Confessions of an Unsuccessful Author

I am bitter. Yes. I admit it. But the truth is I just can't compete.

Moms, Kids, Blogs and Schools

Now, this, I do not think, is a case of me being lucky.  I have had my share of evil and/or ignorant teachers in my own school experiences.  And, in terms of being a mom or a mom-substitute, (grandma)  I have met a lot of teachers and a lot of school administrators on every single level.  I have met teachers  that would go so far out of the way to advocate for my child that they should be nominated for sainthood.  I have had teachers with whom I have developed social relationships of long-standing because of classroom interaction with respect and knowledge involved that transferred over into friendship. (Yeah,  Obviously not a creative writing teacher, eh?)

On the other hand, in the case of a particular special needs child of mine, I have had an entire high school faculty band together and tell me things about the education of my child that were actual lies.  They played on my naivete and did a disservice to my child -- and anyone who ever interacted with her -- that has had, and will continue to have,  life long impact. They did this because it was a particular time in history when laws were being changed and their reputation as an excellent, very large, very well-respected school was on the line because they were unprepared to cope with our needs. We were cheated out of services and training and opportunities that should have been given to us, and, after the fact, when I found out about it, there was nothing that could be done to change it.

But that is really a small, not very small, but small part of the story.  There is a big deal going on in the "blogosphere" that is called "mommy blogging".  Most of the mommy bloggers have sponsors that will pay them to blog about products or pay them to allow ads for products and services on their blog sites.  They have conventions that the sponsors pay for and it seems to be a glorious thing, overall.  For the blogger and for the sponsoring enterprise. 

Long ago, when I was new to the blog world, I actually had ads on my site.  I was amazed that, if I talked about my canary, a bunch of ads about bird breeders and equipment and services would show up on my blog.  This stuff is old school now.  If you have any experience with facebook, you already know that if you send an email, even through yahoo or g-mail, and mention the word "divorce", six ads from divorce lawyers will show up on your facebook page. I don't have ads on my blog anymore because I have been banned, (for interesting but inexplicable reasons) so maybe my remarks are tinged with bitterness.  But, I am not really a mommy blogger or a humor blogger, or a book blogger.  I am genre resistant.  This is also a problem with my authorial adventures.  I write stuff that cannot be crammed into a genre, and apparently, if you are not listed under a particular genre, you float around the troposphere, unnoticed and under appreciated.  (Bitterness, again.) 

But. . .  I have noticed a common thread on some of these mommy blogs that seems to be getting stronger and stronger.  Teacher bashing and school system bashing.  And it seems to be a good idea to run with because the blogs that accentuate this subject matter are getting a lot of play.  So I want to tell a really sweet story that I have repeated many times -- a story I would like everyone to hear and share, and maybe inspire people to write about some nice stuff that teachers and schools can do.  Nobody seems too interested in that aspect.

I have had my daughter's twin girls in my care since they were three.  They are now 25, and damnit, it looks like I am stuck with them.  But that is another story for another day. They have had some very rough patches in their lives, and, in the years from age one to age three, there are some gaps that are kind of horrifying for me to even think about.  But they are now gorgeous young ladies and have some amazing successes.  If you knew -- well, you just have to take my word for it.  I am proud and amazed at what they have become.  

They had what is called "selective mutism".  At the time I was living through this I never heard those words.  I wish I had.  But it is probably another case of being on the cusp of change. Anyway. . .They went to Headstart for two or three years.  They never spoke a word.  We kept them in the same classroom.  Not the same actual room, but together in what ever school they were attending.  I did a bit of research and even talked to some older sets of twins about whether it was better to put them in the same room or separate them.  So in kindergarten they went to separate classrooms.  They never spoke.  

In first grade a gym teacher called our house and said she was doing a special project and wanted to ask the kids specific questions about certain aspects of phys. ed and could she talk to them.  They each spoke to her on the phone at some length, and when next I saw her, it apparently blew her mind.  I am sure to this day that there was no special survey, that it was just the talk of the school about whether or not these girls had voices at all. Then in second grade, still separate classrooms, one of the teachers  approached me and said she knew "twin one" could read because she did so well on the tests, but she had to hear her read.  The other twin's teacher seemed to have no problem, probably appreciated a silent six year old, and never brought up the subject. 

