Notoriety and Personality

I have always wanted to be me.  I think I have discussed this before.  I had a friend in high school who wished fervently she was a male.  She never had any of what may be called gender issues in actual fact and turned out to function just fine as a wife and a mom, and I think it was more of a comment on the way females were considered by society at that time.  And, no, you don't need to know what that time was.  But I have always been happy to be me.  I have been depressed and embarrassed and angry at things I have done or had to deal with, but I am definitely the person who knows the truth about the saying, "If you could trade your bag of troubles for someone else's, you would always pick your own."  And, lately, I have put myself out in the public eye a little more than I have ever done before, so I should expect more feedback, both negative and positive.  But something really weird happened.  I am moderated out of a certain discussion group automatically.  I have participated in this discussion group for a long time, but always on a very limited basis, and it is true that my avatar may be considered in poor taste by some and that may be the reason. Although it was never the reason before.  But, I am the first to tell you, I am failing in many respects due to health issues, and one of the first things I notice, and I am sure others noticed it long before it became apparent to me, is the deficiency in my short term memory.  I know this is perfectly normal and I am not too worried about it and do the crosswords and stuff to keep the synapses firing, but still, I feel, even admitting I am kind of an ass, my basic intellect is still with me.  Maybe not as easy to access.  But I don't think I have become "stupid".  I mean every one is stupid about something, right, especially if they are in love, but I haven't lost the ability to think and figure out stuff.  I honestly think I am moderated out of this discussion group, damn, I wish I could say who it is, no, it's not Mises, and damn, I wish you really could give a shit, but I think the person who writes the column cannot deal with my remarks. I think they do not know how to deal with it, or counter it, or whatever, and whether or not it is relevant to the discussion, my remarks are never argumentative.  They can always be classified as comments.  Well, I just thought it was interesting, especially since it has come on the heels of my learning that twitter works.

And a very successful writer used this phrase in the very successful writer's blog recently, ". . .  where you can get it at."  This is supposed to be Midwestern, specifically, some believe, Chicagoan.  My sister in law teases me about it cuz I say like:  "are you going with?"and it creeps into the every day language, especially if you have not spent much time out of the Midwest.(Me.) But I thought, for someone who has sold many millions of words and therefore 26 million more letters of the alphabet that this was kind of glaring.  I know everyone could use a good editor, and, briefly, I was one, and even editors miss errors.  And I put stuff like "y'all" into my sentences frequently, mostly cuz it is so convenient a construction, and, for God's sake, my own, very bright and highly educated daughter says "sangwich", Jesus, but I thought this one really popped out.  And it bugs me how some people are in the right place at the right  time even when they may not be the person that should have been in that right place at that particular right time.  So I am jealous.  A certain work of my own literary aspirations has been downloaded 104 times in the last week, and I maybe just kind of want to work that into the conversation, and how very sorry I am that it was for a free offer and only about one percent of those people are willing to pay real cash money for said work. And I am totally thrilled to get the word out, by  any means, and I am getting pretty damned whorish about that part of it, but, whatever.  Professional jealousy comes with the territory.  I just hope certain people maintain their humility in the glare of their fame.  Oh, sure, that's what I mean. Really.

And Delaney got her ears pierced today and I cried more than she did.  Is it that wrong of me to consider that her good nature is genetically anomalous?  

Hugest compliment. Hugest thank you.

Someone gets it.  How lucky I am.


Review by: Sue Leonhardt on Nov. 07, 2011 :     
I received "Lawman" by Virginia Llorca through the Goodreads ebook giveaway.Can two hearts make time for each other, with their busy lives, and make it work? This is a fast paced fun read about a young widow and a Government "operative". He tries to keep the needed secrecy of his job from interfering with his hoped for relationship with a willful young widow. Lily Scofeldt is a 24 year old widow with two preschool children living in Iowa,and agent Tim  Raia is also divorced with a 13 year old daughter living in Chicago.These people never seem to get out of bed. Lots of quickies.I laughed when Tim left her house one time and said" Thank you sincerely for the hospitality".This book is light entertainment. Easy read but it shows the deeper side of what it takes to commit to a relationship, second time around.

reviews

Someone put up the most super negative review imaginable about LAWMAN on Goodreads.  I must be getting good at this cuz it gave me a chuckle.  She said one line (which she quoted incorrectly, and which I admit, was one of my better ones) was "exquisite".  So I'm going to do like they do in the movie ads:

Review of Lawman in Goodreads:  "Exquisite."


http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005KN6S4E

Sweet Sex in the Shower

EXCERPT from The Maze

"Maisie.”

“We shouldn’t talk.  We shouldn’t talk about it.  It’s getting dark out.  We didn’t have dinner.  We should go get dinner.”

“Maisie.”

“Shh.”  She got up and walked to the shower and she had to go past two beds and across the room and he was stunned.  Where was he?  Why were they here?  Why was she with him?  How can someone’s ass look that perfect?  And it moves when her legs move.  And it’s so cute.  The way that happens.  

And she turned to go into the bathroom.  Her breasts barely move when she walks.  They fit her so perfectly.  That is just amazing.  Everyone else’s breasts are way too big.  That is exactly how they are supposed to be.  How come I never noticed that before?  No.  I noticed it.  I was just afraid to think about it.  Those other breasts were the only ones available.  I am really glad I finally got to see the right ones.  The perfect ones.  She let me touch them.  She let me make love to her.  We had sex.  She made love to me.  I. . . 

