Thursday, February 28, 2013
Tuesday, February 26, 2013
Flying Woman
The Flying Woman for me is the dreamer. I've always been a dreamer and in my flights of fancy where my stories live, do I rise above all the shit that life throws and I fly.
I fly in creating love stories.
I fly in writing of strong women.
I fly in my faith and belief that HEA's are possible and awaiting us all.
I fly when I read and I read to fly.
Monday, February 25, 2013
Crazy Job Interviews
I'm looking for a new job. Oh God, I'm desperately seeking new employment before my eyes roll to the back of my head, I start speaking in tongues and doing nasty things to a crucifix the likes of which you only read about in an Ellora's Cave story.
Howevs, recently the interviewing thing has gone completely batshit. I mean, I've had some strange interviews but never to the degree and complete cray-cray that I've experienced lately.
On Friday I went to a clinic to interview for a reception position. The manager turned out to be about 25 years old, looked like he belonged on Big Bang Theory (geek warning ahead) and made me regret not going with the dress that shows my boobs to a good advantage. On the other hand, with the difference in our ages, he might have thought I was trying to nurse him.
Anyway, we sat and said a few pleasantries and then the interview started. "So do you have any questions for me?" he asked. And that was the only question he asked. Multiple times.
Just to be clear: he didn't ask about my experience, he didn't ask why I'm looking for another job, he didn't ask me anything except "Do you have any questions for me?"
Apparently I'd gotten the wrong message and I was there to interview him.
Now today I got a phone call from an eye clinic on a resume I sent. I was asked to call the manager's cell phone. I called and it was the most bizarre conversation I ever had.
She asked if I should be calling her during work hours. I said I was at lunch. She said I had her call on the office phone and that felt wrong to her. I said "wtf?".
She asked me where else had I applied. I told her that I felt that was an inappropriate question. She asked why I was looking for another job and I said I wanted to work more hours. She then made it sound as though the job she had was less hours. I pointedly asked her if it was full time and she said it was. I said "wtf?"
She asked if I'd work Saturdays (not mentioned in the advertisement that there were weekend hours). I said some Saturdays but not all because I have a child. She asked how old my child was. I said "wtf?"
She asked how much money I wanted to make. I said I wanted the highest they were willing to pay (because I try never to name amounts). She said my answer was the opposite of her question. I said "wtf?"
Anyway, I'm an old, old fart and I've had many phone interviews and face to face interviews but these two were the fucking strangest I've ever had in my life. Seriously they were wtf?
Howevs, recently the interviewing thing has gone completely batshit. I mean, I've had some strange interviews but never to the degree and complete cray-cray that I've experienced lately.
On Friday I went to a clinic to interview for a reception position. The manager turned out to be about 25 years old, looked like he belonged on Big Bang Theory (geek warning ahead) and made me regret not going with the dress that shows my boobs to a good advantage. On the other hand, with the difference in our ages, he might have thought I was trying to nurse him.
Anyway, we sat and said a few pleasantries and then the interview started. "So do you have any questions for me?" he asked. And that was the only question he asked. Multiple times.
Just to be clear: he didn't ask about my experience, he didn't ask why I'm looking for another job, he didn't ask me anything except "Do you have any questions for me?"
Apparently I'd gotten the wrong message and I was there to interview him.
Now today I got a phone call from an eye clinic on a resume I sent. I was asked to call the manager's cell phone. I called and it was the most bizarre conversation I ever had.
She asked if I should be calling her during work hours. I said I was at lunch. She said I had her call on the office phone and that felt wrong to her. I said "wtf?".
She asked me where else had I applied. I told her that I felt that was an inappropriate question. She asked why I was looking for another job and I said I wanted to work more hours. She then made it sound as though the job she had was less hours. I pointedly asked her if it was full time and she said it was. I said "wtf?"
She asked if I'd work Saturdays (not mentioned in the advertisement that there were weekend hours). I said some Saturdays but not all because I have a child. She asked how old my child was. I said "wtf?"
She asked how much money I wanted to make. I said I wanted the highest they were willing to pay (because I try never to name amounts). She said my answer was the opposite of her question. I said "wtf?"
Anyway, I'm an old, old fart and I've had many phone interviews and face to face interviews but these two were the fucking strangest I've ever had in my life. Seriously they were wtf?
Sunday, February 24, 2013
Digital vs Paperback
I've seen a lot of people asking how readers prefer to read: digital vs paperback and I've always said digital. Since I got my Kindle I don't like the feel of a book, I dislike having to use 2 hands and I no longer like the weight of a book.
My Kindle is lightweight, it holds my library (plus a fuck lot more) and I can easily prop it up on different surfaces with no prob.
I also have a Kindle Fire that has a case which stands it up vertically or horizontally for reading or watching movies. Absolutely freaking brilliant. Adore it.
I've discovered the only real drawback is the TBR pile. Sharing a library with Carolyn means there are a few thousand books to choose from. And Carolyn is voracious. Obviously I'm not downloading all the books she's getting nor does she download all the books I add but there's still a lot of books between us.
And I don't know what they are.
Sounds silly, no? But it's a huge problem when you read a review of a book that sounds amazing. You buy it. But you're reading the latest Crusie and loving it. Then you finish Crusie and there's that Kleypas you're dying to dive into. And then one day you see a title sitting on your Kindle and you have no freaking idea what it is.
Without immediate access to the cover or black blurb (covers are on the Fire but the Kindle basic where I have most of my books, no covers) you don't know what book it is. I never had this problem with paperbacks. I have hundreds of books in my Kindle and probably don't know/remember what half of them are.
So I put as many as possible in collections and have even started a collection called SERIOUS TBR for those books I'll forget because the author is unknown and the title won't stand out for me, but I really want to get around to reading.
What about the rest of you e-readering people. What's your secret to keeping your library?
My Kindle is lightweight, it holds my library (plus a fuck lot more) and I can easily prop it up on different surfaces with no prob.
I also have a Kindle Fire that has a case which stands it up vertically or horizontally for reading or watching movies. Absolutely freaking brilliant. Adore it.
