Wednesday, August 31, 2011

In the Mood

Strange how things can work out so well if you are just in the mood for them.  Maybe like sex.  I don't remember.  But this publishing thing?  I can put a book on the site and actually sell them to people.  Hey, I am pretty great.  Then I notice one little thing I want to change, and I cannot even find the f-ing "Tool" bar in the word program.  C'mon.  How many times have I done this?

Sometimes my mind is like a whirlpool and the thoughts just keep swirling around and I am going deeper and deeper, but tonight my mind is a puddle of sludge on a hot day.  I do not want to probe beyond the surface and, in actual fact, I don't want to be any where near it.

The only thing that bothers me about this is that, truly, I do not want people to see my mistakes.  I know, I have seen typos in two page spread perfume ads in Vogue magazine, but damnit, I want my title page to be the best title page in the world.  And I am apparently competing with an awful lot of freaking perfectionists, because I have satisfied everyone's requirements except fucking Apple.  And they have said they sell more epub books than anyone.  Where do the people that publish for Apple live?  And where do all the people live that buy Apple epubs?  I have never heard of one of them.

Tuesday, August 30, 2011


Well, you can think you are as cynical as would be possible.  But the excitement of that touchdown Saturday was so amazing.  They should study what  that does in your bloodstream.  I would buy some.

And then, today, after working on it for at least five hours, I got my Book up on Smashwords which is a gateway to every electronic reading device.  Anywhere.  I guess the reason I am so happy about it is that is was so much more work than the Kindle deal.  Picky, picky, picky.  It is still telling me I have things to fix, like text inside a table, and there are NO tables in this book.  At least not the kind they mean.  Anyway, it feels so good. Now for Lawmen.  He is getting impatient.  And that is not good.

Saturday, August 27, 2011

Another Review.


Well, I took an extra half a Welbutrin, just in case, cuz I cannot stop crying.  Actually, I am not really crying, Water just keeps dripping down my cheeks from my eyes.

So did Ben's team win?  YEAH.  Ben ran eighty six yards for a touchdown.  No one can touch him when he runs.  No one under the age of eleven at least.  He owned the field.  Then the other team, the whatchamacallits from somewhere, had the ball and BEN took him down.  20-something to ZERO.  I may decide to live another day.  I have to go now.  I am tweeting with the Dallas Cowboys and I have to update them.


Wednesday, August 24, 2011


I am not getting too much action on the Amazon review thing, (only family has bothered) but received this in my gmail and had to share.  I am so thrilled.

GLOWING REVIEW from Roy York, Las Vegas, Nevada

Thank you very much for sending me the .pdf copy of your book.  After I received it, I intended to read a few lines to get the gist of it and then figure out exactly when I was going to read it, in addition to the two other books I am in at the present time.  Then, one page led to another and I damn near didn't get the stuff out for dinner, but I did and that turned out OK.  Then, the wife came home and we had a lot to talk about, her day at work, some things going on like the earthquake in DC which I didn't know jack shit about.  Nor the one in Colorado, or the fact that Tripoli fell to the rebels.  I was too damn busy enjoying myself with the book.

I got back to it later after dinner and finished it about 11:00PM.  (My bedtime is normally 9:00, so think of that as a positive.)  Here goes the  review.

I will be promoting this to family and friends and have a little gathering coming up with one of them that told me they would get it.  I will be interested in her take on the book.

I liked the book, but I'm an ending kind of guy and was a little bummed out that you didn't tie up a few loose ends, (which could have led to sequels


but I know nothing about bodice rippers, this is my first).

(SPOILER deleted)

At one point, and I loved this about your story, you had me guessing what was coming and I like that in a story, and interestingly enough, I was seldom right.  A mark of a good author (in my opinion) is not giving too many hints as if their readers are dumb and you have to tell them in advance — (SPOILER DELETED):

I actually wrote down part of your dialogue when Jenny confronts Ethan with "That makes it OK? If everyone knows you're an asshole, and you admit you are an asshole, then it's therefore all right to be an asshole?"  I loved that line and laughed out loud.