He walked into the bathroom and got into the shower with her.  This must be a nice hotel.  This is a beautiful shower.  And she lathered up her hair and she lathered up his hair and she soaped up her hands and ran them over her body and between her legs and then she took the bar of soap and rubbed it in her hands until they got all bubbly again and she was chuckling softly.  He kind of thought she was smiling out loud again.  She ran her slippery soapy hands over his chest and under his arms and down between his legs and she washed him.  He stood under the most wonderful showerhead in the world in the most beautiful shower stall in the world with Maisie.  And she washed him.  And then she took the spray shower and rinsed all the soap off him and she pushed him down just a little bit, but, really, he thought, in a very gentle, encouraging kind of way, so that he had to sit on the ceramic tiled bench that was so beautifully constructed into the side of this wonderful shower and she knelt down in front of him and took his penis into her mouth and her mouth was even warmer than the shower, the most wonderful mouth in the world, the most beautiful mouth, Maisie’s mouth, Maisie’s lips, Maisie’s tongue, and wow, even a little bit there with Maisie’s teeth, and he thought, I’m dying. I’m dying.  Oh, my God.  I’m dying.  And so she sucked the last little bit of life from him.  But he didn’t feel dead.  He felt so happy.  I’m so happy. Maisie makes me so happy.  She lets me touch her.  She makes me come.  She fucks me.  She blows me.  I am the happiest person in the whole world.  The world is so beautiful.  God must love me.  I hope I never wake up.  “Here.  Here.  Please.”  And she was holding his hand and forcing it between her legs.  Forcing him to touch her there.  “Please.”  She was begging him to touch her.  Honest to God, begging.  I should touch her like this.  She will like it if I touch her like this.  Oh, God.  I’m getting hard again.  I love to touch her here.  I think she likes this.  And she said, “Ummm.”  And she lowered herself onto his cock and rode off into that wonderful empty distance and he followed her and he was so glad.  So happy.  I hope I never wake up.

“We have to get dinner.  I’m starving.”

http://www.amazon/com/dp/B0061SB3TC

Second Thoughts

Remorse?  I put  up an excerpt from book three and then took it down.  I was ticked because it didn't make a wave on twitter.  Then I notice ten links from twitter.   I am an ass.

I am hating the mood swings lately. Usually I know enough to go with it and get what I can out of it, but I usually know the precipitating factors.  I had to take my MS down cuz I saw (on my beloved Kindle) that it was awash in typos and an actual MISSPELLED word.  I wonder what else is in there that I didn't notice.  but I was so nervous about re posting.  Kindle tried to do a one up on the Smashwords Style guide and it got me all anxious.  I just did it the old way.  So I was nervous about that and now it is done, so I guess I feel like this because I dealt with the source of the anxiety, but I would prefer to feel like this at nine a.m., thank you.  Then maybe I'd get that kitchen floor done. And I know the book was full of errors cuz I am so not into it anymore.  One person found one typo in the first book.

I want to go outside and shoot that satellite down.

Sort of a Series

The third novel of mine, THE MAZE, is up for review on Amazon.com and should be available Tuesday evening.  This is good news for me as series type stuff is supposed to sell better, but about eighty people have read the second book, LAWMAN, and about twenty have read SACRED SIN, so I think the series potential is kind of lost out there in no man's land.

I love this book and had to end it the way that was  comfortable for me.  I am looking forward to hearing about how everyone else thinks it should have ended. I was so nervous about it for some reason I do not understand.  I hate the techy stuff and ended up putting up a cover that I decided on at the last minute.  I have no idea if it even matters.  It looks pretty nice actually.  When the sale on LAWMAN is over on December first, I will put SACRED SIN on a special promotion.  By then I should be ready with the fourth in the sort of a series. I know everyone who has read SACRED SIN or LAWMAN will want to read THE MAZE.  

Nothing

I have nothing to say.  I am restless and bored and feel no interest in anything.  So just move on .  


Nothing:  I realized at some point today that there is only one reason women buy cosmetics or go on diets, or get hair cuts, or brush their teeth or work out, or go to school, or be polite, and, if any of us care to go on a rant about how we are not really shallow, really go to school and dye our hair because of our self-esteem, and that nothing and no one can cause us to ever feel that we are anything but the most  distinctive individuals and we truly have come a long way, baby, consider that this finding is based on a life-long but very casual study of and interest in anthropology, combined with various opinions and knowledge about the effect of the basic structure of DNA and the complete unchange-ability of certain genetic characteristics that form our character and therefore anchor the most basic components of civilization.  This is the reason:

I

And, personally, I feel it is also the reason we get away with being so bitchy and it is also the underlying cause of every war ever fought.  I think a high IQ, though perhaps nice,  is a stupid benchmark, representing nothing, only giving some people something to tether their opinions to, and I freely admit, and have done so here on previous occasions, I am a  very shallow, very vain person.  But there are certain laws Mother Nature put into effect for a reason, and this photo is clear illustration of one of those laws.  And I know none of you can argue with me about this. It is also the reason I write fiction.  Very enjoyable fiction. 

Just Hanging Around, Waiting. . .

Anyone thinking about it, the free give away thing is a REALLY good idea.  27 downloads in 24 hours.  Too bad they don't BUY it at that rate.  Hopefully, someone will mention it to someone, etc. . .  But it has other side effects.  Besides a bump in blog hits, I actually had someone link to this site through Smashwords.  I was kind of thinking I was wasting my time there.  So now I am all fired up.