I've discovered the only real drawback is the TBR pile. Sharing a library with Carolyn means there are a few thousand books to choose from. And Carolyn is voracious. Obviously I'm not downloading all the books she's getting nor does she download all the books I add but there's still a lot of books between us.
And I don't know what they are.
Sounds silly, no? But it's a huge problem when you read a review of a book that sounds amazing. You buy it. But you're reading the latest Crusie and loving it. Then you finish Crusie and there's that Kleypas you're dying to dive into. And then one day you see a title sitting on your Kindle and you have no freaking idea what it is.
Without immediate access to the cover or black blurb (covers are on the Fire but the Kindle basic where I have most of my books, no covers) you don't know what book it is. I never had this problem with paperbacks. I have hundreds of books in my Kindle and probably don't know/remember what half of them are.
So I put as many as possible in collections and have even started a collection called SERIOUS TBR for those books I'll forget because the author is unknown and the title won't stand out for me, but I really want to get around to reading.
What about the rest of you e-readering people. What's your secret to keeping your library?
Wednesday, February 20, 2013
Wednesday Random Thoughts
This morning I was thinking about something I saw that said George Takai is the most followed/influencial celebrity on Facebook. And I remember back during the original Star Trek days when I was madly in love with Walter Koenig (Chekov) and wrote him a fan letter and got a picture back of him, Takai and Nichelle Nichols standing on the transporter.
I didn't care for Sulu back then. Now I wish I still had the photo.
~~
My daughter is in the throes of her first real crush. She doesn't completely understand what she's experiencing and can't accept that it's a crush. So she claims to hate the boy while she subtly stalks him and rearranges her schedule so she can see him.
Since he's three grades ahead of her, he hasn't really noticed her nor will he. But I'm watching her with a lot of love and a little sadness. I think I liked it better when she fell in love with cartoon characters.
~~
I can't decide what to read. We have so many books and so many look good for such different reasons that I'm hit with indecision.
~~
This is the cover of my next book and I'm feeling ambivalent about it. I love the cover but I don't think it says erotic romance. Feedback please????
I didn't care for Sulu back then. Now I wish I still had the photo.
~~
My daughter is in the throes of her first real crush. She doesn't completely understand what she's experiencing and can't accept that it's a crush. So she claims to hate the boy while she subtly stalks him and rearranges her schedule so she can see him.
Since he's three grades ahead of her, he hasn't really noticed her nor will he. But I'm watching her with a lot of love and a little sadness. I think I liked it better when she fell in love with cartoon characters.
~~
I can't decide what to read. We have so many books and so many look good for such different reasons that I'm hit with indecision.
~~
Tuesday, February 19, 2013
Power of the Story, Part 2
My father, Arnold Green, is a child rapist.
The true story: I was 20 years old and visiting my Mom. I had ceased contact with my father shortly after he'd left her and wrote me a letter telling me not to blame her for basically everything although in the letter he pretty much blamed her for all his choices. (As Carolyn would say: pah!)
So I was in Hawaii spending time with my mother and she told me that she was still in contact with Arnold and he was living with a woman named Wendy who had a seven year old daughter. I pointed out to my mother that my father being near a female child meant rape would take place. My mother informs me that in a conversation with Arnold, he told her that the 7 year old liked to instigate sexual contact with him.
(My father told my mother, years previous, that he was having an affair with my 13 year old friend. He was raping and sodomizing her on a constant basis because her single mom was at work and my friend was home alone. Years later that same woman told me that he made her childhood a living horror.)
Anyway, I called CPS (Child Protection Services) and told them my father's history and that he was living with a child. They stepped in (bless them) but Wendy, the mother, sent them away saying that I made up the story and her daughter was perfectly safe.
I understand my father parted with a lot of money when their relationship ended.
So I wrote a story about it. Oh I changed some things but I wrote about a mother pretty much letting her daughter get fucked by a rich guy and then using it. I was ina creative writing class at the time and turned the story in for group critique. Oh my God, they hated it.
Amazing how people will tell you to your face that no mother alive would do such a thing. They ripped and shredded it. Not the writing but the plot.
Apparently real life is much more disgusting than fiction.
The reason I'm writing this is because I realized recently that I've never really told my stories. I'm certainly not a shrinking violet but outside of some poetry back when I first started getting published, I've been surprisingly quiet on the subject.
So here are some of my stories. They don't cause me pain any longer and I don't want hugs or pity. But the more our stories go out in the universe, the more we bring others closer to us.
(And yes, there will probably be more. I'm just that way.)
The true story: I was 20 years old and visiting my Mom. I had ceased contact with my father shortly after he'd left her and wrote me a letter telling me not to blame her for basically everything although in the letter he pretty much blamed her for all his choices. (As Carolyn would say: pah!)
So I was in Hawaii spending time with my mother and she told me that she was still in contact with Arnold and he was living with a woman named Wendy who had a seven year old daughter. I pointed out to my mother that my father being near a female child meant rape would take place. My mother informs me that in a conversation with Arnold, he told her that the 7 year old liked to instigate sexual contact with him.
(My father told my mother, years previous, that he was having an affair with my 13 year old friend. He was raping and sodomizing her on a constant basis because her single mom was at work and my friend was home alone. Years later that same woman told me that he made her childhood a living horror.)
Anyway, I called CPS (Child Protection Services) and told them my father's history and that he was living with a child. They stepped in (bless them) but Wendy, the mother, sent them away saying that I made up the story and her daughter was perfectly safe.
I understand my father parted with a lot of money when their relationship ended.
So I wrote a story about it. Oh I changed some things but I wrote about a mother pretty much letting her daughter get fucked by a rich guy and then using it. I was ina creative writing class at the time and turned the story in for group critique. Oh my God, they hated it.
Amazing how people will tell you to your face that no mother alive would do such a thing. They ripped and shredded it. Not the writing but the plot.
Apparently real life is much more disgusting than fiction.
The reason I'm writing this is because I realized recently that I've never really told my stories. I'm certainly not a shrinking violet but outside of some poetry back when I first started getting published, I've been surprisingly quiet on the subject.
