I’m Wishing Lord, That I Were Stoned

Dog’s walked, two cups of java down my gullet — this is going to be quick as I have to hit the showers before church.

Notre Dame lost last night, which I knew they would almost as soon as halftime was over.  Come on, four, count’em, four penalties within the first five minutes of the second half when we only had three during the entire first half?  OHAIVEGAS&GUYSNAMEDVINNY.  We weren’t supposed to win.  Gotcha.  As proven by the ripoff penalty when we HAD won.  *sigh*

Writing — I am in the middle, right smack in the middle, of writing the climax of Raven’s Flight.  This is only the zero draft, though.  Hopes are for it to be done sometime next week.  I have heard nothing from my betas, though.  NOTHING.  So I have no idea if it’s any good or not.

#Dayjob is….okay.  Right now I’m looking at two hours due Wednesday as all I have, with no word as to what else is coming up.  The other contract just doesn’t have anything that I’m comfortable with working on right now.

The Black Dog pinned me for a few days last week, which wasn’t fun.  But it wasn’t as bad as it has been in the past — I just sat around and read Firefly fanfic for three days straight, but really, I’ve had it lots worse before.

So anyway, that’s the week that was.  This week will be better.  This week will be better.  This week will be better.

All my love,


Y’all head on over to…..

…..HERE —> http://terribleminds.com/ramble/2014/10/14/things-you-should-know-when-writing-about-guns/

That is probably the best article EVER WRITTEN IN THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD for a writer wanting to write about guns.  Especially those who don’t have a biker stepfather who really, really knows his shit.

KISS.  Keep It Simple, Stupid.  One of my favorite little sayings when it comes to just about anything, including my own gun writing.  The character will most likely have a revolver, usually a .357 or a smaller caliber.  I fired Pop’s .357 for the first time when I was 10, and that wasn’t that big a deal, but at 18, he refused to allow me to fire anything larger due to the fact that he thought I would bust myself in the face.  Looking back on it, he was probably right.  Recoil is a bitch, my friends.

I don’t like automatics.  Period.  Now when I say that, I am not referring to fully automatic weapons.  I am referring to handguns that are not revolvers.  I don’t like them because the bastards ALWAYS, ALWAYS, ALWAYS bite me with the sliding mechanism, due to the way I hold and handle a handgun.  I learned with revolvers.  I prefer revolvers.  If I had my way, I would own a Taurus Judge or a S&W Governor (.410/.45 interchangeable).  Probably the latter, the S&W, because Smith and Wesson is just — I don’t know, they’ve been a brand since forever, and that means something to me.  Pop’s got the Taurus, and I’ve shot it — it’s pretty nice.  But if money were no object, I would own a S&W Governor.

Guns are tools, not only in real life, but also in the hands of an author.  Count your rounds, do what Chuck says if you have no clue what you’re doing — go take a class if possible, if not possible, go hang out at a gun show or at an exhibition or something.  If triply not possible due to living in Oz or something, Youtube or some of the different gun podcasts (Down Range Radio is only one example) may have what you’re looking for.  Email people.  Experts are experts for a reason, after all; they know more than you do.


Gotta go make the doughnuts.  Have fun, y’all.

All my love,


And it’s just another Manic Monday

Today the kinder stay home from school due to Indigenous Peoples’ Day, so work will be fun….especially as the other computer is pretty much dead.  I mean Red Shirt Away Team dead.  I’m taking it to Geek Squad Wednesday, but I’m almost positive they’re going to hook it up and boot it up and look at me and laugh.

The desk that my in-laws bought me is finally put together.  It is SUH-WEET.  Set up exactly the way I wanted it, SO MUCH MORE ROOM than the card table — yes, I’ve been working on a card table for the last………eight months?  Almost a year?  Closer to a year, I’m sure.  It’s L-shaped but has the keyboard mount to the side instead of to the corner, which is nice because that means I don’t have to have my back to the door.  I don’t want my back to the door for some reason.  I mean, this is a nice neighborhood and everything, but when I’ve got my headphones on and I’m working, whether it’s writing or transcribing, pretty much everything’s blocked out.  PARANOIA WILL DESTROY YA but still.

Anyway, work time pretty soon, and then this evening, God willing, back to Raven.  I need to finish the first draft for my own peace of mind, if for nothing else, and I actually have plans for it, so I need to finish it up.

I need coasters in here with the new desk.  CRAZINESS I KNOW.

Did you miss me, babies?


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I’ve been getting back into the swing of things with #dayjob this past week.  Things should settle down and chill and get back to normal this week, though, as evidenced by this post, haha.

Christmas is around the corner.  I know, I know, no one wants to hear that shit, but it is, my darlings, it is.  At least, thank Christ, the everlasting kill me now carols haven’t started yet.  No, that won’t start until about ten o’clock on Halloween night.  Anyway, my point is (AND I DO HAVE ONE) that even though husband and I have dropped uber cash this year on buying the house and whatnot, Football Boy and Pony Princess are going to want the blackmailing Fat Man to bring them things come December 25th.