 THANKS EVERYBODY!!!

Okay. I Am Sorry

I have heard the coupon doesn't work, so the price for LAWMAN is zero until December 1, 2011.


I apologize for attempting to be clever. That never did work for me.  What was I thinking?

The Opposite of

I have been feeling well.  I worked on putting the Christmas lights on my Hawthorn tree.  I know it is early days, but I was so in love with it last year, I vowed to repeat it and to start when the weather was more mild.  I would be fine with leaving it on all year like Italian restaurants are allowed.  Every single time I would drive by my property at night I would feel gladness to see it.  Anyway, I enjoyed it and made some decent progress and the weather was wonderful.  But I had to stop sooner than I wanted to because every time I came down  the ladder I got all woozy.  A little wooziness doesn't bother me.   I used to go to great trouble and expense to artificially create that feeling. But I am a little too old to be hopping about on my prosthetic devices and had the wisdom to stop.  Only after I noticed each time the wooziness became a little more pronounced.

Then I worked on the cover pic.  I give up.  I will use the one I am not too thrilled with.  I need to get on with this.  If I improve it, replacing it will be no big deal.  Then I proofed a bit and found some hilarious errors.  I changed a few words but no ideas.  I like the "wrap-up" chapter and I was a little worried about it seeming corny.  But I have heard it is the usual for the genre.  I am getting so artsy fartsy serious about this project that started out as a little off shoot of my madness. The worst thing that can happen to a person is to start to take themselves too seriously.  Seriously.

So I have been sitting here a while, played a Big Fish Game, slow but decent art, so I persist, and blog surfed.  My hands are starting to hurt so it is almost nighty night for me.  BUT.

I have gone on this huge rant at least twice about having my ideas copied, and have placed a huge emphasis on the word SERENDIPITY (it being the subject and perhaps cause of the rant.) , to the point where even I am sick of the sound of it.  But weirdness happened tonight and I actually went to Dictionary.com to find out what would be the antonym for serendipity.  The best they could come up with is volition and that is not in the park where I am currently playing.  Serendipity is when you happen by chance on good or pleasant things.  What is it when you happen by chance on a whole string of incredible downers?  Blog surfing can be bad for your health.  You know how they group them on Blogger?  Like a bunch in Spanish or a bunch about photography?  I came upon one about the still birth of a baby.  Twelve seconds to click onward for that one, thanks.  Then a lovely young man had a whole blog devoted to his suicide, and these, no kidding were interspersed with advertisements about funeral homes, a story about what life held in store for a recent graduate of a school of funeral science (or what ever the fuck you would call that)  and a story about this historical cemetery that is falling into ruin and it was sold to a concerned care taker.  (Well, more than twelve seconds on that one.) I think the reason my hands are starting to hurt is I was too quickly clicking through these.  I wonder what kind of day the Google employee was having when he worked on that category.  Anyway, it was a stupid way to end a nice day.  And I'm not going to turn on the TV cuz last night I watched that whole movie where you don't realize George Clooney is actually dead until just the second before they roll the credits. (Have you noticed that the very handsome George Clooney has a VERY SMALL typically Irish nose?  Do you know what that means traditionally?  So sad.)

Well, I started reading Bret Lott's "JEWEL" this afternoon and was caught up in it, but I don't think I am going to continue with it tonight. I wish I knew where I could chance, serendipitously on something on the order of the "fucking yogers", or at least find that little corner in my mind from whence  that arises.

Geez.  I hope you are not reading this at bedtime.  What is WRONG with me?  And I honestly don't feel really depressed about this.  I feel kind of silly.

Down, down, down, the mountain.     

Cosmetics

Today I am going to talk about this wonderful new brand of make up I bought and tried out.  No, just kidding.  Do you know there are actually dozens of blogs on here that deal with nothing else but makeup and cosmetics?  They feature carefully lit photos of bottles of nail polish and open jars of greasy gray stuff that are there so you will want to run out and buy them.  Yeah.  I need some gray greasy stuff to put on which part of my body?

The thing is, two days ago I had the busiest day ever on my blog, with more hits than I have ever had before.  It was nice.  But here's the part I don't get.  It was one blog post that brought it in.  Why?  None of these people knew each other or told each other.  I had more views of that post and more comments than I have every had before.  How does this work?   I did no more promos than I ever do for anything I wrote, and yet, there they were.  If I had that many sales in one day, I would be over the moon. It couldn't even be like a grapevine as the people were too disparate.  It was almost like serendipity or happenstance.  (Oh, crap.  There I go again with the damn serendipity.  Blog land will be full of posts using the word serendipity this week.  Just watch.)

And today I came crashing to the ground.  Being up a few days ago just made the fall farther and more painful.  I have a brother who bought my book.  (I have another brother that didn't buy my book.)  He said he was very impressed with the characterization and the background, and as he read he tried to think of what might have happened or who had I know in my life that inspired some of the stuff.  But he couldn't finish it.  He  read 24% (he showed me on his Kindle) and he CAN'T read anymore because it is like a "chick flick".  I cannot imagine that, if I can sit and read a blog on Mises.org on whether or not it is correct or possible to copyright intellectual property and comment on the article and get into a discussion with an economist about the anthropological reasons why open sourcing will not eliminate aggression, that my own brother cannot get through  this easy to read, dialogue driven, light hearted piece of fiction just to see if maybe his sister uses any of his personal history in her story.

