentially. Buffering is a large thing of the past, and BOY, DO PEOPLE GET PISSED if they have to experience that little inconvenience again. Waiting for food? Sweet Jesus. Customers would rather abuse the wait staff and servers than WAIT FOR FRESH FOOD. And get this:  stop signs. I drove back to my hometown the other day to grab a grandchild, and nearly every four-way stop, but two, cars rolled through them. CARS KEPT DRIVING THROUGH A STOP SIGN. Because obviously they needed to do a heart transplant and had no time to spare. 😑

Instant gratification expectation is dangerous. It's an entitled mindset. Unless it is a true emergency, instant gratification is a gift. I bought The Tortured Poets Department from iTunes, and it downloaded immediately. I watched it check off each song as it added to my library. I was grateful. I remember cassettes. 😄

Instant can be great. Chicken in the air fryer. Streaming nearly anything you want at your fingertips. Buying in the blink of an eye. Making connections. 

But please don't forget we crawled for a bit. Then learned to walk. Now we're wanting to run the Olympics when we haven't trained for it. 

It's time to appreciate the time in-between. The flavor of the food. The feel of that grandbaby or baby asleep on your chest. Lyrics that resonate with your soul. Your feline son who makes sure you're never in a room alone. (I love you, Simba. 💖)

Always writing*

...and ruminating...

Ambiance

I'm that woman. The full moon makes me want to howl and walk through the mist and fog in a flowy gown with bare feet. Toes pressed to cool dirt. Hair blowing in the breeze.  

Dreary overcast days are best for writing. The outside affects the inside. It's a wonder I don't have SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder). Hell, maybe I do. Supposed to storm here today. Looking forward to it. Maybe I should move to Seattle or London. Where was that spot the Cullens lived? 🤔

When I'm irritated/annoyed/pissed, I can write fight scenes like no one's business. I can work my steam out through the characters. We're both better for it. I think it adds the realism to it. If I'm in a mellow mood, it's hard for me to work up a good mad. And when I'm het up, I'm not feeling the calmer scenes. My blood pressure tends to have a bearing. 😂 I'll often wait until I'm in a certain mood to write a scene.

Sex scenes are the same. If I've stubbed my toe, spilled my drink, and have a headache, no one is getting any. Sorry, guys. Writing sensual scenes is a mood. You can't force it. Sure, you can put A in B and lick C, but if the writer is not feeling it writing it...the reader won't feel it reading it. There are times it's the first thing out the gate and others where I squeeze them in later. But also? Chemistry.

I don't write Erotica because I need the emotional connection between my characters, and I need that connection with me. We're a team. I need them to create a bond, and I build on that. Erotic Romance will have that happily-ever-after, and that one simple thing will always draw me to write in the genre.

Mixing it up. 

I've gone to the dark side. I've learned to kill some of my darlings, and it's not a decision I take lightly. These characters are part of me. They live and breathe in me. They are my creations. But when I start writing a new book, I caution myself about the characters. Take that in. Sometimes, I don't even know who's not going to make it. 

And when I have to do the deed, I completely lose my shit. I sob. I grieve. I ache. It's a fresh little scar. I mourn for the characters. It's never a simple speed bump. That's all I need you to know. It gets dark here, my friend. 

Let's slide back into the sunshine.

Books mirror lives. The ups and downs. The joy and pain. The beauty and the ugliness. 

But romance gives you happily-ever-after. 

Good vibes.

A moment to step away from what you have going on for a break.

Feels good from this side, too. 😌

Always writing*

 

 

A word? Your word? Any word?

Promises are like vouchers. They are an assurance that something agreed upon will happen. Promises, to me, are iffy. They can often depend on weather, other people, sickness, and timing. Occasionally flexing or breaking a promise may happen. Repeatedly doing so makes you untrustworthy.

Giving your word is solid. If I give someone my word, I'll be moving heaven, earth, and the Milky Way to keep my word. It's a matter of integrity and dependability. It's a sign you can trust me, and if you keep your word, I can trust you. This is a solid foundation for growth and building.

For as long as I've been in the publishing game, I'm a newbie to the conferences and book signing events. I haunt FB, TikTok, Insta, Threads, and RWA to see what suits me best. I also take geography into consideration as I don't want to drive over a day. I have physical limitations that require me to rest more often than others. I network at these events and have LOVED my table mates at all. But I digress.

There was a book event this last weekend. I'm not naming it because this isn't about driving people to this blog using the name. But I will use it as an example. This event was one I considered since it was geographically close enough for me to drive within a day. Wasn't crazy about the weather, but I was jealous of those going. 

By all accounts, it was a shitshow of monumental proportions. It had grown to over five times the size of last year but no accommodations were made for that. Authors, readers, and volunteers did not receive books, time, nor instructions. There were no ADA accommodations. No security. Influencers were treated poorly. Readers did not receive their PRE-ORDERED books from their authors and did not get to meet some of them.

Every story coming out of this event hurts me. The pure excitement attendees felt only to have some of the worst times of their lives...it can't be fixed. No apology is that big. And for the record, no apology has been issued except for a reference to "bumpy bumps". 

I have a book event in late May in Des Moines. I am EXCITED! Am I optimistic? You bet! Am I cautious? You bet! 

I have no idea what it's going to be like, but I give you MY WORD I will be there with books, smiles, swag, and space buns. Come see me!