So here are some of my stories. They don't cause me pain any longer and I don't want hugs or pity. But the more our stories go out in the universe, the more we bring others closer to us.
(And yes, there will probably be more. I'm just that way.)
Sunday, February 17, 2013
The Power of the Story
My father is a child rapist.
My father is a sociopath.
The thing about growing up with a sociopath in your home, is that you don't completely understand wrong and right because those concepts don't exist for them. What does is exist is a completely narcissistic world view that everybody else in the world is stupid and only the sociopath is right and should get what he wants.
I was lucky (I know it's strange to call this luck) but when I was very, very young I discovered that my father was twisted. A neighbor who knew my parents from years previous, someone who had lived in the apartment building where my father was arrested for molesting a child (and yes, back in the 1950s, he got away with it) moved into our current neighborhood and spread the word.
I was the one who told my parents that something was being said (I might have been about 6 or 7 at the time) and they told me to handle it. I wasn't the most astute at that age but I recognized shame and I thank God for that. Because in that one moment I realized that my father was wrong and he realized it.
I didn't really know what he was wrong about but it became very clear. I'd been raised by him to be a victim but the reaction from the shame and the "don't tell your mother" spelled it out quickly and succinctly. What my father was doing was very very wrong and I wasn't to blame.
Knowing from an early age that I wasn't to blame for what was done to me and for my parent's choices was a great boon to my sanity and my self-awareness. I remember clearly one day my brother and I talking to another brother and sister who very seriously told us that they were responsible to get along well with each other or else their parents would split up. God, I must have only been in second or third grade and I remember so clearly hearing that solemn little boy tell us that and knowing it was a lie. I knew the truth but I couldn't verbalize it to that child. I hope one day he learned the truth too.
It wasn't until 7th grade when I was put in a creative writing class that it all started to come out. I didn't write stories about abused children (ha! that would have rocked) but I wrote stories and poetry about girls who were alienated and hurt. And one day I overheard my father tell my mother that the scariest thing in his life was his daughter being a writer.
I learned at age 13 that words have power. I learned at age 13 that I have power.
I don't want to write a book about about being abused. The Stone Crow was the closest I came and that was enough. Sara's experiences with her father were mine and I don't need to write more. But I have one more story and one more statement.
The story: I was in community college and fell in love with a beautiful boy who fell in love with me also. He had a girlfriend however and he didn't cheat on her. Nor did I. I was friends with her and it was actually lovely to love them both.
The girl had a sad story about being sexually abused when growing up by the father of a friend. Obviously I related to her story and we shared experiences about it and appreciated that we could discuss the hurt and healing with another.
Through a variety of experiences I won't go into, the girl and I discovered that the man who hurt her was my father. It ended our friendship and I never saw the beautiful boy again either and for the longest time it felt like a stone lodged in my heart. I felt guilt that my father caused her pain. I felt guilt that my friendship was poisonous because of my father. I felt guilt.
One day I realized that I carried the guilt because my father never would. My father hurt that sweet woman. He hurt me. He hurt my sister, He hurt my cousin. He hurt my sister's best friend in Hawaii. He hurt the daughter of the woman he dated when he left my mother. He hurt my 7th grade friend. (He hurt her worse than anyone.) (At least that I know of.)
He never felt guilt because he was a sociopath. He left my mother and cut off contact with my siblings (I left him a long time earlier.) He never felt guilt about ceasing being their father. He married a friend of my mother's and moved to another place and has lived in nice houses and I'm sure, has hurt many others in his life.
This is a story and it's the truth. Nobody except a few people who visit this blog will ever know. But it's part of the story of my life and I want to tell it.
My father's name is Arnold Green. He lives in Asheville, North Carolina. He's still alive and married to Bernice Green. They belong to a country club, they give money to charity and my father is a child rapist and a sociopath.
(I'm going to tell another story about him this week so be ready to avoid that post if this subject bothers you.)
My father is a sociopath.
The thing about growing up with a sociopath in your home, is that you don't completely understand wrong and right because those concepts don't exist for them. What does is exist is a completely narcissistic world view that everybody else in the world is stupid and only the sociopath is right and should get what he wants.
I was lucky (I know it's strange to call this luck) but when I was very, very young I discovered that my father was twisted. A neighbor who knew my parents from years previous, someone who had lived in the apartment building where my father was arrested for molesting a child (and yes, back in the 1950s, he got away with it) moved into our current neighborhood and spread the word.
I was the one who told my parents that something was being said (I might have been about 6 or 7 at the time) and they told me to handle it. I wasn't the most astute at that age but I recognized shame and I thank God for that. Because in that one moment I realized that my father was wrong and he realized it.
I didn't really know what he was wrong about but it became very clear. I'd been raised by him to be a victim but the reaction from the shame and the "don't tell your mother" spelled it out quickly and succinctly. What my father was doing was very very wrong and I wasn't to blame.
Knowing from an early age that I wasn't to blame for what was done to me and for my parent's choices was a great boon to my sanity and my self-awareness. I remember clearly one day my brother and I talking to another brother and sister who very seriously told us that they were responsible to get along well with each other or else their parents would split up. God, I must have only been in second or third grade and I remember so clearly hearing that solemn little boy tell us that and knowing it was a lie. I knew the truth but I couldn't verbalize it to that child. I hope one day he learned the truth too.
It wasn't until 7th grade when I was put in a creative writing class that it all started to come out. I didn't write stories about abused children (ha! that would have rocked) but I wrote stories and poetry about girls who were alienated and hurt. And one day I overheard my father tell my mother that the scariest thing in his life was his daughter being a writer.
I learned at age 13 that words have power. I learned at age 13 that I have power.
I don't want to write a book about about being abused. The Stone Crow was the closest I came and that was enough. Sara's experiences with her father were mine and I don't need to write more. But I have one more story and one more statement.
The story: I was in community college and fell in love with a beautiful boy who fell in love with me also. He had a girlfriend however and he didn't cheat on her. Nor did I. I was friends with her and it was actually lovely to love them both.