I have tried every thing I can think of to promote and tried a lot of things suggested by people in the "field", and nothing works.  I love this book and the people in it, and real humans just do not want to read it.  So where do the people reading my blog come from?  I mention my book in the blog sometimes, but no sales have come from that.  I cannot get from the one idea to  the other. Well, I am going to put up Book Three and Book Four.  Maybe even do that Print on Demand thing, and just die undiscovered and unappreciated.  Because I just want to do it.  Way more than I want to strip and recoat my damn kitchen floor. Or experiment with cosmetics.  I have nothing to lose. That's an easy one if you start out with zero credibility in the beginning.

IT IS JUST ME

When weird things happen and people react, they often say, "Is it just me. . . or. . .?"  Now I know.  It's just me.  No one else could be this clueless this long.  My grand daughter twins live here.  Dan would rather not be here.  She wants to be with her friend Jess, but Jess currently doesn't have a home to share with Dan.  Her mom told her last month to go fend for herself, so she is staying with a "friend".  Even so, Dan stays there frequently.  But her "stuff" is here.

We have three cars.  The Ion was almost solely for the  twins use since Fran got married.  It needed new brakes.  For over a year Dan said Miguel would fix them and the parts were $20.  This never happened.  Then Dan moved back and a tree fell on the car.  She has a job.  Cas nannies for Fran and is very much needed for that, so it is a job also I guess.  Anyway, when we got the Ion storm damage fixed we had the brakes done and new tires.  The storm part was insured; the other over a grand. Mind you, this is now our BEST car since it is ding free and has so much new stuff.  I just prefer my Buick.  When I can drive.  If I can drive.  But I think I told that story.

Tonight they walked in with their friend Jess and asked if they could take the car to drive to New York for a concert.  (We live on the Northern edge of Illinois)  These are the same people that came home with two German Shepherds a while back and expected me to go for that.  Basically that is why Dan doesn't live here.  And Jess's mom made her get rid of the dog.  But I couldn't. At that time, rather than stay with the tyrant Claudia, Cas gave up her dog and moved back here.  Dan and her dog lasted a few more months.  

Tonight, they could not actually even ask me about this.  Cas said, 'we have to talk to you about something' and then the three of them gestured to each other to pick up the conversational ball and roll with it.  No one did so I said 'you are not taking the Ion to New York.  Try the bus. You ruined the brakes and tires, didn't pay, blah blah blah."  The strangest part of this is that they  were so dumbfounded I refused.    I told them the only reason they have a roof over  their head is because their sense of entitlement and lack of accountability are inherited from their mom and dad.   I ended up refusing to discuss it further.  STFU was basically the way I put it. Along the way I mentioned how they never bothered to say 'if we pay for the brakes and tires can we use the car?' and Jess, uppity little bitch, says "We were going to bring that up, but you said no right away."
During the course of  the entire conversation, mind you I said 'NO' before they even had the courage to ask, the subject of them putting the wear on the car and not paying for repair came up about four times.

This (and the dog issue) falls into the same category as Lisa (their mom) calling me 3 weeks after my mother died to ask me how much money my mom left.  I know she was champing at the bit trying to let a graceful amount of time lapse.  And grandpa Llorca asking me whose fault was it, me or Louie  when my baby died of RH problems (so long ago, and NO, I can't let it go) while I was still in the hospital. To say nothing of the various and sundry other misconceptions I get screamed at for.  Misconceptions--there is a word I should study.

 Is it the look on my face?  Is it the way I talk?  things I say?  I know my voice lacks impact, and maybe that is why I scream and curse so much, but this is just the way I am treated.  I do not fucking get it.  I feel like I am totally a person who does what she wants, and you can go piss up a rope if you don't like it.  Maybe I give in too much, but some of this shit, they have to know it's not going to fly.  Some guy  said (TO ME) he asks every girl to have sex with him cuz sooner or later one will say yes.  (I didn't)  I think it must be like that.  I am no namby-pamby.  When my husband was out of work, I managed to support him and three kids for  years. Is that something I should have refused to do?  Would things be different if I had refused?  Yeah.  I'd be married to that asshole, Charlie.

When Lisa was evicted from her hard won HUD house for abandonment, I said to the case worker, "Where did I go wrong?"  And she said every single mother she talks to says that. 

Some days it is just so fucking hard to remember what part of my life is good, at least that I can actually take credit for.  And I have to fucking TAKE credit, cuz for absofuckinglutely sure, NOBODY is going to give it to me. Buy one of my damn books would ya?  Be a pal.

                                                                    COVER GIRL!!!
                                                        MY NEXT BOOK:   THE MAZE

Shuttlecock

Confession:  This is something I do not keep secret.  Sometimes I am guilty of using it as an excuse, or even as a reason.  This is not  nice, but I forgive myself for lots of stuff.  I take enough crap from enough people to balance out my few sins.  God said He is cool with that and the thing that I do not keep secret and use as an excuse is a gift from Him, so we have a comfy little circle going.  I am bipolar.  I am mid spectrum and don't lose it very often now that I am pretty well and correctly medicated.  I was diagnosed when I was about 32.  It was during an awful period of upheaval in my life, so I have always taken the diagnosis with a grain of salt since it seems it is apparently only a problem when I am pushed to the edge by stress or some other straining effect.  (Not that I don't have to deal with ups and downs, sometimes to an absurd extent, but doesn't everyone?  ) Plus every one in my family is a little out there, so it's not like I'm an exception or anything. And none of them are the type of people that even notice your peculiarities much less cut you any slack.

