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

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