The girl had a sad story about being sexually abused when growing up by the father of a friend. Obviously I related to her story and we shared experiences about it and appreciated that we could discuss the hurt and healing with another.
Through a variety of experiences I won't go into, the girl and I discovered that the man who hurt her was my father. It ended our friendship and I never saw the beautiful boy again either and for the longest time it felt like a stone lodged in my heart. I felt guilt that my father caused her pain. I felt guilt that my friendship was poisonous because of my father. I felt guilt.
One day I realized that I carried the guilt because my father never would. My father hurt that sweet woman. He hurt me. He hurt my sister, He hurt my cousin. He hurt my sister's best friend in Hawaii. He hurt the daughter of the woman he dated when he left my mother. He hurt my 7th grade friend. (He hurt her worse than anyone.) (At least that I know of.)
He never felt guilt because he was a sociopath. He left my mother and cut off contact with my siblings (I left him a long time earlier.) He never felt guilt about ceasing being their father. He married a friend of my mother's and moved to another place and has lived in nice houses and I'm sure, has hurt many others in his life.
This is a story and it's the truth. Nobody except a few people who visit this blog will ever know. But it's part of the story of my life and I want to tell it.
My father's name is Arnold Green. He lives in Asheville, North Carolina. He's still alive and married to Bernice Green. They belong to a country club, they give money to charity and my father is a child rapist and a sociopath.
(I'm going to tell another story about him this week so be ready to avoid that post if this subject bothers you.)
Friday, February 15, 2013
Just Call Me Queenie
I must be the queen of the freebies and .99 novels. God knows I have enough of them and every day I get more. Smart Bitches lets me know of sales daily, so does Dear Author. I joined BookBub and receive more lists of freebies and low priced books.
I think it's an obsession. I tend to shop when I'm stressed and sad to say, I'm sorta stressed these days. These days - HA! These days for the last two to three years, lol.
I may have posted about this before; I've been through recipe collecting - in fact I'm still in the throes of that particular obsession, only now it's the fast and easy ones and the crock pot ones.
I used to collect crochet and knitting patterns. Didn't make many of them but by God, I had the patterns if I wanted to!
Then I got into doll crochet. Dozens of dolls I made, with nowhere to put them. I finally gave most of them to my sister after my mania passed and I don't know what happened to them after she died. Have pics of a few only:
Let's see, now. Recipes, books, patterns - is that all? I think so. All these are relatively inexpensive. I mean, I don't lust after diamonds or rubies or fancy clothes or fancy anything like that. But that doesn't soothe my conscience, especially when I look at my bank account and see those lines and lines of 'Amazon'. The amounts may only be .99 or $2.99, but it looks spendthrift and it probably is, because it's not the amount but the mindset, right?
I'm working on not feeling guilty. I'm way older than I ever thought I'd be and at this stage of the life game I should be able to afford a bit of useless expense (something that's not a bill, or necessary to keep you alive).
But perhaps it's not so useless. After all, it gives me pleasure and Lori a selection of books to choose from.
I've forgotten what the point of this post was, if there ever was one...
Oh yeah - I'm not giving up my bad habits. I already gave up smoking and gained 25 pounds. I'm not chancing anything else! ;-)
I think it's an obsession. I tend to shop when I'm stressed and sad to say, I'm sorta stressed these days. These days - HA! These days for the last two to three years, lol.
I may have posted about this before; I've been through recipe collecting - in fact I'm still in the throes of that particular obsession, only now it's the fast and easy ones and the crock pot ones.
I used to collect crochet and knitting patterns. Didn't make many of them but by God, I had the patterns if I wanted to!
Then I got into doll crochet. Dozens of dolls I made, with nowhere to put them. I finally gave most of them to my sister after my mania passed and I don't know what happened to them after she died. Have pics of a few only:
Let's see, now. Recipes, books, patterns - is that all? I think so. All these are relatively inexpensive. I mean, I don't lust after diamonds or rubies or fancy clothes or fancy anything like that. But that doesn't soothe my conscience, especially when I look at my bank account and see those lines and lines of 'Amazon'. The amounts may only be .99 or $2.99, but it looks spendthrift and it probably is, because it's not the amount but the mindset, right?
I'm working on not feeling guilty. I'm way older than I ever thought I'd be and at this stage of the life game I should be able to afford a bit of useless expense (something that's not a bill, or necessary to keep you alive).
But perhaps it's not so useless. After all, it gives me pleasure and Lori a selection of books to choose from.
I've forgotten what the point of this post was, if there ever was one...
Oh yeah - I'm not giving up my bad habits. I already gave up smoking and gained 25 pounds. I'm not chancing anything else! ;-)
We Get Mail!
We get mail. Usually it's bills and the occasional flyer for vent cleaning but every now and again someone takes the time to write and say something about our writing, our blog or the grafitti we leve on bathroom walls.
Dear Old Fart Lori,
I really enjoyed your recent novel, The Devil Only Wears Pink, but was wondering why did you choose to put The Prince of Lies in crinoline and not a nice taffetta?
Signed, Curious
Dear Curious,
what a brilliant question.
The reason behind my decision was simple: I don't know how to spelltafeta tafetta taffetta.
Lori
~~
Dear Old Fart Lori,
I heard a rumor that George Clooney was your imaginary husband but you wee seen at a WWE event, trying to lick wrestler's abs. What's up with that, huh?
Signed, Also Curious
Dear Curious,
what a brilliant question.
Have you seen George Clooney without a shirt? Have you seen John Cena without a shirt? Let's just say that even George would lick Cena's abs.
Lori
~~
Dear Old Fart Lori,
Does Carolyn really exist?
Signed, Curiouser and Curiouser
Dear Curiouser,
no.
Lori
So that's just a sampling of some of our mail. Thanks for visiting: don't be afraid to leave a comment on someone else's blog.
Dear Old Fart Lori,
I really enjoyed your recent novel, The Devil Only Wears Pink, but was wondering why did you choose to put The Prince of Lies in crinoline and not a nice taffetta?