So.  I am feeling all warm and fuzzy because some of my writings got a bit of really nice feedback.You guys have to be careful with that stuff because the slightest word of encouragement can drive two novels out of my brain on to this little plastic screen and often off to various parts of the world in various electronic forms. None the less, a little validation is nice every now and then.  And, frankly, when  you live in a home where  everything you do is automatically considered 'wrong' by certain people, just because you did it,  it is particularly nice to hear compliments.

Then.  Let me back up a little.  I recently, so recently that the scab has not yet fallen from the wound, ended a very long relationship with my closest friend.  I ended it not because she criticized or disagreed with some of my thoughts.  (How boring is it to have a conversation with someone who totally agrees with everything you think or say?)  I ended it because she used some very hurtful words and chose to broadcast it over the net to everyone in my mailbox and God only knows who else, and, further, enlisted some of her family members to join her army on the battlefield to wage the war against me.  

Then a dear, greatly loved family member jumped all over me because of something I said, and have said repeatedly about my relationship with the Supreme Being.  (Add personality of your choice to define that according to your personal tastes.) This person did it kindly,and privately,but I cautioned him that I had to hold my beliefs in a way I found comfortable and that because I loved and admired him so very much, it would be better if we didn't have discussions on that topic.  We dance around it occasionally, but we honor the parameter that has been set.

So.  Yesterday, another family member got WTF all over my ass about something that they THOUGHT I did.  (Is it not clear to almost everyone who emails what that peculiar code is that ends message links that are spam?  I am so non-techy, and I can recognize it.  I get such things from a friend and a relative very often, and I ignore them.  They are mailbox viruses, and they will always be with us, much like the Salmonella bacterium.)   The fact is, that this is the third instance of what I consider "attack" that I have dealt with recently and I am fucking sick of it.  Just because someone does it through email does not make it any different to me than walking up to my front door and standing on my porch yelling at me.  And when it is done through error and the person who is so QUICK to attack cannot find a way to apologize or explain, I am fucking furious.  Today, I actually asked my husband to go through his SENT box to see if he had perhaps sent the offending email, and when he assured me it was not there nor in any of his mailboxes, I was, once again, reduced to tears over the matter. And, I don't do this shit.  And anyone who knows me, should KNOW that.  I do not think, if I am perhaps, but not likely, in a capricious mood, send or say truly nasty stuff to be cute or to hurt.  (Google:  hurt feelings).  I may forward one of those eCards that frequently fall short of good taste.  And, I remember, I did actually do that on this person's last birthday, so maybe this is payback.  But I do not go all postal on someone dear to me unless they literally ask me to (by my definition).  I DO go all postal on loved ones. Believe me. Or ask them.

But they earned it, let me assure you.  And this particular person and I had discussions previously on how we should not discuss Snopes or politics or certain other subjects because of our philosophical differences.  And that he implied I did it with deliberation?  Can't get my head around it.  Don't even want to.

I have enough real shit in my life to deal with.  I don't need people to manufacture crises for me. Don't  ever take it for granted  that someone "knows" you.  They don't.  They probably don't even know themselves. They know someone that they think is you and it may have NO bearing on who you are.   I am tired of being batted around and compelled to defend my self and my miserable little fiefdom.  Unless there is a reason for  it, like writing or saying naughty words for example.  Carefully label all your stones before you throw them at me.  Then at least I know why I am being hurt.

Yeah, I know.  More mixed metaphor.  Deal with it.

The Spectrum of Bitterness Part Four

It is so much easier for me to write when I am ticked off.  I am trying to be reasonable and tell my self there are only 26 letters for us to use, so when I read something that I think was my idea first, I have to think about the infinite number of monkeys with the infinite number of pianos that eventually play Bach.

Then I have to tell myself that maybe that person who wrote the scene lived through something similar to what I did and had the same sort of reaction to it. I can be really fair about that one because, although I have done and lived stuff other people have not, I am by and large just your ordinary Joe Shmoe.  I am positive Joe Shmoe had some incredible high points in his life, some incredible situations that seemed troublesome and unsolvable at the time but were still the most enormously exciting parts of his life.  He just didn't bother to write about it.  And I hope that every Joe Shmoe has their "peak" to remember so they can have a little smile on their face when they are sitting in that rocker on that front porch.

I feel the need for a balance sheet, perhaps an incomplete balance sheet, but totally inspired by the passing of Steve Jobs which has definitely affected my ideas about life and death.  He left an amazing legacy.  That is all anyone can ask.  And when you are 94, you are not doing much to amplify, beautify, or in anyway, enhance your legacy except maybe making people tired of hearing about it.

MARRIAGE
Average blog writer:
"I am married to the most wonderful man.  We are still as deeply in love as the day we met, in fourth grade."
Me:
I've been married a really, really long time.

PARENTHOOD
Average blog writer.
"My amazing children are gifts from God and I adore them.  I can't imagine life without them. My husband is such a caring and amazing father."
Me:
I should have had a hysterectomy when I was thirteen.

LIFE
Average blog writer:
"I dedicate each day to the Lord knowing that no matter how things work out, I am living in His name and I can survive with His guidance."
Me;
"Jesus, cut me a break will ya?"