I liked your character development and could swear the sharp tongue of the redhead is someone I vaguely know. And, since I know a little about you, saw your writing reflect things with which you are familiar.    

I think you are a master at dialogue, however, a couple of times I got confused as to who exactly was talking and had to go back and reread some to catch back up.  I'm more of a "he said, she said" kind of author, but the literary jury is still out on that.

Conclusion: I will read more of your work, I will definitely promote your book to my friends and family, and hopefully, we will stay in touch, and see which of us gets to the New York Times Bestseller list before the other.

Congratulations and keep writing.

With great respect to a fellow author who, like I am, is doing something about getting our stories out there.

Monday, August 22, 2011


Having a lonely aging parent is very difficult.  I think it might weigh on my mind more than the runaway grandchild did.  A little bit of commiseration or a few suggestions on how to deal with it would help.  The interesting thing is that this is one of the issues with which we have dealt  that my husband, no spring chicken himself, is the most helpful..

After many many years of marriage, I still do not know which way the wind will be blowing for the husband for any given day.  Dealing with the brick wall has become second nature for me, but when I wake up the next day to cheerful chatty guy, I am actually sent rocking back on my heels.  I will deal with my own mood swings, thanks, and am getting rather good at it.  But when it comes to your mood swings, No Thank You,  take them with you and don't let that door hit you in the ass on your way out, etc.  Either that or I am gone. And I have lots of ways of doing that trick.

You wonder if there are time limits on these issues, and surely there must be, but even thinking that way invites a guilt trip.  (For me, at least)  And then there is the eleven and a half year old Cocker Spaniel, Henry, who is going through the same aging and senility and physical weakening issues in his old age.

 I was in the shoe store with Fran today and Ben wanted a certain kind of slip on sport shower shoe and Fran and the clerk were looking for the right size and I walked around the corner and Fran said, "Where's the baby?"  I said, "I don't know!"  Of course she was right there in the stroller next  to that huge scaffold high shelf reaching contraption and I had to walk her around the other end of the aisle to get to where Fran was, but for just that second I thought to myself, "Baby?"  I seriously think I am just that close to overload.

And speaking of Ben, the light of my life, he plays offense and defense and, pretty much, when someone needs to be tackled, the rest of the team just  stands around and watches Ben do it.


Sunday, August 21, 2011


I am on the verge here, no pun intended.  I know I just have to get the right person to read this book and I will be in like a burglar. I will email a free PDF of the book to the first five people that ask for it.  (You can print out PDFs if you have enough paper!!)  All you have to do is promise me you will spread the word and tell me who you will spread it to, as I know you will love it.  Unless all you care about is vampires and zombies.  Here is my email address in case you can't find it in profile.  (I don't even know if it is there):  

(Be forewarned this is contemporary Romantic fiction with adult content. Please state that you are over 18.  No, it is NOT erotica.  Sorry.  Or Porn.  More sorry.)

When these promo sites start talking about enclosing a coupon, I can taste a little barf in the  back of my throat.

Next book release this week I hope.  Pending one more reread and finishing cover art.

Here is the link for the actual book, in case you want to buy it for your kindle or your phone:

Thursday, August 18, 2011


I've been calling around getting prices for a replacement part for my car. (It's a headlight assembly and the prices average $350.00.  So stupid.  Only the plastic lens is broken.  I want to use Shrinky Dink plastic but the husband says no.)  A local GM dealer had a decent price and could get it tomorrow.  So twice I tried calling there to say go ahead and order it and I am getting all furious (pay attention!  I said 'furious') because no one answers.  I let it ring about ten minutes each time.  Imagine sitting in this agency listening to this phone ring and ring.  Crazy making.  A few minutes ago, my husband returned from a trip to the bank, which is right next door to this GM dealer.  The streets around it are cordoned off by police.  He hears on the radio on the way home that someone in the dealership was stabbed to death and they had the perp in custody.  I hope it wasn't incessant ringing of a phone that set him off.  But, if he stabbed someone to death, he must have been 'furious.'