Always writing* 

Billionaires

My thoughts on billionaires in real life is not kind. Twenty years ago, the word "billionaire" didn't exist in my every day vocabulary. Why would it? But it's become quite the popular romance trope. Trope is also a new word in my vernacular. And as I typed it, I thought to myself...isn't that the same thing as motif? After a quick Google, it basically is. Shout out to my old ass. 🥳 

Billionaires are popular in romance in right now with all sorts of different spikes on the wheel. B Mafia. B Playboy. B Secret Baby. B Marriage of Convenience. B BDSM.

The appeal is broad. We readers love our fantasy worlds. How nice would it be to have a lover who you didn't have to bargain with over groceries? You can still buy the expensive apples, and he can have beef AND pork in his meatloaf. 😲 You know all the bills will be paid on time, no late fees. You wouldn't have to cook, if you didn't want. There would be a cleaning staff. 

The billionaire? He would dote on you. Worship you. Maybe he was a little bossy, but he could bend you like a pretzel and make you like it. Experimentation is a plus. He would be skilled and show you the one-orgasm at a time method is outdated.

If there were an online application process, it would overload the servers and shutdown the internet. But make no mistake, this is what a lot of women want. And if they can't live it, they want to read about it.

I've three billionaire romances in planning stages. I've started on the first of four. Not gonna lie. I'm enjoying it from this perspective, too. 😄 

Always writing*

Glasses

I've worn glasses since twelve. Neither of my parents did. I called bullshit way back. 

Am I blind as shit without them? Why, yes. Yes, I am. I loathe the fact. Except Christmastime when I can look at Christmas lights or a tree without said glasses, and it's so damn SOFT. You guys with 20/20 and better vision don't know unless you've experienced it. But those of us who have? It doesn't make up for any of the other bullshit, but it's a MOMENT, you know?

I wear progressives now. Real cute way to say I can tilt my head a certain way and can see both near and far with ONE set of glasses. Yes, I appreciate the invention. But even more? I appreciate the fact I can take my glasses off and read to my grandchildren or read a book or watch a show on my phone without the extra eyes. But, Crystal! That's what your progressives are for! Shush your butt. I do as I want...

Hopefully, sooner than later, we will have longer vacations with the kids and gbabies. I don't want that with my glasses. I don't like anything ON my glasses. Long story. And I HAVE to have them to see. Goodbye anything with water. It's horseshit.

BUT...I wore these pain in the ass glasses yesterday OVER my solar shades to watch the eclipse. The cardboard cut into my nose, and it was extremely uncomfortable, but I wanted to see what everyone else was going to see. And I did.

The sun became a mere object as the moon slid slowly in front of it, taking its time, swallowing small pieces of bright yellow in tiny bites, not great gulps. It was a sci-fi Pac-Man eaten by a moon ghost. (Once an eighties kid...) It was Dr. Who's street lamp that always shines on the TARDIS. It was a shiny crescent moon who talked to "Bear in the Big Blue House." It was...

...a sliver of something bright, far away. A mysterious tip of a yellow fingernail shining back on a round rock determined to cover it up. Did dinosaurs look up and see only a sunny fragment before their lives changed? Did our ancestors cower or scream? Dance or sacrifice? Was it a beginning to some? An end for others? How much power had the rock? How much power had the bright?

The next dance is 2045? I'll be in my mid-seventies, if still aboveground. And hopefully, only wearing one pair of shades. 😎

Crystal*  

Monsters folie à deux

We don't believe in torches and pitchforks anymore in the world of writing romance books. We are, after all, in the business of happily-ever-after.

Bring us your werewolves, vampires, sea creatures. We will craft stories where these "monsters" get the girl, boy, girls, or boys of their dreams. 

I grew up watching Bella Lugosi as both Dracula and the Wolfman. A large decisive slant on his true intentions. Also, he was not meant to be the butter on your toast. Or, at least not mine. 

My next true remembrance of a vampire was Chris Sarandon of "Fright Night". Now. HERE was a man I'd think of letting butter anything he'd like. (I haven't had breakfast!) I was also a hormonal teenage girl. And my favorite creature has always been a vampire because they are masters of seduction. You can drain every ounce of blood from my body, but I can feel pleasure from the process?  Left or right side?

There have been many remakes through the years which have made monsters palatable. And a couple...that have broken my heart.

Edward Scissorhands. I ugly cried. A misunderstood soul trapped in a body that betrayed him. I've only watched it once because once was enough to stick.

The Shape of Water. Though I know what happens, I can't bring myself to watch the torture of the amphibious man. The thought sticks in my chest and hurts.

That's the other side of it. It's okay to hurt these "monsters" because they're inhuman, although some are more human than actual humans. 

We want to ostracize or humanize because we don't understand, and we must understand! You don't look like me, but if you act like me, I'll find it easier to accept you. Sound familiar?

Or, when writing, if we stick to the stereotype, it's more palatable.

Wolves have packs. There can be multiple males and one female. Now. Substitute witches or vampires. Hits a bit different, doesn't it? I'm not knocking it, but it's easier to make the wolf scenario more believable.

Back to the monsters. Monster Romance is growing quickly. Part of that growth is for writers to remind themselves woman fall in love with actions. The physical side of characters falls way lower on the attract-o-meter. THIS is a fact suitors, both male/female/ otherworldly beings, need to realize.

Most women focus on what makes an individual. Do these attributes appeal to them? 

The fact this entity only has one eyeball, pointy teeth, scales, or furry feet is incidental.

Love is blind.

Always writing*

...haven't done a monster romance yet...