That means Mama has to work really hard for the next two months.

Please allow me to explain.

The Husband, in his bearded glorification, works nights five to six days a week as a representative of the United States Government in one of its less glorified jobs.  His paycheck covers our bills.

My #dayjob as an independent contractor covers the extras.  This means over the last four years, (almost five) I look at the last three months of the year as a bit of a challenge, bit of an endurance race.  There are certain things which are sacrosanct, such as the Christmas money for The Husband’s adult daughter from a previous marriage, and our three grandchildren.

Then there’s the newest Skylander game, newest NCAA or Madden, newest MLP or whatever Pony Princess is into at the time — this year she’s asking for Frozen dolls, for example — anyway you get the picture.

Now I know I’m going to hear “You should start buying in August”.  Yeah, no.  August is when I stress about new glasses, school supplies, and school clothes for these heathens.

I hate reading people’s posts about government workers who are set for life. or seeing people look at Husband once they hear what he does — LOW LEVEL GOVERNMENT WORKERS ARE NOT MAKING 100K A YEAR, YO.  That kind of stuff is reserved for higher level management and bureaucrats, not the folks on the front lines.

Anyway, long story short, I haven’t written anything in a week or so because I’ve been concentrating on the day job.  I have the first six chapters of Raven’s Flight out to my betas, and am waiting for feedback.  I’m not going to make my own self-imposed deadline of December for second draft done, I’m afraid, but it is what it is.

Anyway, I just wanted to drop in and explain what’s going on lately.  Now for church, and then probably at least minor grocery shopping this afternoon.  Y’all have a great day, see you tomorrow!

All my love,


It is too early for this…

It’s not even 6:30 in the morning and it’s SATURDAY.  Can I go back to bed?  No?


Got woke up by Charlie finding Tiger in the window.  I’ll have to go walk him in a bit, but for now I’m going to have my coffee and try to wake up.

Beta readers, the next two chapters of Raven are up.

I don’t have time for SQUIRREL! moments.  Or Shinies.

So bye.


Well, damn the luck.

Due to weirdness and — yeah, weirdness, there was very little #dayjob actually done yesterday.  Weird headspace.

The Husband has to work tonight, which is good and bad.  Good because we can DAMN sure use the money, and bad because tonight is supposed to be when The Pukha walks across the High School football field at the High School game.  And as proven yesterday, La Principessa can’t sit at a football game without whining.  (They lost, just in case you’re wondering.  Held the lead till halftime, but the second half….yeah.  It got fugly.)  Which means poor kid can’t go.

I’ve had some other ideas and reworkings for future work, and I’ve taken some notes, but I haven’t worked on Raven’s Flight since Tuesday.  I am going to try to rectify that tonight, but it depends on how much other stuff I get done today.

Love to all…


Work, football, life, things.


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Think I’ve got about another four hours to kick out by the time of the deadline.  Pukha has a really important football game today, and I really have to be there.  Like, really have to.

I am a horrible mother because I don’t like going to football games anymore.  I was ostracized and yelled at for being too supportive, yelling too loud at one of his rec-ball games years ago, so I stopped going.

Since then I usually only go to one game a year.  I’m quiet, I stay close to The Husband, and I try to keep The Princess occupied.  I have already attended the mandatory Homecoming game.  This week, though, it’s insanely important for division reasons.  He needs me there.


So I’ll be there.  And there’s one more game I have to be at this year.

Jesus, what am I going to do next year and the three years after?  Or college?  (He’ll make it, I know he will.  Natural talent/intelligent player/doesn’t get in trouble/BIG)

I used to be very outgoing, very able to be around people.  Now I’m not.  Part of it is my disorder, I know, and my own fear of my disorder — I stay away from people because I’m bipolar, and it helps.  If I’m uninfluenced by others, then I can’t fall into the traps in my own head.  This self-imposed exile has progressed into a form of social anxiety, which is my own fault, but it’s easier to be reclusive than it is to deal with the things my manic episodes can bring about.

It’s very hard to be my kind of bipolar.  Medications don’t help much at all.  I was put on Prozac first, and I am one of those people who had a horrible reaction to it — I remember wanting to leave, just leave, just run away and hide from everyone and everything and never never never come back.  And not like  we all say, “I’m running away from home,” sometimes.  I mean really, really, seriously.  I remember crying in my car at lunch.  I remember hurting and not knowing why.  I remember wondering if my car would go through the trees that surround the quarry, or if I would just wreck the car and end up stuck in a tree, or actually make it off the edge.


So after about six weeks?  I think?  On Prozac, I got off of it, and was put on Welbutrin and….something else.  I can’t remember what it was.

I remember that when I left government service, putting my meds away.  I was done.  I didn’t need them anymore.  And I haven’t, I’ve been off meds for four years now.  I know my triggers (fall is one — very easy for me to slip during this time of year) I know that staying away from people and throwing my obsessive nature into the work or into something like fanfiction pairings works to distract me.  Having a mental illness isn’t easy, but there are ways to work around things.  I promise.  (CAVEAT:  Medications do work for most people.  Do not go off your medications just because I did.  I pay a price for it, trust me.  I don’t know what your price might be.  Please, please, talk to your doctor.)