So I talked to twin one and said, "When you read, hold the book up in front of your face like this, and you won't see the children and you won't be nervous."  I don't remember if I used the word "children" or "nervous" but that was the gist.  When it was next her turn to stand at the front of the room and read aloud, she tried this little ploy and read beautifully.  When I came to pick them up, the teacher was telling me of the success and we were both crying and hugging each other. I think the only other time I felt that way was when one of the other victims of my parenting attempts received her college degree.

  

By and large, teachers are amazing people.  The personalities and situations they deal with do nothing to promote the actual educating process.  They are just things the teacher has to figure out how to deal with in order to get some educating in there.  With some of the kids.  Some of the time.  It wasn't that long ago when teachers were given great respect and honor.  Now all anyone pays attention to is if one might be a molester or a free loader or a marriage wrecker.  Okay.  I have run into all of them at one time or another, and I choose to remember the really amazing and wonderful things they can accomplish.

Look for that.  Stop the bashing, Okay?

Image attribution:  www.123rf.com

Five Feet of Heaven in a Pony Tail

I think it is because of the time I grew up in. My grandma used to take me to the Novena at Our Lady of Sorrows Basilica. I think we would go on the bus. I would have to research how far it was from our home, but I won't. She knew I was obnoxious and fidgety, but she didn't want to go alone, and I was available.

There was Care, Devotion, a Crush, falling in Love, Crazy about someone, being in Love, Loving, being Loved, being Cherished, Adored, Worshipped, making Love,  Nuts about someone, Obsessed, being the Love of someone's life, at least for a few weeks. All words tossed about, referring to your  brother's friend, the guy down the block, someone on a movie screen or a television, a teacher, your boyfriend, your husband, your child, a pet, a painting, a singer, a city. How are you supposed to know what love is? We read a book, I think in college, I think in Philosophy, The Art of Love. It certainly didn't have anything to do with sex, and, frankly, I have no recollection of a single word of it. But the cover was red.

The only thing I know about love is that, for sure, when we were talking about someone wanting to take someone dear from me, and that dear someone climbed on my lap and I gently circled that tiny, dear, cool, little arm with my hand, the thing I felt in my whole being was Love.

Everything Makes Me Cry

Just now I feel like I must be doing something right.  At least about one thing.  I think it would be better if I KNEW I was doing something right, but I take a lot of convincing.  But this is good enough to actually outweigh my worries for the moment.

It doesn't matter it seems.  I think I cry more tears over the good stuff.  

It's Not Delivery. It's DiGiornio

So I was just setting, waiting for the results of my biopsy and eating some left over pizza.  Boy, that delivery man was SOO tall!  Oh, no.  Wait up a sec.  It's not delivery.  It's DiGiornio.  Anyway, I was going over the autopsy results on the recently discovered Kraken.  I am great at multi-tasking.  When we captured him he was still alive, but we "accidentally" killed him. So we decided to do an autopsy for the sake of Science and all else that is good and holy.  We, so far, have found out he was a male, very lonely, and did not eat ships.  And it set me to thinking.

We use people.  Everyone does.  I am sure you do not admit it to yourself.  I do.  But I feel I have always "used" people, and I was known as a master, to prove something to myself.  I think most people use people to prove something about themselves to others.  Like, "See? I am desirable."  Or, "See, I am attractive."  I always came up with, "Yeah, I can do that too."  Something I had to remind myself of repeatedly it seems.  Especially after all those misbegotten breeding experiences.  (See what I did there?)  But it was never, "she can have three little boys and I can't".  It was always, "I am going to be successful at this damnit, or die trying." Of course it all set  a lot of huge, nasty, rusty, menacing wheels in motion, but that was other people trying to prove stuff, not to themselves, but others.  Of this I feel very sure.  But.  I may be wrong.  I have been. I may be wrong about who was trying to prove something to whom and why.  Although I am pretty sure I have a handle on that one. I may even be wrong about it yet today.