Signed, Curious
Dear Curious,
what a brilliant question.
The reason behind my decision was simple: I don't know how to spell
Lori
~~
Dear Old Fart Lori,
I heard a rumor that George Clooney was your imaginary husband but you wee seen at a WWE event, trying to lick wrestler's abs. What's up with that, huh?
Signed, Also Curious
Dear Curious,
what a brilliant question.
Have you seen George Clooney without a shirt? Have you seen John Cena without a shirt? Let's just say that even George would lick Cena's abs.
Lori
~~
Dear Old Fart Lori,
Does Carolyn really exist?
Signed, Curiouser and Curiouser
Dear Curiouser,
no.
Lori
So that's just a sampling of some of our mail. Thanks for visiting: don't be afraid to leave a comment on someone else's blog.
Thursday, February 14, 2013
Happy Valentines Day
I met my true love, my destiny, on March 10, 2002 in Fuzhou China.
We'd left Seattle and flown to California (my mother and I) and waiting at LAX we met up with 7 other families who made up our group. Three of us were single women, 4 couples. We flew together to China where our group leader, Lin, met us all at the airport.
We got on another plane and flew out to Fuzhou. The babies were coming from 3 different orphanages all in the same province. When we got to the hotel, Lynn told us to go to our rooms, get unpacked and then adoptive parents only to meet in her room.
Mom and I unpacked and set up all the baby stuff then I went to Lin's room. I was a little peeved to see that the adoptive parent's only warning was respected only by me. It was a full ass room.
Lin started telling us what to expect when the babies come. She was warning us that there might be some diarrhea or constipation as the babies got used to new food. She told us about bonding issues and sleeping issues and skin problems. She gave is a lot of information and then we heard a baby cry.
There's nothing like 8 sets of adoptive families hearing a baby cry.
Jillian's baby girl was the first to arrive. She was the only baby coming from whichever orphanage she came from and we all were buzzed and crazy with adrenaline. I ran to my hotel room and told my Mom to come. We slipped back into Lin's room together and it was a controlled chaos.
Jill was sitting on a chair, holding her little girl and her mother was taking a million pictures. Only a few moments after we got back into Lin's room, a group of people arrived. There was a middle aged man holding a baby, a young man following him and three women who each had a baby also.
I knew her the minute she entered the room.
I was on my feet and at the man's side in a second, my arms out. He barely had a chance to ask for me before I was taking my little girl from his arms. My mom got a picture of the two of us, that second of meeting. (I'm going to try to get it up on this post.)
There was no big deal, nothing momentous shook the earth. I took her back to the room and changed her, checking out the perfection of all of her. We went back and took passport photos for her. Then we started living our lives together.
She's 11 now and Mom is gone. Our family is spread out and we're mostly us. Mollie and Lori: the Green Team. Sometimes I look at her and I wonder who the heck is this person I live with? How is she so much her and so little me? Then sometimes I look at her in shock because I hear my voice coming from her mouth, my sense of humor and weird objectivity in the things she says.
I know she's going to have a hard time sometimes because she's killer funny and very much herself. She has no girly in her girl and she loves hard. She still has issues from being in an orphanage the first nine months of her life: she hates to sleep alone, she needs a lot of physical reassurance and connection is important to her.
My life has changed. I knew when I always made sure she had the last bowl of ice cream, the last candy bar in the bag, the best pillow on the bed. She's the most important person in my life and my heart would probably cease beating if she wasn't in my life.
That's who my love is.
We'd left Seattle and flown to California (my mother and I) and waiting at LAX we met up with 7 other families who made up our group. Three of us were single women, 4 couples. We flew together to China where our group leader, Lin, met us all at the airport.
We got on another plane and flew out to Fuzhou. The babies were coming from 3 different orphanages all in the same province. When we got to the hotel, Lynn told us to go to our rooms, get unpacked and then adoptive parents only to meet in her room.
Mom and I unpacked and set up all the baby stuff then I went to Lin's room. I was a little peeved to see that the adoptive parent's only warning was respected only by me. It was a full ass room.
Lin started telling us what to expect when the babies come. She was warning us that there might be some diarrhea or constipation as the babies got used to new food. She told us about bonding issues and sleeping issues and skin problems. She gave is a lot of information and then we heard a baby cry.
There's nothing like 8 sets of adoptive families hearing a baby cry.
Jillian's baby girl was the first to arrive. She was the only baby coming from whichever orphanage she came from and we all were buzzed and crazy with adrenaline. I ran to my hotel room and told my Mom to come. We slipped back into Lin's room together and it was a controlled chaos.
Jill was sitting on a chair, holding her little girl and her mother was taking a million pictures. Only a few moments after we got back into Lin's room, a group of people arrived. There was a middle aged man holding a baby, a young man following him and three women who each had a baby also.
I knew her the minute she entered the room.
I was on my feet and at the man's side in a second, my arms out. He barely had a chance to ask for me before I was taking my little girl from his arms. My mom got a picture of the two of us, that second of meeting. (I'm going to try to get it up on this post.)
There was no big deal, nothing momentous shook the earth. I took her back to the room and changed her, checking out the perfection of all of her. We went back and took passport photos for her. Then we started living our lives together.
She's 11 now and Mom is gone. Our family is spread out and we're mostly us. Mollie and Lori: the Green Team. Sometimes I look at her and I wonder who the heck is this person I live with? How is she so much her and so little me? Then sometimes I look at her in shock because I hear my voice coming from her mouth, my sense of humor and weird objectivity in the things she says.
I know she's going to have a hard time sometimes because she's killer funny and very much herself. She has no girly in her girl and she loves hard. She still has issues from being in an orphanage the first nine months of her life: she hates to sleep alone, she needs a lot of physical reassurance and connection is important to her.
My life has changed. I knew when I always made sure she had the last bowl of ice cream, the last candy bar in the bag, the best pillow on the bed. She's the most important person in my life and my heart would probably cease beating if she wasn't in my life.
That's who my love is.