Since we have lived in Lindenhurst, about eleven and a half years, there have been three murders, one body found, two suicides I know of, and eleven normal deaths just on my block.  Thirteen years in Oak Park, I never heard of this.  Oak Park is immediately adjacent to the West Side of Chicago.  Lindenhurst is forty miles north near the Wisconsin border.  So much for going to the boonies for safety.

Persistence (Eeyore)

Emily Dickenson said something about Hope.  It's the thing with wings or something?  The book is sitting two yards away, so why don't I reach out, open it up and read it?  Can't answer that.  No.  I can.  I don't want to.  I don't want to read Emily Dickenson right now.

What is the thing when you don't really have hope, you believe it is stupid to have hope, that hope is the only thing that keeps the human race going, that there is no point in having hope, that there is really nothing, at this moment, that I can say I hope for, that I believe everytime I have had hope, I have crashed in flames and really don't want to do it again--but still, I persist.  Still, I get up every morning and I see light.  I am looking forward to getting up tomorrow morning because the washing machine is fixed and a cool, dry front is supposed to come through.  That I wish I could fall quickly to sleep so tomorrow would hurry up and be here and today was just so blah and uncomfortable that I just want it to be over.  That people tell me stuff that is not true cuz they feel sorry for me.  That they don't even think anymore about why they feel sorry for me cuz they are too busy living?  That I feel I am tolerated, not appreciated.  That sometimes I just don't care and I think stuff that could get me put in the hospital, and I don't want to go to the hospital.  So I just persist.  And it hardly even seems like living anymore.  It's just persisting.  And I do it cuz when I wake up, I still see that damn light.  I read someone's blog today where they talked about someone they remember, someone that died, and the memories were so positive, so that person that died lived for a reason.  And I am betting she never stopped and thought about what that reason was.  She just did the best job of living her life that she could.  And I ALWAYS feel like I am not doing that.  ALWAYS.

I so want to  think that I will leave something important behind.  But why do I think that?  There are some super excellent, wonderful humans walking this earth and breathing because of me.  But instead of just accepting that that is a very good thing, I second guess my conclusion and start to think, 'What if they don't do anything good or important.  It will all have been for naught.'  For sure, I know, for sure, my mother NEVER gave a thought to what legacy she was leaving, its quality, its quantity, its value, why her children were the way they were, what input did she have on the outcome.    Why does this so govern my mind?  Waking up and seeing light should be enough.  It's not.  Not for me. 

What would be enough?

Wednesday, August 17, 2011


My experience with Kindle went very well.  There is only one format problem where I tried to insert a line from a poem.  I will fix that when I am a little more sure of my niche.  One commentor said add more tags and I did that and it went back to review.  So that takes it out of availability for 24 hours. 

I want to put it on Smashwords which supposedly exposes you to more sites.  But their instructions are long.  I think I understand them but have to pick a time when my hands are not shaking because of six other things going on, like trying to get the storm damage fixed, the cars fixed, the couch out of the basement, the microwave hung up, the dog groomed, etc.

The feedback I've gotten is so positive that I feel I can make something of this if I follow the hints of the other self-publishers. 

Anyone who has anything to say about Smashwords, please comment here. 

Saturday, August 13, 2011


It's up.  Now I feel there are about a hundred things I should take out.  One in particular.