I have a close relative who, due to a wondrous genetic legacy, is extremely smart and very beautiful.  Also cute.  And she is blessed with the kind of metabolism that runs like a mother so she is easily able to maintain her tiny, well-proportioned physique throughout the rigors of her very busy life. (Well, Boot Camp is not so easy.  I'll grant her that.)  She has a wonderful life.  Actually a beautiful life, a handsome hard-working, somewhat self-deluded husband, two amazing intelligent and beautiful children (kinda bratty, tho) and a huge gorgeous house with an actual swimming pool that is not a plastic and metal over-sized water dish set on the ground.  Of course this is all off set by the fact that she has a high stress job that takes a lot out of her.  But we do have to help The Higher Power keep the old yin and yang in balance.

The thing is, this girl seems to have everything going for her.  But she "wants".  She is not sure what, but she knows something is missing.  God in his heaven only knows how she got the idea things had to be completely perfect.  But I think maybe it is human nature to "want".  It might be kind of like "hope".  You just can't keep going without it.

But along comes a situation where she is being "used".  It is actually not harming her or her family, since it is a long-distance mostly imaginary thing for the users.  (There are two of them.)  There are people that come up short in so many departments that they have to invent scenarios which contain people and things to "blame' and to compare themselves and each other to.  My relative got into this mess completely innocently.  It was actually totally my fault, but I too was acting innocently and somewhat altruistically. (Or so I tell myself.)  It was a kind of on going drama that was a mere distraction for my relative.  Sort of like a soap opera that you tuned into every now and then.  But then the whole thing blew up like Krakatoa and it became instantly apparent what my relative was being used for.  People who could not take responsibility for their own misdeeds, mistakes, errors, misjudgements, suddenly needed a place to focus all that negative energy and this relative was a convenient and very carefully set up target.  She was "thrown to the wolves", "thrown under the bus," -- whatever.  Fortunately she has enough going on that she is very generously able to understand and forgive these people who have such troubles they are blinded to what the troubles really are and why they have them.

It just leads me to wonder, are these characters using her and others with deliberation because that is their modus operandi, or is it completely innocent, that they are so sad and lonely and troubled that they unconsciously seek a focus to ease their pain, their guilt, their unhappiness.  I will never know.  No one could offer me any explanation at this point that I would be able to accept since their credibility, if it ever existed, has taken a hike.

****

In other news:   I am going to try to incorporate my Clueless blog into this one since it is not publicly linked and it is messing up my stats.  Plus, it is great, pithy stuff no one should miss.  Just ask Jonathon Wilhoit, the well-know book reviewer. Also, the FINE WHINE title should be getting a lot more blog hits since a "blogger-columnist" of questionable integrity and intelligence who shall remain unnamed but whose initials are JK has stolen my words as a sub-heading for the self-centered posturing and moaning about her life that passes off to readers of The Chicago Tribune as reality.  Talk about trying to find a focus for blame.  But that is another story. One I am uninterested in telling.  She does a great job on that all by herself.

I am happy to announce that the majority of my blog hits now come from the google search for dittymac.blogspot.com.  I think it is important.  Don't tell me the truth.


Attribution for adorable illustration: "Kraken; the Early Years"
www.neatorama.com

What You See

 

Y'all see  that I am tapped out.  There is nothing coming out of my brain.  I feel slightly zombie-ish.  Maybe that will be the real zombie apocalypse.  Big Pharma will finally have everyone medicated to this level except the few selected to control the zombies or manufacture  the meds.  Although I am sure they will be able to train zombies to manufacture mediction.  I am currently still trainable.

I was reading about the huge uproar over the newest edition of the DSM, that new hand book listing  mental health  disorders.  The brain farts we used to call senior moments are now a disease.  I am currently reading a really interesting book called Blood, Justice, LLP: Vampires at Law by Juno Ross.  (Consider this a plug.) It sounds so plausible.  The few problems historically exhibited by vampires, such as sunlight, have  all been controlled by different kinds of pills.  The fun part is that if you were dumb when you became a vampire, 2,000 years later you are still dumb. It is a very interesting read and very well written, but it is a little scary if you actually think about whether or not it could be true.  There is that old saw I love to drag out that every societal myth is somewhere grounded in reality, a belief I subscribe to. So maybe there will be a future for me if I can find an agent that is an over-medicated zombie.  She will love my books.