Wednesday, February 13, 2013
Random Wednesday Rant
Be warned, last night when I went to the grocery store to raid the Ben & Jerry's aisle, it wasn't because I was in a good mood. Got it?!?
So to begin: shame shame shame on Harlequin for Be Mine. It's a book with 3 novellas and cruising hard on Jennifer Crusie's name. Now Ms. Crusie had said that the story they're using, Sizzle, was an early one and she is not proud of it. There's a reason for that. Because it's shit.
It's hard for me not to love the Crusie-meister but really, that story is shit on ice. The hero is one of the most obnoxious heroes ever and the heroine didn't really fall in love with him, she was possessed by Donna Reed and after a nice exorcism she'll be fine.
I actually have never before read a romance where I knew there'd be no HEA. And even though Sizzle ends with a pretend HEA, that couple would never make it to the altar. And if they did, divorce court within a year.
Honestly, I needed the B&J Phish Food after that one.
~~~~
Anya Bast announced on Facebook that she has breast cancer and is scheduled for a mastectomy next week.
Give me the B&J Peanut Butter Cup please.
~~~
My boss stood in front of me yesterday, pissed beyond belief about an action I took to see that they stop dicking around with my paycheck (I created a form to be signed by me and them for any exceptions to my pay-- horrible, right?) and she told me how horrible I am at my job.
I'm not horrible at my job, by the way.
But she gave a list of complaints about my lack of professionalism, my sense of humor and all the things that make me, well, me. Things that the patients are always telling me they love about me.
What killed me was that she was standing telling me I wasn't professional enough at the front desk while my co-worker was sitting next to me on Facebook while she was talking and she didn't even care.
B&J's Boston Cream Pie on that one.
~~~
I owe more taxes.
**sigh**
Just empty the ice cream aisle into my cart now.
I'm also getting pissed as hell with the continuing anti-Obama crap I hear everywhere. And to the people who think that further gun control wouldn't stop more senseless tragedies: you gotta be kidding me.
How can people fight over the right to own an automatic weapon and yet claim abortion is murder?
And to the man who stood in front of my desk and told me that the military is now being asked if they'd be willing to fire on American civilians, what the fuck are you smoking dude?
This world is batshit. I'm going to hide under my bed for awhile.
So to begin: shame shame shame on Harlequin for Be Mine. It's a book with 3 novellas and cruising hard on Jennifer Crusie's name. Now Ms. Crusie had said that the story they're using, Sizzle, was an early one and she is not proud of it. There's a reason for that. Because it's shit.
It's hard for me not to love the Crusie-meister but really, that story is shit on ice. The hero is one of the most obnoxious heroes ever and the heroine didn't really fall in love with him, she was possessed by Donna Reed and after a nice exorcism she'll be fine.
I actually have never before read a romance where I knew there'd be no HEA. And even though Sizzle ends with a pretend HEA, that couple would never make it to the altar. And if they did, divorce court within a year.
Honestly, I needed the B&J Phish Food after that one.
~~~~
Anya Bast announced on Facebook that she has breast cancer and is scheduled for a mastectomy next week.
Give me the B&J Peanut Butter Cup please.
~~~
My boss stood in front of me yesterday, pissed beyond belief about an action I took to see that they stop dicking around with my paycheck (I created a form to be signed by me and them for any exceptions to my pay-- horrible, right?) and she told me how horrible I am at my job.
I'm not horrible at my job, by the way.
But she gave a list of complaints about my lack of professionalism, my sense of humor and all the things that make me, well, me. Things that the patients are always telling me they love about me.
What killed me was that she was standing telling me I wasn't professional enough at the front desk while my co-worker was sitting next to me on Facebook while she was talking and she didn't even care.
B&J's Boston Cream Pie on that one.
~~~
I owe more taxes.
**sigh**
Just empty the ice cream aisle into my cart now.
I'm also getting pissed as hell with the continuing anti-Obama crap I hear everywhere. And to the people who think that further gun control wouldn't stop more senseless tragedies: you gotta be kidding me.
How can people fight over the right to own an automatic weapon and yet claim abortion is murder?
And to the man who stood in front of my desk and told me that the military is now being asked if they'd be willing to fire on American civilians, what the fuck are you smoking dude?
This world is batshit. I'm going to hide under my bed for awhile.
Sunday, February 10, 2013
Meet Jessi Gage and Her Well-Hung Highlander
We're excited to introduce a wonderful new author who dared to go where we love wonderful, new authors to go and that's under the kilt.
So meet Jessi Gage, the new gal in town with a great sense of humor, an awesome hero and someone we old farts are excited to chat with.
Wishing for a Highlander, out with Lyrical Press, is about a single and pregnant museum worker who gets sent back in time 500 years by an artifact in her Scottish Immigrants exhibit and finds herself face to face with a real-life romance hero. Here’s the blurb:
So meet Jessi Gage, the new gal in town with a great sense of humor, an awesome hero and someone we old farts are excited to chat with.
Wishing for a Highlander, out with Lyrical Press, is about a single and pregnant museum worker who gets sent back in time 500 years by an artifact in her Scottish Immigrants exhibit and finds herself face to face with a real-life romance hero. Here’s the blurb:
While examining Andrew Carnegie’s lucky rosewood box, single-and-pregnant museum worker Melanie makes a tongue in cheek wish on the artifact--for a Highland warrior to help her forget about her cheating ex. Suddenly transported to the middle of a clan skirmish in sixteenth-century Scotland, she realizes she should have been a tad more specific.
Darcy, laird in waiting, should be the most eligible bachelor in Ackergill, but a cruel prank played on him in his teenage years has led him to believe he is too large under his kilt to ever join with a woman. He has committed himself to a life of bachelorhood, running his deceased father's windmills and keeping up the family manor house...alone.
Darcy's uncle, Laird Steafan welcomes the strangely dressed woman into his clan, immediately marrying her to Darcy in hopes of an heir. But when Steafan learns of her magic box and brands her a witch, Darcy must do what any good husband would--protect his wife, even if it means forsaking his clan.
WARNING: A pregnant museum worker, a sixteenth-century Scot, and a meddlesome wishing box.