LIVING
Average blog writer
"That which does not kill us will only make us stronger.  God never gives us more than we can handle."
Me.
"You have to be in the right place at the right time.  You have to play the hand you are dealt."

PETS
 Average blog writer
"My dog/cats are like family to me.  I am so grateful for them and they deserve to live the best life they can. Why just today Poopsie did the most adorable thing to the back of my couch."
Me
"I am going to end up in the hospital because of this fucking animal."

Ah, me.  This is a beautiful warm, crisp Autumn day and the leaves are just starting to turn.  My autumnal decorations on my entryway are gorgeous.  The little speckle of golden glitter I placed on the leaves of the wreathes gracing my front doors is just perfect and catches the afternoon sun in the most attractive way.  I am so glad I did that.  Now I am going to lunch with two of my favorite people in the whole world, Fran and Ben. If I am lucky the adorable Delaney will be along.  So fuck the whole world.  I rock.

STOLEN WORDS

I lifted the following quote from the blog of Tetman Callis who very graciously attributed it, I am assuming correctly.  Now all I want to do is read about why they posited this and what are the statistics and the control group, and what were they searching for when they did the study and has it been proven and when does it apply.  Certainly not to the written word which means it probably only is applicable or even useful if you are a lawyer arguing in court, or maybe President Obama.


"We hear communications experts telling us time and again about things like the ‘7-38-55 rule,’ first posited in 1971 by UCLA psychology professor Albert Mehrabian: 55 percent of what you convey when you speak comes from your body language, 38 percent from the tone of your voice, and a paltry 7 percent from the words you choose.  Yet it’s that 7 percent that can and will be held against you in a court of law.” — Brian Christian, The Most Human Human

Life With Luigi. Vol.II

We were out for a while this evening. This afternoon, before we left, Louie put one of those frozen pies in the oven and we couldn't leave until it was finished.  That worked out fine.  A few minutes ago, when we got home, we walked into the kitchen and I said, "It's really hot in here."  So Louie walked over to the thermostat.  I walked over to the oven.  I said, "You left the oven on."  I did not touch it because if I had touched it, he automatically becomes not the person who left it on.  It is a rule.  He walked over and witnessed for himself the readout that says it was 300 degrees and said, "Well, I tried, but how do you turn the *&%$#* off?"  I showed him the button that says "OFF".

Don't you love the blonde joke where the girl asks what the 710 thing is under the hood?

In other news, Danielle  has moved back home.  She has been here about two weeks.  She has stayed here maybe ten of those nights.  The sewer backed up in the laundry room today.

And on an historical level, Mises(dot) org deleted my comments about Konrad Lorenz in the blog arguing about Intellectual Property.

So loving my multi-faceted life.

LINK

This is not to everyone's taste but very funny. And LOUD.

Left Handed Compliments

Sometimes it doesn't sink in right away, and if you get it right away, it is difficult to say "Thanks for the compliment." because, at the moment, you may not be sure that's what it is. 

I walked into Lord and Taylor and there was this outfit on the mannequin, a bright emerald green silk jacket and a fuchsia silk shell and I bought it and I got lots of compliments.  But one of them didn't sink in til much later.  I wore it a lot and never took credit for figuring it out.  Oprah says she buys what's on the mannequin, so I don't mind saying that.  It's nice though when someone says it looks good on you.  (You have to agree. ) But a year later I walk into a family event and a family member has on the outfit in slightly more subdued shades, and looks at me like "I'm glad you didn't wear that today, and, yeah, I got the idea from you."  She looked really nice in her outfit and I took it as a compliment. 

Then there are the  quickies:  In high school Mary Ann Perry asked me if I wore "falsies" (yeah, I'm that old)  and I didn't.  But I took it as a positive remark.  I had a really great figure when I was younger and yeah, I worked it.

"Do you dye your hair?"  No, I don't but if it looks like I spent money on it that's okay with me.

"Auntie Virginia doesn't look old enough to have a daughter as old as Lisa."  Well, that one is complicated, but I think it falls on the credit side of my balance sheet.   At work, my birthday, "How old are you?"  "Thirty two."  "Wow, you should wear a t-shirt that says 'I'm thirty two'.   No one will believe it."  Yeah, I worked out every day, and yeah, it was during my self-acknowledged peak years.

Ten year high school reunion:  "I wish I'd known you were going to turn out like this,"  Okay.  All these indicate I am extremely shallow and that is another thing that is a major component of my personality that I will never deny.  But I think this one is the best:

SOMEONE read my book.  It happens.  Anyway, the person commented that my characters were amoral and what made it worse was that they were parents.  (Jesus, save me.  I wish I had such clear cut parameters in my own life.)  Then it made my face feel all hot and embarrassed.  But, shucks, the book is not about the Amish and the person knew that going in.  Even wanted to know what pages the "good stuff" was on.  But, of course, given my mind, this percolated for quite a while.  And, maybe it is my tendency to try and turn a negative around, or maybe I have to rationalize criticism, but  he finished the book.  AND  he invested in MY characters and JUDGED THEM.  So I created characters.  I am basically thrilled at this point.  Well, feeling kind of warm and fuzzy about it, at the least. Anyway, I know they are not amoral, and I love them.  I think I love them even more now.

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

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005KN6S4E

No, seriously?