Speaking of which, I thought April was the first month in which I had not sold a single book, but I sold a few on Smashwords, so thus far I am still afloat although struggling to stay afloat and not really very interested in whether or not I do.  I figured out why my Sacred Sin holds its place in the ratings.  When I had the KDPSelect  giveaways, I was downloaded in the  thousands and they count that.  So, here I go back to KDPSelect.  I was all afire then to do the promo so everyone knew about the freebie and I am just going to have to psych myself up to do that.  Now, at least, I know how.  I just hate it more.

I would also like to tie that in to the release of my next story which is about 75% done in writing and 100% done in my head.  But I started the book because I had a good idea for a title, and I am having a struggle fitting a book of any length to the paradigm proscribed by that title.  Which shall remain a safely guarded secret cuz it is GREAT.

Then the other night when I was waiting to fall asleep, the time I usually use to further the narration of my current book in my head, I was thinking, what will I do next?  And I had a brilliant idea that I could run with, but I did not quickly jot it in the notebook next to my bed which must always be there for that reason.  Instead of writing down a few words, I actually fell asleep and the next morning the idea was gone.  Here though I do have hope.  Despite my having a brand new diagnosed mental disorder  which they do not call brain fart-itis, they call it something like Minimal Loss of Cognition or something close to that because I am too lazy to go find the article, I know the idea will come back.  They always do.  So now I probably qualify to be diagnosed with Delayed Factual Memory Recollection disorder. 


Photo Attribution:  www.examiner.com

"BORING" and I do quote. . .

In a local library-type amateur critique group we were talking about slow sales and some one said re:  Sacred Sin.  "Don't you think that story's been told enough?  Like Gone With the Wind?"  I mentioned I was well aware it has been told and retold but I was working more in the Arthur-Guinevere vein.  I wonder if anyone told Margaret Mitchell her book was too derivative of the King Arthur Legends?

And a baker (!!!) in England found my sex scene excerpted here, "Sex in the Shower"  (most hits of any post ever) introspective, (Bad?) human, (Bad?) and somewhat boring.  He said he felt a little sad for me if I thought it was racy.  I think he was looking at some of my other book blurbs cuz I didn't use the word "racy" on Algonquin's Table.  He probably didn't find enough references to "shaved pussy" which he mentions a lot in his work,  and which I think sounds a little crude.  And anyway, my heroines can all afford laser treatments for that issue. Well, maybe not Deanie.

Guess I'm having one of those bitter days here. Don't know why. Ben's team won again and last night I felt like I was back in that writing place after a long time.  So on with that boring, introspective, human stuff that's already been told.  And retold. Gonna tell it again!!



Photo attribution:  www.shavingstuff.com (I am not making that up.)

Smashwords Promo

From 3/3 though 3/9, Smashwords is having a site wide promo where you can put your books on sale.  Sacred Sin and The Maze are free.



Sacred Sin



THE MAZE

Photo Attribution:  blog.retrofitrepublic.com

Considering Blogness

I am so stuck.  Inside my head is an old phonograph.  There is a recording on it playing at medium volume. It is "Rags to Riches".  I think it might be Tony Bennet singing.  It is stuck in the groove  and keeps saying,  "My fate is up to. . . My fate is up to. . . My fate is up to.. ."

There is this thing about money.  I have lived the kind of life that has taught me to enjoy money when you have it and don't worry about it when you don't.  This lesson, learned  by having the information shoved brutally down my throat, has not over ridden my natural tendency to be conservative, even in madness.  But sometimes I wish I had enough money to fool around with.  I would use it to help me figure stuff out.  That would be why I would have it, the reason for having it. It would be frivolous, like buying a new winter parka when you already have a winter parka because I can figure stuff out on my own.  But sometimes I don't want to bother.  That is where the money would come in handy--when I want to know something right away and don't have the patience or the desire to figure it out myself.  I would pay someone to figure it out for me.

I do not remember what set me off when I started to write my first novel.  I do know I was manic and needed to be distracted from some stuff that was going on around me in my life, stuff I couldn't dodge or hide. I don't know why my attempts to distract myself took the form of writing. But one person somewhere said, "Crazy good read" about my first effort, and it was a male reading a kind of chick-lit type story, and that was it.  I was sunk.  I couldn't stop. I can't stop.  But the needle is kind of stuck on that old phonograph record.  It just needs a little nudge.