Buy Links:
Amazon Barnes & Noble
Carolyn and I have talked about doing a time travel book but we can't agree on when in time to travel to (I want dinosaur shifters but she refuses). What made the idea of time travel attractive to you?
Thank you, Lori and Carolyn, for having me on Old Farts. I’m so excited to be here! Let me hitch up my pants, fluff my iron-gray curls and jump right in.
One of my favorite authors is Karen Marie Moning. Her Fever series is impeccable and powerful, but it was her Highland romances that drew me in first. She started out with time travel, sending her modern-day heroines back in time to charm the kilts off of unsuspecting lairds and warriors. Reading KMM gave me so many exciting ideas, I just had to write them down. One thing led to another and BAM! I had a time-travel romance.
How does a modern woman cope with the 16th century? (Carolyn, I believe was born back then and has adapted well). What about your heroine?
LOL! Glad to know Carolyn has adapted. No easy task with all these new fangled conveniences like refrigerators and water heaters and interwebs.
Melanie is such a champ when she finds herself 500 years in the past. It helps that she’s a museum worker with a passion for history, especially Scottish history. It also helps that she’s got a 6’7” hero to protect her and her unborn baby while they run for their lives all over the beautiful Highlands. Besides, she’s so intent on seducing him, she hardly notices the lack of modern conveniences.
I love me an alpha male and Darcy sounds like a perfect alpha. Was he inspired by anyone or anything specific?
Darcy is definitely alpha in some respects, like whenever he has a Highland broadsword in his hand. But a prank played on him in his formative years left him insecure about his manhood to the point where he refuses to attempt intimacy with a woman. This gives him a vulnerable beta quality that made him so endearing to write, and I hope endearing to readers. Inspiration? I’ve never read anyone quite like Darcy. I think he just came from a place inside me that craved a hero with incredible strength mixed with tender vulnerabilities.
Um, so Darcy has a rather monumental baseball bat of love. Who inspired that? (Tell all, we love us some smutty talk.)
LOL! I love the metaphor! Well, every hero in romance seems to have inches to spare. Heroines everywhere go wide eyed with mingled lust and trepidation and wonder how it’s going to fit. Heroes everywhere throw their shoulders back and preen and always know just what to do with their “baseball bats of love.” I wanted to turn that concept on its head and write a hero who had a complex about the size of his bat and truly had no idea what to do with it. I wanted my heroine to be the one in the know and have to draw my hero out of his shell. And let me tell you, it was fun to put the seductive power completely in Melanie’s hands. Talk about knowing what to do with it! That gurl was not afraid of Darcy’s big bat *winks*.
And because I'm always interested in other writer's journies: When did you write your first book? What was your road to publication?
I have a typical 200+ rejections story, but I prefer to think of it as a single-shining-moment story. Wishing for a Highlander is my first publication, but it’s my fifth full-length novel. I found an audience for it when a blog by the name of Word Wranglers hosted Lyrical Press editor Piper Denna in a three-line pitch contest. At first, Piper thought my plot sounded a lot like Outlander (heroine time-travels and is forced to marry a rough and tough Highland warrior). But she gave me a shot and requested my synopsis. That turned into a request for the full manuscript, and the rest is history! I’ve loved every step of working with Lyrical and am so proud to be publishing with a small press.
Do you do anything special to prepare to write? )(I can't write unless I've cleaned the house and Carolyn can't write unless she's wearing her bunny slippers.)
LOL! If clean house was a requirement, I’d get nothing written. Ever. I’ve got two little ones that I stay home with, so there’s really no such thing as preparing to write. I always have the laptop on, and I give it 10 minutes here, 10 minutes there in between bouts of chaos. Nap times and after bedtimes are the BEST for writing! As far as rituals, I have to have Tweetdeck up and I have to check it constantly. Whenever I’m stuck in writing, I get my tweet on and then I get back to writing and the words seem to flow better. Whatever works, right?
Any other titles for sale?
My contemporary romance Road Rage will be out with Lyrical in June! In the mean time, I’m working hard on a sequel to Wishing for a Highlander. It’ll be called The Wolf and the Highlander, and it will tell the story of Wishing’s villainess, Anya.
For more information about Wishing for a Highlander, I’d love folks to stop by my website. Here are the buy links for anyone inclined to check out Darcy’s “monumental baseball bat of love”. LOL!
Thanks again for hosting me today on Old Farts! I had a blast!
Thursday, February 7, 2013
My Experience Is Not Your Experience
Carolyn and I share a lot of books and we've discovered that certain books we both adore and many of our DNF's are the other's pleasure.
In other words, we have different tastes.
Because we're different people.
And even if we shared the exact same lives and experiences, we'd still be different people with a different perspective on things. Which is good.
Experience and how we process it, taints everything we do and how we live it.
I cannot read child abuse because I lived it and it left such a deep scar that my experience doesn't allow any open doors regarding it. If a child is hurt in a book, usually I'll stop readng. I almost couldn't read Lisa Kleypas' Christmas in Friday Harbor because it begins with a young girl losing her mother and her pain takes her voice away. That hurt me deeply and almost ended the book for me.
Right now I'm reading a book that I'm enjoying a lot and the heroine reacted to a situation in a way that I thought was ridiculous. But a part of me recognized that I wouldn't react that way to something but it didn't mean that someone else wouldn't.
I also realize that when someone experiences something I also did but has a different reaction to it, it doesn't negate mine nor does mine negate hers.
Anyway, this is all in response to some of the tiresome criticism I've read recently where books are dismissed because the author wrote an experence or life event that didn't match the reviewers. I mean, seriously?
A TSTL heroine is just that. But a woman who loses a child might wallow in sorrow for the rest of her life. Or she might get up the next day and just get on with it. She might become an advocate against guns or disease or whatever took her child away. She might have another child immediately.
People are different. Isn't that one of the reasons we read? To experience life through someone else's eyes?
In other words, we have different tastes.
Because we're different people.
And even if we shared the exact same lives and experiences, we'd still be different people with a different perspective on things. Which is good.