Friday, August 12, 2011


When I decided I was tired of dating, and wanted to get married, it was my choice.  I had a set of criteria.  I could have enumerated them to the candidates, but it would not have made any difference to  them.  These requirements were only important to me.  The only requirement they had was to get the redhead in the sack at regular intervals, and if you tell me otherwise, you are a fucking liar and need to get in touch with your "Inner" self, part of that is found in your brain, and part of that is found in your heart.  The sex thing is your "external' self. And we all know where you can find that.

intelligent enough to talk to.
good in the sack,
considerate lover,  this does not transfer into real life.  It is a very immediate choice they make in a  given moment.
Would be good father material.
Had an education so he could make a  good living.  This does not transfer into real life.  The y chromosome and ego-based power struggles, about dominance, confidence, can screw this one up big time.

My husband filled evey requirement very well, but as he aged and the marriage began to pall, he fell into the second part of the last requirement.  I was very shallow and love did not enter into it for me.  Three times I offered to let him go free and find his perfect wife.  He didn't want to.  I told myself I did love him, but sometimes my husband would say something about me loving him that left me thinking, where did he get that idea?

Kinda sad.  Did some sampling, and there is no perfect guy.  So I make them up.  That is the greatest fun.

Thursday, August 11, 2011


Never count your chickens before they're hatched.  How many times have you heard that?  How many times has the truth behind it come up and smacked you on the gourd?

Monday, August 08, 2011


I guess I had a bad day, although I was not aware of it at the time.  It rained off and on, and I don't mind the rain.  It means I don't have to go out and water all my flowers which I really don't mind doing, but I always get mosquito bit even if I carefully spray that very expensive and nasty Off on.  Or spray on Off.  But I've just been surfing and procrastinating and I noticed I feel confessorial.  Is that a thing?

I actually still feel a little ill from that sun issue, and I am quite angry with Mother Nature over that, but I realize I have dealt unfairly with her and she owes me a few.  So I have to get better physically and get over my blame thing.  Nothing can be done about it now.  It happened.  It's over. 

I need to admit that I want to and try to disregard peoples feellings.  I think  that is justified, but I am not in an excuse making mood.  The truth is, if I am pissed off at you, you can go fuck yourself, and I usually want to tell you that immediately, and I usually do, and I seldom feel regret for it and I generally think, before and after the fact or the incident, that you deserve it.  And, upon later rumination, if I feel I was impetuous in my judgement, I have no problem apologizing.  I frequently will add why I think it happened, not as an excuse, but actually, believe this or not as you choose, as an explanation so you will understand and find it easier to forgive.  This is rare.  That I actually find you undeserving of my wrath and feel you deserve my apologies or that I would expect your forgiveness.   Often I will offer a most sincere sounding apology for something I said or did, not because I am truly sorry I did it, but because I feel bad about hurting your "feelings" which I so expertly run rough shod over.  This is so direct a result of a glaring fact in my upbringing that it doesn't need any more explanation than does the fact that I have red hair.  Hurting "feelings", even those of an unloved pet, or a disliked person, is not something I would ever choose to do.  If I just shot you and got rid of the misery you were causing me, at least then, while I languish in my cell, I will not have the pain of thinking about you walking around with hurt feelings.  You won't be feeling anything. 

I find that when I write fiction, those passages when I deal with people who are more than fond of each other having painful issues dealing with one another, I go on and on with dialogue, having these two imaginary creatures waltz all around the actual issues, trying to say what they think and feel and get to the point where they want you to understand why they are telling you to go fuck yourself but not hurting your feelings or making you feel unloved.  What  is that all about?  I am so quick to fly off the handle.  You don't see it as much as you did when I was 29 cuz I can put up the facade and say the no nevermind words, but in my mind, the bullet has gone out the back of your head and taken 92% of your brain with it.  And I will clean up the mess it left on the wall and the floor with no reluctance.  I am VERY good at cleaning up messes.

In my books I think it is cuz she still wants to have sex with the guy and doesn't want to admit to herself that he is an asshole cuz he is a good lay.  But that for sure does not transfer to my real life.  I guess maybe I wish it did, or it had.  Then.