I seem to have taken on something that I cannot comprehend.  I was unprepared for this and I cannot understand it.  Maybe I don't want to.  I used to struggle to post on my blog.  I used to blog surf just to see what was going on.  I don't remember why I started to blog or how I first heard there was such a thing, but this thing has taken on a life.  Lately I have been feeling like all I have to do is walk by its cage every few days and throw it a piece of raw meat. Still, it is flattering.  It is addicting.  "Stats" are addictive.  I just wish I knew what happened.  Maybe I could transfer the knowledge to my Kindle works.

There was a certain blog that used to send me so many hits.  Then they started to taper off.  I knew why it was happening.  I was down in the corner of her home page along with my picture and my link, saying I liked her blog and apparently she got lots of traffic.  That started to taper off and I was a little worried.  I even checked, and I was still down there in the corner.  So maybe her traffic slowed down, but my blog traffic grew instead of dropping off.

Someone else I used to visit with blog-wise recently wondered who all these people are that follow her on twitter.  I don't know who these people are visiting my blog, but, hey, you guys, feel free to say hi and to come back when ever you want.  I just kind of wish you were part of the book buying crowd.

Thanks for stopping by.  Really!


Attribution of photo:  Posted on razzarsharp.com by Doug B. 

Now That I have Your Attention

SACRED SIN

A silly love story with moments of such intensity you will weep as it tears at the heart of your memories and your dreams.

CLAN MACLAREN

Clan MacLaren has, along with MacGregor, Ferguson, and MacNab, occupied the lands in Balquhidder and Strathearn since the 12th Century, where they were the predominant clan. The name derived from Labhran (Laurin) of Ardveche who was hereditary Abbot of Achtus in Balquhidder in the 13th Century. The MacLarens signed the Ragman's Roll in 1296. In the 14th Century they became Crown tenants without actual ownership of the land. The MacLarens were a warlike clan with strong ties to the Stewarts of Appin. The Clan fought at Flodden in 1513, and suffered severely at Culloden with the Jacobites, on the side of Bonnie Prince Charlie, in 1746. Sir Walter Scott visited Balquhidder on legal business, which he describes in the introduction to "Rob Roy". In "Redgauntlet" he describes the escape of MacLaren of Invernenty after Culloden.

In 1672, after many official records were lost, an Act of Parliament ordained that all nobility and gentry in Scotland register their armorial bearings with the Lord Lyon. Because of the earlier loss of the legal title to Clan lands, the then chiefly head of the Clan Labhran, and his successors, did not trouble to register his arms. The result was that the Clan became officially chiefless and landless pending compliance with the Act. Of course the Clan continued to recognize its own chiefs, and during the Jacobite rising came out as a Clan. In 1957, Donald MacLaren (father of the current Chief) finally complied with the Act by recording the ancient Arms in the Lord Lyon Register. The Chief also acquired title to a small part of the traditional Clan lands including the ancient gathering site of Creag an Tuirc) and the stigma of "chiefless and landless" was removed.

The heartland of the Clan MacLaren lies in and around the parish of Balquhidder, and the hills that slope north from Loch Voil and Loch Doine, which are known as the famous Braes o' Balquhidder. The parish is 18 miles long and 7 miles wide, and includes the west end of Loch Earn and most of Loch Lubnaig. The ruined Kirk of the village is dated 1631, and lies near the site of an even earlier church. The present church was built in 1855. Graves in the kirk yard date from 1685 and include that of Rob Roy MacGregor. The ancient rallying place of the Clan was Creag an Tuirc (The Boar's Rock), which is on a small hill overlooking the Kirk, and can be approached by a fairly steep path. In 1987 the Clan Society erected a cairn to commemorate the founding of the Society.

Another branch of the Clan was connected with Tiree and included the distinguished mathematician, Professor Colin MacLaren. This branch is now dormant.

Chief of Clan MacLaren
The current Chief of Clan Labhran is Donald MacLaren of MacLaren and Achleskine. Donald, who is a member of the British Foreign Service, succeeded his father as Chief of the Clan at his father's death. Donald and his wife, Maida, have five children, Donald Og, Florian, Louis, Iona, Marina. When not assigned to a foreign location, all live at their Kirton Farm in Balquhidder Glen. The Coat of Arms of MacLaren of MacLaren and Achleskine is reserved solely for the use of the Chief. The "crest badge" consisting of the belted MacLaren Chief's Crest with laurel leaves and the motto "Creag an Tuirc" on the belt is worn by all clan members. This "crest badge" is reproduced, in an approved form, on printed matter in black and white and also in a colored version which has been approved for use by the Chief and the Lord Lyon's court.