Experience and how we process it, taints everything we do and how we live it.
I cannot read child abuse because I lived it and it left such a deep scar that my experience doesn't allow any open doors regarding it. If a child is hurt in a book, usually I'll stop readng. I almost couldn't read Lisa Kleypas' Christmas in Friday Harbor because it begins with a young girl losing her mother and her pain takes her voice away. That hurt me deeply and almost ended the book for me.
Right now I'm reading a book that I'm enjoying a lot and the heroine reacted to a situation in a way that I thought was ridiculous. But a part of me recognized that I wouldn't react that way to something but it didn't mean that someone else wouldn't.
I also realize that when someone experiences something I also did but has a different reaction to it, it doesn't negate mine nor does mine negate hers.
Anyway, this is all in response to some of the tiresome criticism I've read recently where books are dismissed because the author wrote an experence or life event that didn't match the reviewers. I mean, seriously?
A TSTL heroine is just that. But a woman who loses a child might wallow in sorrow for the rest of her life. Or she might get up the next day and just get on with it. She might become an advocate against guns or disease or whatever took her child away. She might have another child immediately.
People are different. Isn't that one of the reasons we read? To experience life through someone else's eyes?
Wednesday, February 6, 2013
Witty Wonderland
Over on SMart Bitches is a wonderful review of Be Mine, a Harlequin book with 3 novellas, by Jennifer Crusie, Victoria Dahl and Shannon Stacey. The review is really positive and mentions the wit and wordplay that is ever present in the best of Crusie and Dahl (I don't know Stacey at all).
But it got me thinking about what I lovelovelove about books and my favorite thing is wit. I adore witty dialogue and banter. Love it in books, love it in life.
One of the reasons Carolyn is my best friend is because of our word play (okay, she's also generous, funny, loving and shares her boob obsessed hubby).... but whether on the phone or instant messaging, we like to play with conversation and try to outwit each other.
Which also leads me to one of the coolest things I've experienced lately which was my co-worker met a boy and they were flirting via text the next day. It was light and funny and laced with romance and I was a very happy observer. It was a great pleasure.
So that's what I love. I try to live it as much as I can and write it to the best of my ability. But when Jennifer Crusie lets go (or Loretta Chase or any good chick litty type) my happiness goes into overdrive and I'm in reader's bliss.
But it got me thinking about what I lovelovelove about books and my favorite thing is wit. I adore witty dialogue and banter. Love it in books, love it in life.
One of the reasons Carolyn is my best friend is because of our word play (okay, she's also generous, funny, loving and shares her boob obsessed hubby).... but whether on the phone or instant messaging, we like to play with conversation and try to outwit each other.
Which also leads me to one of the coolest things I've experienced lately which was my co-worker met a boy and they were flirting via text the next day. It was light and funny and laced with romance and I was a very happy observer. It was a great pleasure.
So that's what I love. I try to live it as much as I can and write it to the best of my ability. But when Jennifer Crusie lets go (or Loretta Chase or any good chick litty type) my happiness goes into overdrive and I'm in reader's bliss.
Sunday, February 3, 2013
Why Self Publishing Makes Sense
All my life I wanted to be a published author. I wanted that even when I didn't write books. I wanted that when I started learning to write books. I want that now.
Years ago I sold my first novel to Lyrical Press and it was a brilliant experience. I sold other books to them and to other small presses. I never made money, not really. A stray $30 check here or $10 check there. One press paid me $50 and now I earn $0.98 royalty checks from them on an almost monthly basis.
So tax time is here and I'm getting my 1099s from publishers and all and it's a killer. Last year I made $43.00 with Lyrical. And I had 2 releases with them.
I made $65.00 with Barnes and Noble. From self pubbing.
I still have to get my Amazon stuff together but that's probably going to be about $300.00. I know it isn't a lot, not in comparison to a lot of other writers but compare that to Lyrical.
I'm not a great writer and I'm not a popular writer but my books get decent reviews and are enjoyed by readers. My publisher provides decent editing and covers but what else? They send the books to review sites which are small and generate no sales.
I put my own books up on Amazon, B&N, Smashwords (which includes Apple), Kobo and All Romance. My full length novels I can POD publish on CreateSpace. I have programs that make formatting easy peasy, I have my lovely Lea who makes rocking covers and I can put my own books on review sites to be ignored.
And I make a shiz load more money.
This year I intend to release a few books that are all part of a series (that started with Yesterday's Headline). I'll play with prices and promotion. My goal is to bring the sales numbers up and get a little recognition.
Nobody else can do this for me, I now realize. So I'll do it for myself. And now let someone else collect 60% of my earnings as I do it.
Years ago I sold my first novel to Lyrical Press and it was a brilliant experience. I sold other books to them and to other small presses. I never made money, not really. A stray $30 check here or $10 check there. One press paid me $50 and now I earn $0.98 royalty checks from them on an almost monthly basis.
So tax time is here and I'm getting my 1099s from publishers and all and it's a killer. Last year I made $43.00 with Lyrical. And I had 2 releases with them.
I made $65.00 with Barnes and Noble. From self pubbing.
I still have to get my Amazon stuff together but that's probably going to be about $300.00. I know it isn't a lot, not in comparison to a lot of other writers but compare that to Lyrical.
I'm not a great writer and I'm not a popular writer but my books get decent reviews and are enjoyed by readers. My publisher provides decent editing and covers but what else? They send the books to review sites which are small and generate no sales.
I put my own books up on Amazon, B&N, Smashwords (which includes Apple), Kobo and All Romance. My full length novels I can POD publish on CreateSpace. I have programs that make formatting easy peasy, I have my lovely Lea who makes rocking covers and I can put my own books on review sites to be ignored.
And I make a shiz load more money.
This year I intend to release a few books that are all part of a series (that started with Yesterday's Headline). I'll play with prices and promotion. My goal is to bring the sales numbers up and get a little recognition.
Nobody else can do this for me, I now realize. So I'll do it for myself. And now let someone else collect 60% of my earnings as I do it.
Friday, February 1, 2013
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