Saturday, August 06, 2011

Bad Stuff

I was mad at my grandughter cuz she said she'd mow yesterday and didn't, and back by the creek was getting pretty reedy,  So I went out to mow.  She is coming upstairs and mad cuz I was mowing cuz we pay her for it, and she looked at this as revenue loss.  "I TOLD you I would mow today."  "You also told me you would mow yesterday.  And enroll in college and get a job."  Can't bite the damn tongue.

Back by the creek was too dense and damp and the machine couldn't handle it.  I am thinking of maybe a scythe.  So the machine craps out and I try to start it, and a little puff of smoke comes out.  I used this as an opportunity to come in and cool off. I woke at nine-ish today so I thought I was getting a great early start, but by now it is past noon.  So Louie starts the machine and I go back out mowing and, after about an hour, I got so sick.  I thought I was going to barf.  I am stumbling up the stairs saying, "Help me.  Help me." And he wants to know how and I am gasping "Water, cloth.  Help me."  I was actually moaning.  I felt so bad from head to toe inside and out.  After a few hours I felt better and hungry.  He said I had all the symptoms of heat stroke.  This is the worst part of getting old.  No matter how much you want to do something, after a certain  point you just can't.  Get your mind out of the gutter.

I've always been able to push on that little bit further, find that extra kernal of strength or power to get me to the finish line, but I am really disappointed that it just wasn't there today.

But I can always focus on stuff I still can do.  Mowing sucks.

Friday, August 05, 2011


To the new "followers", thank you.  I can't figure out how to say it individually, but I appreciate it and would love to read your comments and see your  blogs.

Thursday, August 04, 2011


I  did something today that I thought was extremely brave.  I let my daughter read my book.  She read part of it and we were in a hurry and had to leave.  In the car I tried to tell her what was going to happen next in the book and she said not to tell her cuz she wanted to read it to find out.  I actually do not think she was trying to spare my feelings with her other remarks.  She asked a lot of questions and I really have the feeling now that it is what it is, what it's supposed to be, what I want it to be.  And the words printed on  the paper, figuratively, are not the same as the words that come out of my  mouth.  Strange strange feeling, but exactly what I want, I think.  I think.   I think. 

But, more than  that, I am patting myself on the back for my bravery.  Really, it is easier to put the work in front of a stranger than in front of someone who knows you so well.  But it wasn't really brave at all.  It was absolutely an impulse that I acted on with great immediacy.  And that is like the story of my life.  There is so much stuff in my life that makes me unhappy, and I know I am contributing to the unhappiness of some other people, but I totally feel that part is their problem and there is so much stuff in my life that I like.  I have to think about what I want for a change.  After all, so many years of trying to get along with others and not rocking "the boat" has served for nothing.  Granted, I have beautiful surroundings, and not much to complain about, but it could have been so much better for so many people in so many ways, and my way of trying to fix everything and make sure no one got hurt served for nothing.  Nothing.  Everything I feel, right at this moment, is ONLY because of ME.

As I am sure is true of most others, I wish I had not waited so long to do this.  But, then I am able to say that it just happened.  It wasn't planned and I don't know where it came from, and I tend to think it was the meds cuz now it seems like it is gone, but I am already rethinking that part of it, and, for so many reasons, I have to say, that is just the way it is. And I think I am glad.  Anyway, I feel glad right now.  But my biggest flaw is always second guessing myself. 

Change the freaking chapter numbers, Ditty.

Wednesday, August 03, 2011


The folks down the block were having a garage sale and I walked by and had a little look at the goods on display.  He, God bless his efforts and keep him safe, is some kind of Missionary that goes and lives in Israel and Africa and stuff, and, unfortunately, comes off to me as a kind of arrogant intellectual snob.   Anyway. . .

One of his daughters was helping out and I was chatting with her and said something about how many redheads, which both she and I were gloriously blessed examples of, lived in our subdivision, and how I thought it was a little strange,  and he commented that he never noticed. Fuck that, right? Who doesn't notice redheads? And his daughter was on the verge of being extraordinarily beautiful and I said, "The world is her oyster." And he said, "What does that mean?" Probably that phrase doesn't appear in the Bible.