New Blurb

Do you really know how you would handle it?  Are you sure?  What would you do—what could you do if your first love, the guy that taught you everything about love came back into your life? What if he never really left?  You married someone else, you have kids, you made the good and moral decision to be faithful, to move on.  But this guy is always there for you when you need him the most, and he is so deeply embedded in your heart and soul, there is no saying no.  Can you love two people with complete passion?  Do you feel something must be missing somewhere?  Maybe not.  Sacred Sin, a modern, racy love story lets you decide what is right or wrong, because Jenny can’t.

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005H3EW3Q

http://www.smashwords.com/view/85160

BRAVE

So glad a curly haired Celtic redhead is the new heroine  since all mine are. Wonderful film by the way. 

Sacred Sin

Free download of my first book, Sacred Sin, from Amazon, for Kindle and Kindle apps,  from June 01, through June 5, 2012.

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005H3EW3Q

Have a look, won't you?

Barnes and Noble said, "crazy good read".

Katherine Owen said, ". . .a great read. Evocative, intimate and sexy".

Stephanie James said it was the worst book she ever read.

Excerpt from Sacred Sin

Of course, it was only a matter of days until Barney knew she was back in town.  One morning, Sarah brought the mail in, including this week’s “US” magazine.  On the cover were two side by side photos, one of Daniel getting off the plane in England and one of Jenny and the kids, getting off the plane at O’Hare.  The caption read, “Trouble in Paradise?” and, within, a long article with photos of Daniel with his split lip and Jenny crying.  Barney was on his way out the door to go to work and took a minute to glance at it.  “I’ll drive by and see if she’s okay.”  And he dashed out the door.

The kids were on the lawn and Jenny was sitting in the side yard writing on her computer.  When the huge red truck pulled up and the huge guy got out, she hit ‘save’ and started across the lawn.  As he ran toward her he thought, “If the house was on fire, she would remember to hit ‘save.’”

The kids were terrified, especially little Maisie who began to cry and run to her mommy just as Jenny literally jumped into Barney’s arms.  “Oh my God.  You look so wonderful.  The glasses.  You’ve put on weight.  You look wonderful.  Oh my God.  I’m so glad to see you!”

“Jenny.  What did you do to your hair?  Are you alright?  You weigh nothing.  What’s going on with you?”

“Just a sec,” she said, as she stepped away to pick up sobbing little Maisie.  She turned away from Barney and put her cheek against the baby’s and whispered to her, Maisie’s tears wetting Jenny’s face and their copper curls comingling.  The baby’s crying ceased the moment she felt the safety of her mother’s embrace.  The sight of them--each end of the spectrum of all that was true in his life,  Maisie, the perfect replica of the nemesis of the kindergarten Barney, and Jenny, the only image he carried in his soul--stabbed into him, love spiraling into itself, redoubling and ripping a hole in his chest where his heart had been.

He felt full of some ancient knowledge, but as though his life was renewed.  “Not my kid.  Not my kid. . .” his brain kept trying to remind him.  But he knew that this icon before him was his only truth.  He knew he was seeing Jenny’s reality, if only for a second, her truest person, and he knew he would never be anything more to her than her soldier, her bastion, her anchor.  But he realized that was all he was meant to be and she needed that.  And her need for him, born when she took her first steps and reached for his hand, drawing her to him in the troubled nights of her adolescence, and now her child reflecting the intensity of her love, brought him a sense of purpose he had never known.  He knew that he was the part of her that finally let her be unafraid to give her love.  And he knew he would be rooted to this spot in time, in his life, in his soul, forever.  He chuckled slightly, “And was this one cloned in a Petri dish?”

(This is one of my favorite parts.  It ties all my books together. Sacred Sin will be free to download on May first and May second, 2012.