I had to write a blurb for my second novel, you know, the one nobody reads?  And I hit send and then I noticed I called the hero TIN.  Please just take me out to the woods and shoot me.  Just get it over with.  

How can you do something like that to someone you love so much?

Interest

This is from an amazing website called Pinterest.You will probably be seeing more of these as I am kind of a sucker for them.  As you have already seen. . .

Self Image

When I was sending out queries for my manuscripts, I felt terrified.  I viewed every rejection as a personal insult.  Strangely, the act of self-publishing does not hold such emotional weight.  Despite the fact that many people have downloaded samples of my work, I have had very few sales. This is a very clear indicator that after reading 15% of my writing, they are not interested in reading anymore which pretty much says I am wasting my time.  And theirs. And the few that have bought have not bothered to review, so I am basically dead in the water.  Still, I plan to put up the next two.  Some people say that more titles bring more interest, but so far that has not shown any effect in my case.  I have cancelled the sale contract on the Mediterranean Villa, but will continue to write my little fantasy revisionist history stories.  I think it's cheaper than a shrink, but my shrink was free.

It did bring in a new follower to my blog, but she has since thrown me off her blog roll, so far the only negative repercussion.  If I had a tail, I promise you, I would post a photo of me walking off into the sunset with it between my legs. Still, I walk on.

AUTUMN

It doesn't matter if I love the cool breezes and the colored leaves.  I get depressed in the Fall.  More depressed I should say.  It shows up everywhere.  My house is a mess.  If I get a row of counters washed, I have to pat myself on the back because, the job itself is not hard--is pleasant--provides instant gratification, but I have to "work" up to it.  To get myself to do it. 

I am sick of this book promo thing and have two more to publish and I think one is not actually "done".  I was having trouble remembering the main character's name the other day.  I am just tired of it.  I know the whole thing was because I was on that crappy Welbutrin, and the stuff I am on now is almost as bad as Paxil, that you totally do not give a shit about anything.   So, maybe I was manic, and after I came back down, I realized I was writing stuff that was practically porn, and I went in and got all fucking sensible and took so much crap out, and now I realize, it doesn't matter.  I opened a book in WalMart the other day cuz this one message board talks about Lora Leigh and I always envied that she did this whole book series about the Navy Seal, and I have trouble maintaining a character like that for more than a few lines in a couple of chapters, and I probably have way more experience with them than she ever will, but that is another story that I probably will never write cuz it is pathetically, fucking sad.  But I opened the book, and the cover doesn't even say Explicit Content and the page I open it to is this guy telling this girl to blow him in a kind of authoritarian cruel, definitely not loving kind of way, and she is so all excited to chow down on this guy and it was just so blah, and what the heck ever happened to the blue oxford cloth shirt as a sex symbol? And she has a whole web site devoted to how badly edited her books are, and how many mistakes she makes, and she probably is rolling in money, her sales are astronomical, and the reason they are not edited very well is that the editors have just read about one blow job too many at this point, and I suddenly realize I should have spent my life writing dissertations on the parallels between the color spectrum and the depression spectrum, or maybe continue, much as they have done  with the very successful Nancy Drew series,  writing the Mary Poppins series and sort of segued her into the Space Age and through the Cold War and into the computer age.  Mary Poppins and the Magic of HTML.

I get terrible attacks of give up-itis very frequently and have throughout my life, and I think it is because just getting through the day is such a huge enterprise for me that I should just not even bother with having something that is mine "to do" as my doctor puts it because it is minuscule and a total fucking waste of time.  I need to spend more time figuring out how to feed my granddaughter the bottle with out falling asleep and having the bottle fall on the floor and the baby roll under the coffee table.  No.  You don't have to report me.  That didn't happen.  But the falling asleep and dropping the bottle part did.

I spend too much time questioning the worth of my existence and not enough time washing  the dishes. And no, there are no dishes that need to be washed either, at the moment, which is why I am sitting here putting meaningless symbols on a plastic screen again.  I was being figurative.  My whole fucking life is figurative and when I understand what it is supposed to represent, it is all over.  

I

Whoops.

So, I was all set to do a huge rant on how you go on Amazon author boards and the grammar and spelling in their little self-promo posts is so awful.  (Are those different things?) And how can you expect me to buy your book if it is going to be that full of errors and that carelessly done, and then I noticed that in this morning's blog I misspelled loyalty.  So, pass the crow.

And FYI, if you see a typo, let me know.  Smashwords I can correct it in a jif.  Amazon not so easy, so if it is in the Amazon version, it might not get fixed.  At least not right away.  I am so obsessively focusing on this because certain other parts of my life that I probably could go right away and blab about cuz they probably cannot be bothered to read the blog of an inconsequential, invisible woman anyway, are just a huge suck fest.  You try to be dynamic and move forward and look at each day expectantly, like maybe there will be a pleasant surprise in store and isn't this fall weather amazing, but there are some things that are unchangeable and so completely out of your control that sneak in and piss all over the place, and, seriously, I am not talking about my dog this time.

PROMO

Just a  reminder.  My books are available at Amazon.com for Kindle and Kindle apps.  And Sacred Sin is also now available at Smashwords.  From my stats, I see that lots of you are stopping by to view my blog and I want to thank you all for your interest and your loyalty.  I would also enjoy it very much if you left a comment of any kind.  Thanks and happy reading!

Persevere you must.