 Anyway, she is older, more lithe, and the father figure has been replaced, hopefully by someone whose reading tastes are a little bit less esoteric. So I was fiddling around with the photo file today, nervous wreck that I am. and I was taken aback by this photo.

That lithe and gorgeous girl in the blue dress is not the neighbor.  It is/was me.  So here is the deal.  The world was my oyster and, you know how they say wisdom comes with age?  I wish to hell someone had said those words to me.


I just read the most depressing blog I have ever seen.  It was called Kuwait is the New Black, and the guy that wrote it--wow.   I have read blogs where the child is ill and then they post the announcement about the funeral service, and you're crying, or the mom was sick and passed.  And, shit, when you read this guy's blog, please DON'T, I don't want him to have the traffic, you will think anyone who passed from this life, sorrow for those they left behind, but no one wants to share the planet with this dude.  Ugly soul, taking up space.  Why?   Why is life so unfuckingfair so often? 

Isaac Asimov (I think it was him) or Arthur C. Clark,  maybe, wrote this story about how God ran out of souls cuz there was a finite number and He didn't count on people hanging around so long, so people were starting to be born without a soul.  Y'know, when He started the human project, life expectancy was 33 years.  And, to quote myself, who better than God knows how imperfect someone can be. So maybe this dude, I know he is not living in MY country, and the title makes me suspect stuff, but I didn't explore too much, but maybe this dude was hiding behind the barn when the souls were being handed out.  Or maybe God ran out. 

Anyway, I shouldn't even be venting about this, but I am kinda wound up and was before I saw his fucking hideous blog. 

We went to see Super 8 tonight.   I thought it was great.  Tons of subtext.

(Now that I think of it, someone was published that wrote about a woman with no soul and how she was the only one who got the goods on the vampire.  No, I didn't read it, and won't.)

Monday, August 01, 2011


I admit I am a little obsessed with my stats.  I probably don't need to explain that it is an ego thing.  I have been feeling kind of bad lately that I am within a few minutes of launching my book and my stats have been in the gutter.  And I have had some editing problems, like the mysterious dotted lines that when you try to get rid of them, they reproduce like bacteria.  I am actually kind of afraid to open the MS cuz once I did and it had a bunch of red paragraphs, and I always look at that stuff like a sign from God. Although He has already mentioned that He likes the book and is glad I spelled His name right, and, no, He will not sue for royalties, I am free to quote Him as I see fit.  And I am so thrilled with my cover art.  I get scared that I am fooling myself about this whole thing, but then I have to reassure myself that I have good instincts and have always had to chastise myself when I let someone talk me out of following them.  So I am going to give it a go anyway.  Yeah, don't hold your breath just now.  Or sneeze.

But today?  The google stat thing is unreliable.  I have read about how they have all these different sources and it can be confusing, and last month was not too great.  And I am kind of ticked about fucking FaceBook.  It is like nobody pays any attention to me on it.  I kind of wish they had a FaceBook hissy page. But my blog stats said I had seventeen hits yesterday, and I think that is one of my all time highs.  I wonder why they don't comment.  I comment on all kinds of blogs.  Who cares if they have no clue who I am. 

And there was no particular reason for it which makes it feel better.  I have been feeling bad that I have not been connecting with some of my favorites that usually provide good return, but apparently some of them remember me anyway.  So, I am ready.  Just need to work on some chapter numbers, and I have kind of a weird idea about titles, and, lately I have been saying about stuff like Louie driving after his first vicodin hit, it is in the hands of God, so I am not going to worry about the red paragraphs, and God is actually kind of excited about His little chapter in the book.  He wants people to sit up and notice Him too.

And, no, No, NO, it is NOT a Christian book.  It is kind of what you might have to call "Adult".