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005H3EW3Q

Mixed feelings

This is the plan. I am going to rotate the four books through Select and rewrite each one, heavily editing the sex out of the first, at several people's suggestions, and doing new covers at least for the third. I feel like I am done being a writer. I wanted to do the four and they are done. And they pretty much are tanking. I average a sale a day. I realize that is sixty times better than no sales for months at a time, but the word of mouth thing is not working for me. I blame my personality and lifestyle for that.

But I'd like to say a few things about the "business" end of this business. I get lots of email and even phone calls that they want to tell me about this publishing deal and that. Okay. Leave me alone. I'm published. Unless you have some promo ideas, I have nothing to say to you and I don't want to listen to you. Word of mouth is the ONLY thing missing from my equation and you cannot sell me a program for that. Don't ask me to send you copies of my work. It is all out there in many different forms or places. If you can't do anything else, you can name search for me. As far as I know there is one other Virginia Llorca and she is a 23 year old girl in North Carolina.

Thanks to everyone who read my stories and double triple thanks to those who said nice things about them, and think about the Karma, especially you family members who pretend it doesn't exist or it's a whim. Read any Lora Leigh and then get back to me about MY work.

The only thing that is bothering me now is that I am toying with ideas. It is just because I am bored and am so very unused to dealing with a sense of relief. I'm trying to talk myself out of it.

Today's CTA: Do you get angry with yourself when you break promises to yourself or do you just shake it off? What do you learn from the experience? Share.

Rejection letters

Feel bad when you query an agent about your most illustrious work? Sad they don't appreciate genius when they see it? Feel the whole world is being done a disservice because your wisdom and wit will not be available to them? Depressed and confused because you are beginning to realize your mission to change the history of civilization will never be fulfilled since some ignorant, misguided gate keeper doesn't fall in love with your masterpiece?

This is Hunter S. Thompson's idea for a rejection letter. He didn't actually send it. He gave it to Rolling Stone along with the piles of stuff people had send to him unsolicited. They admitted they used it a few times.


You worthless, acid-sucking piece of illiterate shit! Don’t ever send this kind of brain-damaged swill in here again. If I had the time, I’d come out there and drive a fucking wooden stake into your forehead. Why don’t you get a job, germ? Maybe delivering advertising handouts door to door, or taking tickets for a wax museum. You drab South Bend cocksuckers are all the same; like those dope-addled dingbats at the Rolling Stone office. I’d like to kill those bastards for sending me your piece … and I’d just as soon kill you, too. Jam this morbid drivel up your ass where your readership will better appreciate it.

Courtesy of Futility Closet via Wikimedia

From the Playhouse

I've already been read the White Paper on why it is not nice to "shit" in the Playhouse. So I have left the Playhouse for the moment to say words that I know are not "shit" in my own house, on my own soapbox (If you don't want to read them, you can leave.) , but judgmental people also seem to be kind of quick on the draw. At least in my experience.

The organ harvesting entity in our state is corporate. Here is part of their statement regarding employment.

" Our employees enjoy competitive salaries, a team environment and business-casual workplace attire. Qualified full-time staff receive full medical, dental, vision and life insurance benefits, as well as pension and tuition reimbursement benefits and a generous time-off plan.

All of our employees work in support of our critical mission: to save and enhance the lives of as many people as possible through organ and tissue donation.

All candidates must demonstrate excellent verbal, written and interpersonal communication skills; be detail-oriented; possess the ability to handle multiple projects; and possess the ability to work independently. Basic computer skills are a must. Travel by personal auto and the ability to work outside normal business hours may be required."

A teenager gets $15.00 plus to sell t-shirts in a record store in this neighborhood. Also, a corporation may stipulate they are not for profit in order to get certain ear marked funds, but they manage to build executive type salaries into that structure. A fund raiser for Community Chest cannot live in North Oak Park on thirty grand a year.

Certain people with certain lifestyles tend to take offense at certain things. I feel this is drawing a parallel, not making a judgement. That is, of course, an exercise in semantics. I have gotten on my high horse about being treated dismissively before, and I will fight it. Say it if you want, but I do have the ammo. And as I have said before I will lend you some so the battle will at least be almost even. People say things in public about their most personal relationships, like why it is just easier to give the husband a blow job then have to explain one's thoughts on love and respect to him. They can do what ever they want in their multi layered lives. My marriage and my life in general are travesties of the case model. Maybe yours is model perfect. I don't fucking care. What I do care about is you pointing a finger of judgement at me for no reason. I did not point the finger of judgement at you, so back the fuck off.

