Archive for August, 2013

Yesterday & Today

(This was supposed to have been posted yesterday, so just go with it.)

Some dates just stick with you. I don’t mean your wedding anniversary, or other days like that. For me it’s dates like when my cat died, or the day Hurricane Katrina made its second landfall in south Louisiana. Just the name of the month of August used to start, for me, a downward spiral of depression, and gods help me when the 29th came around. I didn’t think it would ever happen, ever, but this year, around early-afternoon on the 29th, I saw an article online… it had been eight years since Katrina.

And I hadn’t remembered.

I’d forgotten.

I wanted to keep it that way, but I also felt guilty because I had forgotten. I shut the browser down and did two days worth of day-job-work in one afternoon.

Flash forward to having nothing to do at the day job the next day (Friday) because, yay, I did it all the day before. Yes, that was sarcasm. Katrina flits in and out of my thoughts. I know I could be making notes for one book or another, but I don’t. I know I have to deal with my neighbor (story soon) this weekend, and that’ll be *blah*. I know I’m supposed to go see a friend in the ATL at Dragon Con this weekend, but depression is crawling in, and I’m feeling down on myself, and I’m fat because of my new meds, and I’m not a good writer, and JUST BLAH. I feel the spiral dragging me down.


I spray painted a file cabinet and gave myself black toes for my trouble.

I’m literally watching paint dry when I decide to check my email.

I’d forgotten about something else, too.

My smile slowly spread.

I bounced around my online writer’s group. Made, and took, a few phone calls while dancing around that wet paint covered file cabinet. Then, um… whoops?

Dial one more number–I freaked out my husband because I never call him at work. Bless him, he said, “You know I don’t know what that means, but you know I’m proud of you, right?”

Yes. Yes, I do.

It was not “the call”, it was not, “the email”, but ask me if I care?

Almost eleven months of silence later… 


ATL, here I come.


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Fresh Hell


Seriously, I do. Last night was rough, so I shoulda known.

I woke up every two hours, damn near to the minute, for no good reason that I could imagine. Lily wasn’t being a bed hog, the hubs was asleep (most of the time), my sciatica was bothering me only a little, so I’d just grumble and roll back over. I was swearing to every god there is that it was Monday morning and I had to go to work in a few hours, which just made me stay awake that much longer. No, I’m not fond of the day gig, thanks.

I shoulda known that it was a sign–that something was wrong, that my day was gonna SUCK BALLS.

I have a routine for my weekend mornings, and today I am thankful for that routine that exists only to make myself feel like a writer when I don’t feel like a writer. Which is, like… everyday.

Yoga pants donned, I head out the front door around seven a.m. to go to the gas station for my Dew and Goody’s… and found the small koi pond out front drained down to the last tier: eight inches of water left in what should be thirty. The box filter had clogged, making it flip sideways, making the fountain attached to it pump water over the side and out of the pond. What saved that last eight inches was that the box filter started sucking air and stopped pumping–what saved the way-too-damned-many-fish-for-eight-inches-of-water-to-sustain is that the UV filter was still running and shooting water in the air, which fell straight back down and aerated the water. I’ve been making new water every two hours to get it filled back up, and everyone is fine. Forgive me if I didn’t take pictures. I was having flashbacks.

I noticed that something had come in the mail yesterday–the box is on the porch wall–so I fought spiderwebs to get the envelope (I hate spiders). Property tax bill. Yay. Me.

My neighbor is moving, I think at the end of this month, and I ran into her and her white half-pittie puppy on one of my water runs. I made the mistake of asking her when she was gonna give me that puppy, because *GAH*, that puppy is adorbs, when the conversation took a turn in another direction. That… well… to be continued….


I’m heading outside to spend the day working on the koi ponds. At least it got me out of working on the synopsis.

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Deep Breaths….

Yeah. So.

Life went a little screwy a few weeks ago, so the blog went off the priority list. It’s still semi-screwy because of jury duty, but all that shit’s boring so we’ll move on.

I finished a book last night that was supposed to have been steampunk, but It wasn’t my idea of what steampunk should be. I liked the book in the end, but I feel disappointed that it’s not really what it was marketed to be. So. In the brief period of time between the end of that book and La-La Land, I was contemplating my next move in my literary career.

Do I even have one of those?

Yeah, that was the first question. The answer is not yet. There was a second question, but we’ll skip it.