Anyway, there’s a lovely derailing!

Life goes on — I have a football game to go to today, and #dayjob to do this morning.  I’ve got to get on it.

Love to all,




Daddy was a Royals fan, Mama is a Royals fan, my brothers and I have made the pilgrimage to the Big K.  I stayed up FAR too late last night watching the Royals fight their way to the ALDS.

I usually don’t pay attention by now.  I vaguely pay attention to baseball anyway, as I am not patient enough for the game; football is actually more my speed.  But this year, there is some strange magic that has led the Royals to Blue October, and we are so very, very close to The Dance.

No writing yesterday, likely none today — the Royals won around 1 in the morning and I have quite a bit of work to do, so I’m pretty tired.

We have brought the cat out of the bedroom.  Charlie goes and looks and barks at her but he doesn’t really do anything.

Happy birthday to my brother, @theantifascist!  From our entire family and especially Katie who made sure to tell me to tell you so.  :)  Your birthday present hasn’t made it here yet.  Soon, I’m sure.

Anyway, that’s all for this morning, darlings — and thank you so much for your patience with me yesterday.

All my love,



Personal — back to your regular programming tomorrow….


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So Spotify is blasting Trampled By Turtles at the moment, and I am in a MOOD, y’all.

Today’s gonna be a little more of a personal post, if you’ll pardon me.  If you’re just here for the word counts and the happy-go-lucky cheesy grins, you might want to wait till tomorrow, because this morning I’ve got some things to get off my chest, as it were.

That’s why you all follow me, right?  Because I keep it real?

So for the past few weeks, I’ve been trying to get hold of somebody from my past, just to touch base and make sure everything’s copacetic with them.  I tried to text them, I’ve written a letter, a real paper letter, I’ve tried to email them but they were on Hotmail and when Hotmail turned into Outlook, apparently their email changed, and I had no idea, and I have no idea what their new email is.  We were friends on Facebook, but one of the times I quit FB (AND I DO IT A LOT, YO) I apparently lost them from my friends list and I don’t know how.

So I hunted them up on there again, and I tried to send a friend request and tried to send a message, but we all know the problem with that, right?  If you’re not friends, then your message ends up in the “other” inbox.  And who checks that?  I mean, really, who does?

So I paid to send a message direct last week, finally.  And I can see it was read; I can see my second message where I clicked the wrong person was read, too.

So here it is, one last try.  I sent one more message last night and I’m going to send the link to this blog post as well as soon as I get done writing it and posting it.

Here I am, on the internet for the wide world to see, B (not using your name on the internet because I respect your privacy).


You’re more important to me than you realize, and I miss you.  We’ve known each other too long to let whatever is standing in the way keep us from talking.  If you want to call me and gripe and scream and holler, you are more than welcome to do so.  This is NOT LIKE YOU.  You’ve never just ignored me like this before, and I don’t know why it’s happening now.

The last time we were in contact everything was fine.  I don’t understand.  Did I do something?  Did I say something?  Did I hurt you somehow by accident?  I really don’t know what’s wrong and I can’t fix it if I don’t know what’s wrong.  All I can do is sit here eight hours east and say I’m sorry.

I’m not reaching out for any reason other than I miss you and I want to know you’re doing well.  I’m okay.  Everything is okay here.  I’m working, I’m writing, I’m doing fine.  The kids are good, J is good, brothers and baby sister are good.  Everything’s fine here.

My grandmother died in June.  I want to make sure I keep my connections connected.  Life changes too fast, B.  I want to make sure you’re okay.  If you really don’t want to talk to me anymore, please, call me and tell me so.  I can’t believe that’s true unless I hear you say it, your voice say it.

Hugs always,





And we’re back on the Chain Gang….


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I love Chrissy Hynde.

Anyway, it’s MONDAY, y’all, and I have been up 45 minutes and already took the dog for a quick walk and am fighting with the Princess about her getting up for school.


The Husband has to go to the doctor this morning, and I have to go with him.  I have six hours of audio due a week from tomorrow, an hour coming from Mah Ladiez, and writing yesterday was interesting, but I managed to pull three pages out before bed last night.

I’m a little grumpy, a lot undercaffeinated, and I get to juggle the bills this evening.  Also, we still have yet to get the cat acclimated to the dog.  I swear I’m thinking about just putting her in her carrier and bringing her out each day for an hour or something.  She’ll hate it, and me, but I’m thinking about it.

Anyway, again, it’s Monday.  Everything is going to be okay, I know.  How do you eat an elephant?

One bite at a time.  So first things first — get husband to the doctor and back again, and get my work for today done.  Then I can play with Raven and Mary some more.  Which by the way, I’ve put the first four chapters out for Beta Readers.  I’m putting them up a bit at a time so as not to overwhelm them.  I love my betas — trust me, Seraphim would never have been finished without them.

Anyway, I have to go get the morning train on its tracks.

Love to all,



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