For my loyalest of followers and for those who sneak in here late at night when the kiddies are all asleep to see if I wrote a naughty word today, well I didn't.  I am filled with sweetness and light because my dog did a terrible, spiteful thing to me and I used up my daily ration of naughty words on him.  The day was cool and pleasant, and the windows were only opened a little, so they only sent one squad car this time.  We're fine, just fine.

So as to make sure that you did not waste your trip here, as I am always so glad to see you, I am presenting the current incarnation of William Wallace.  He is willing to undergo a DNA test to support this. I got Ben.  I got Delaney.  Who could ask for anything more?  Oh, me, of course.

I haven't googled Dan Kearney lately. I wonder what he is up to.  He is going to rule our country.  Soon. Ben will help.

Getting to Me

I swear!  Honest to God!

Is this not the cutest thing ever? 

What does it take to establish perspective?  The life I have, the footprint I have left, the things that will happen tomorrow that are good, the things that happened yesterday and today that are good.  (Not this frigging virus)  And I let some stranger, probably some 52 year old virgin with greasy hair living in an apartment with two cats and a litter box that needs to be changed a week ago, get to me.  Actually make that hot buzzing  behind the forehead  "symptom" of being in "trouble"  happen to me.  Actually give that poor disenfranchised  person POWER to evoke a feeling in me?  In ME?  What the fuck is wrong with me?

I am so pissed.  So very pissed.  Almost pissed enough to make that hot buzzing stop.  It is actually growing more faint as I continue to vent by causing  electronically positioned symbols to appear on a plastic screen.   Which is what I currently list WAY too high on the list of things that I consider to be my legacy.

Instead of that cute little critter on the boppy that contains my DNA. On a quilt that I made, by the way, in the house that belongs to my daughter which is a wonderful house, and a wonderful daughter that contains my DNA.

So fuck you musty lady.  Blackball me.  Smear my reputation all over Amazon with your chintzy greasy keyboard. You don't suck.  You wish you had something to suck.

NICE ! ! and not so. . .

I had my first UK sale.  This is very pleasing news for me. 

In other news, a blog I used to visit a lot, but only drop in on occasionally of late, went on and on today about a book the agency (whose blog it was that I was then gracing with my presence) LOVED and accepted joyfully and couldn't sell.  The blog author, (you can't even say 'he' or 'she' anymore or some snarkiness will show up on their site about it) was dismayed.  The agency "finally" sold this amazing story that was difficult to sell because it crossed genres.  Yup.  It was vampires, zombies, love, ghosts, paranormal stuff, probably a little Steam Punk and a Celtic God or two, along with  an amazing character study of this person that was not able to fit into any of these sub categories of living beings in the unusual world in which she was trying to survive. 

Remember when coming of age stories were about people you might sit next to in study hall?  Like S. E. Hinton's Outsiders, That Was Then, This Is Now?  I seriously wonder what all these books aimed at young adults are contributing to the person's character who happens to be reading them.  Like that Twilight series. Hotcakesl  Couldn't print them fast enough.  T-shirts.  Movies.  And there is not one person who will argue the fact that Bella was a 'Mary Sue' (google) the absolute antithesis of what a young woman in this day and age needs to emulate in her adulthood.  (This from a person who just published a book that discusses putting on a banana flavored condom with your mouth.)  Maybe I am just bitter.  Not so much anymore!  I have already earned more money in my writing 'career' than a certain MFA I know. And we are talking mere weeks into it. 


And even I throw in a Celtic God or two.

Tedium

I got LAWMAN up on Kindle.  I finished the Smashwords revisions for SACRED SIN.  I learned how to remove a text box that you don't know you have until you learn what the coding looks like and go looking for it.  I didn't put that stuff in there, man.  Blame Word.  I am getting pretty good at manipulating photos, and I suck at self promotion.  I have investigated every angle any one has mentioned and none have brought results.  Supposedly Smashwords Premium Catalog is a big deal.  They say Apple sells more ebooks than all the other epubs put together.  I totally do not see that.  They don't even make  a dedicated reader.  Whatever.  We will see.  The thing is, I am getting so tired of this.  I use any excuse to get away from it and the Maze and Anymore need a little work.  Hopefully getting back to writing will seem like fun again.

It has to be word of mouth.  It just has to be read by THAT right person, and I don't think she is interested.  Well, I like my guys.  And I will never be sorry about that part of it.  And yeah, Bobby Joe, I did leave that one word out of  the Smashwords version.  You know which one I mean.

I'm going on the treadmill.  I think I stopped the ipod  at Crossfire, so after I listen to that about eight times I will be all inspired and ready to go. 
Yeah.  You can totally tell what is happening to me.  My blogs are getting so boring

.

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.

THRILL

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.

Another Review.

http://www.openbookreview.com/review-id106/

UPTICK

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.

BUY THE DAMN BOOK.  $2.99 FOR GOD"S SAKE.  AND YOU WILL BE AMAZED HOW MUCH YOU ENJOY IT.  That I solemnly promise.

REVIEW

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

(THERE ARE TWO)

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.

AGE

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.

BEN, A FEW YEARS BACK, NOW THE ONLY HOPE OF THE GRAYSLAKE COLTS.

SPECIAL OFFER

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):

   

virginiallorca@gmail.com  

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

Crime

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?

BUSINESS

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. 

DONE and DONE

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

Qualifications

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.

Criteria:
intelligent enough to talk to.
sexy,
good-looking,
tall,
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.

HATCHING

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?

DIGITS

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.

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.

Followers

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.