Third question, what to do Saturday?

Easy. The plan was to get up, straighten the house, wait for the hubs to leave for work, get to the laptop, and tell a Twitter friend something on Twitter before hitting whatever WIP, or whatever the hell else–like the evil synopsis for OW. Nowhere in that plan did I leave room for a Twitter contest because I swore them off. *nod* It happened. I thought about it for a bit, stopped reading email, wrote a thirty-five word log line, followed the instructions, and sent the entry off.  It’s worth a shot, and one of the agents in the contest is next on my query list. After the contest, now, naturally, which is fine because of the evil synopsis thing, but still.


And not in that omg-sloth!-how-cute kinda way. I will not obsessively watch Twitter for the next two weeks. I WILL NOT.

My brain started spinning off in a million directions from there. One book is in the can. I have three other books started and a synopsis to write, and I just have no idea where to start. Which one takes priority? Second in a series, first in a series, or first in a series that has a short from that universe coming out in an anthology in a few months? Or a synopsis for the first in a series that I want to send out on sub? Because no matter how drawn in a certain direction you are, there are things you must do first. Must.


Anyway. This is all normal for me. My mind spins like a squirrel on crack, all the time, and I know very well what I should do first. I have to write a synopsis. I really do. *sigh*

Here’s some things I found in my email. You may like them, too, if you’re a writer.

I love Leigh Evans, that’s no secret. Now, I love her even more. I started reading her blog before she landed her contract, and I think she’s awesome.

Lucienne Diver’s World Building Workshop Part I.  This is for later reading, but it sounds worthwhile.

Now, for cereal and a synopsis.


Damn, I hate those things.



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Big Girl Bark

My dog barks.

Shocking, I know. The first time I heard her “big girl bark,” I laughed because… wow. It was deep and throaty and where the hell did that come from? But, she also does this…

Dressed up for her birthday.

Dressed up for her birthday.

And this…

My little brother is old, and sick, and now he's wet because I licked him a bath.

My “little brother” is old, and sick, and now he’s wet because I licked him a bath.

And this…



And this, months ago, much to my dismay…

*shaming done right*

*shaming done right*

She eats doors, shoes, wooden lattice, and anything else she can get her mouth on. She loves to ride in the van and knows what the word “bank” means–it means she gets a cookie from the tellers. She chases shadows and lasers until she’s exhausted. She licks her cat, Zombie, because she loves her as much as she loves her little brother.

Lily & Zombie

Lily & Zombie

She sleeps in our bed, she snuggles close, and snores in our faces. She farts. Man, does she fart.

She loves, and we love her back.

She also barks, did I mention that? This huge, scary, deep bark, because she can. That’s how her throat is made–she couldn’t sound like a chihuahua if she tried. She barks and wags at the same time when she’s uncertain of a situation. She barks at unknown sounds, just like any other dog.

She barks at butterflies.

Friday, she barked at someone I know, that she does not know, because she was uncertain. Her tail was wagging as she looked from me to this person, confused, wondering if this person was okay to come near her mom. Any dog would, because that’s what dogs do. Then she sat at my feet, wagging her tail.

This person had something very unkind to say about the sound of her bark because Lily is a “pit bull.” Because “those dogs are dangerous.” Another then pointed out an article online where someone was sued because of “those dogs” and said I should “be careful of that dog.” Be careful of Lily.

Would these people have reacted differently if it had been my yorkie barking instead of Lily? Probably.

Just like German Shepherds, Dobermans, Rottweilers, and various other dogs in the past, pits are the dog of the day, and thousands of animals are suffering for it. Am I being stupid and suggesting that all the things you read about pits hurting people and other animals are lies? No. Some pits have been horribly abused, been taught to be mean, been taught to harm people and other animals.

Lily has been taught to give me her paw when she wants a treat.

What I’m suggesting is that you don’t be so quick to judge one dog based on something you’ve read. What I’m suggesting is you take pits as you know them to be as an individual being, just like you should people. What I’m suggesting is that you don’t perpetuate the bad reputation of the breed.  Don’t add to the problem of so many being euthanized in shelters because they’re “bad dogs.”

And to those two people, I’m suggesting that you… yeah. I just bit my tongue, because my anger won’t help the situation, either.

My dog barks.

What do you do?

What do you do?

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