Do you honestly think Larry Hagman or Steve Jobs were on a waiting list? Do you know all the fine print on signing the organ donor thing on your driver's license? The rules about why you can't let the EMT intubate the 92 year old stroke patient, and what you MUST do to prevent that? The ramifications of putting the tube in versus taking the tube out. I don't care what kind of environment you work in, there are people doing the same job you are doing that are way dumber and less capable than you, just as there are people doing the same job you are doing that are way smarter and way more capable. There is also a very broad spectrum among these various people regarding their moral judgement and personal prejudices or beliefs.

I am not going to go look in a book to find out if I should put a certain comma in a certain place in a certain sentence. I am not going to take what someone else "feeds" me as the truth. I am going to make my own decisions based on my personal experience, my knowledge, and carefully gleaned and weighed knowledge and opinion from other more experienced people. Then I am going to do exactly what I want and make a shit load of mistakes, errrors, wrong turns, false statements, and when I find out about it, I will apologize. I will also live with the results of my choices.

When zulily, or some like entity, asks me to post for them on my Pinterest board, that is whoring. When I post a link or a remark on Mises.org, that is whoring. When you have sex with someone you don't respect cuz he makes the car payment, or lets you come first, or whatever, that is whoring. I do not care what sex either of you are, or whether or not a priest made a gesture in front of you, or you have a piece of paper with an embossed emblem on it. Everyone is a whore for something. But that is just MY opinion, my PERSONAL feelings,and another exercise in semantics.

It is strange how you get a sense of pure hatred through the ethernet. It is so palpable, and yet, it cannot be seen or measured. Can it? And if you stopped to ask yourself why you were emitting that or receiving that feeling, you would be hard pressed for an answer. You would be. Probably not me.

Once upon a time, a girl. . .

Sometimes you see something at just the right time.

Inexplicable.

Philippa Gregory says she has to fall in love with her characters. The book about Margaret Beaufort was not easy to read. She pissed you off most of the time. But she willed stuff to happen and at, what I consider, great personal sacrifice. "What I did for love" etc. She could love and did love but had this other agenda. Couldn't do it. I'd carry the growler to the bar to get a refill for grampa. So she admitted she found it hard to love her and you knew it when you read the book THE RED QUEEN. It was one of her least enjoyable works.

So this last book I wrote, I couldn't fall in love. There really was not a character for that. But now I am finished and I am in love with them and don't want to put it up, want to keep living their lives for them, controlling the weather and what color to paint the porch.

Amazon goofed up the listing and the royalties and Smashwords has yet to cough up a cent. And the promoting is so whorish. Either you like it or you don't but why the fuck don't they even want to look? I spend hours every day just reading blurbs cuz I am so afraid I am going to miss something. And my Kindle has at least twenty books I am dying to get to. So I sit and play Spider Solitaire on the iPhone. I am so sick of it. I don't think I am going to do it anymore. I just read this John Steinbeck quote where he says you have to not stop and think and plan otherwise you lose your association with the words that are making these people live and that is in direct opposition to all this MFA stuff and outlining and little index cards with plot points. And how I write. Just sit down and wish the fucking crippled fingers would not keep hitting the wrong keys I want to go so fast.

And I am half in tears over it. Like they said my baby was funny looking and kind of dumb, and that is when I get these ridiculous blog spikes and I do not even know where they came from. Some one read a post from about six years ago. It tells you that, so I looked at it and I was talking to Louie about it being when Lisa had that little house and Billy lived with her and it was like a lull in our lives. So strange. Why did someone go and read that out of a clear blue sky? And what could it mean to them? What do anyone else's words mean to someone else? I don't know, but sometimes I am crying over it and laughing and hoping for a certain thing to happen to imaginary people. Cuz I couldn't make it happen for my real people. I guess.

Tomorrow: back to the big white Welbies, for sure.

Today's CTA: Do you put stuff in your fiction that you really wish did happen to you? Or do you want it nothing like your real life?


Image Attribution:  thecollaboratory.wikidot.com