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Friday, August 29, 2014

Small But Perky

I'm just gonna put it out there: I've been neglecting my blog. But you need to cut me some slack. I've been busy with other creative ventures (insert shameless plug for Mouse Monikers). Life's all about balance, ya know? Lately, it seems as if I'm balancing a stack of plates on my head and both hands, while walking a tight rope. And, let's be honest, I've probably had a couple drinks.

I hate depriving you of my wit, but that's how it has to be for a while. After all, I'm writing a novel AND building a business (insert another shameless plug for Mouse Monikers). On top of that, there are these two kids who keep asking me to feed them and drive them places.

This doesn't make up for my negligence, but I'm gonna leave you with this text convo between Hubs and me this morning. If you're like me--immature with a 13-year-old boy's sense of humor--you'll have a laugh.

Disclaimer: While I'm sure Hubs wasn't expecting me to make our texts public, a writer's spouse gives up all rights to privacy. For reals. It's in the vows. Nothing's off limits. He should've known I'd milk this for all it's worth; that I'd squeeze every last drop of humor out of it.

Speaking of boobies, which I do often (see previous admission of immaturity in paragraph #3), I thought up the breast ... I mean, best ... shirt to wear on my upcoming trip to Disney World. Hubs made me pinky swear not to create this shirt to wear around innocent children. I really don't see the harm since most of the little dears probably can't even read yet. Well, I'm at least sharing it here. Brilliance like this demands to be seen.

Sunday, July 27, 2014

A Dear Hubs Letter

Dear Hubs,

I've been putting this off because you've been pretty decent to me over the last 16 years. But you're coming home tomorrow night, so this has to be done now.

I've found someone else.

Look, no one ever means for this to happen. It's just one of those things. (Insert two or three more breakup clich├ęs--except "it's not you, it's me." It's definitely you.)

Let's be honest. You had to see this coming. You're always going off on these exotic work vacations without me. Germany, Italy ... Iowa.  Case in point: you're in China right now. The closest I've ever gotten to China is watching "Shanghai Noon" over a plate of La Choy's mini chicken egg rolls. (Have you tried them? Those things are delish!)

I don't want to go on and on (and on and on) about your shortcomings. I'm sure you feel bad enough finding out you've lost the love of your life. I would, however, like to introduce you to my new fella. After all, he's going to be your children's stepdad.

Hubs, Thor. Thor, Hubs.

In case you've been stricken with temporary blindness from all that sightseeing in Beijing, let me explain Thor's appeal. First, he's freakin' hot. Like, ridiculously gorgeous. He might even be an inch or two taller than you. Lest you think I'm with him for purely shallow reasons, here are some of Thor's other attributes:
  • You could bounce a quarter off that ass. Ok, that's shallow, but it needed to be said.
  • He never leaves me. Never. This man stays put. I'll run errands all day, come home and he's standing right where he was when I left. That's dedication right there.
  • He's an attentive listener. I can talk to him for HOURS and he never interrupts me. He just stands there staring at me with those sexy, brooding eyes. Thor understands that sometimes I need to vent. I'm not always looking for him to solve the problem.
  • He carries a hammer all the time, so he must be really handy. I bet he'll tear right through that honey-do list you never seem to have time for.
I think you get the picture.

So, when you (finally) get home tomorrow night, you might want to get yourself a hotel room. Please don't come here looking for a fight. I can't predict what Thor will do. I mean, look at that face. Does he seem like someone you want to cross? I don't think so. Just grab the kids and go.

With warmest regards,


Friday, May 9, 2014

Happy Mother's Day. Now Go Get Undressed For Brunch!


It's time for the (sorta-annual) Don't Screw Up My Mother's Day post.

With such an eclectic mix of Mother's Day offerings, you're probably struggling to choose the best way to celebrate me this weekend. I'm usually pretty easygoing. (Shut up. I am so.) But if you drag me to any of the following events, I will throw the mother of all tantrums. 

Zoo Brunch
Now, I'm down to get my Mother's Day grub on, but putting a big-ass elephant on an advertisement for brunch at a zoo doesn't make me feel great about stuffing my face with gluttonous abandon.

Nekkid Brunch
This aptly named restaurant at a nude-y resort wants moms to join them for a delicious, clothing-optional meal. (Why am I suddenly picturing a plate of two hard-boiled eggs and Polish sausage?)

Some of the website copy:

"Beautiful murals fill the wall along the patio." Biggest waste of money ever. Who's going to notice the art with everyone's naughty bits dangling?

"Every direction you look, it's like paradise" ... and an amateur porn shoot.

"Dine inside in air-conditioned comfort" and your nipples will be harder than calculus by the time the check comes.

Medieval Times
If I wanted to watch a battle during dinner, I'd just tell Daughter that Son tweeted excerpts from her journal. For the record, my money's on the girl. I know he's a foot taller, but she fights dirty. #WW3

"Fun" Run
There's nothing fun about running. I've tried it. And what's all this about a runner's high? I never got high. Lost control of my bodily functions? Yes. But high? Not even close. That's just another crackpot conspiracy theory right up there with dead Paul McCartney and a race of elite reptiles secretly controlling humans.

Cooking Class

Hold up. Let me get this straight: I’m supposed to spend my special day preparing my own meal? Remember when we were house hunting and our realtor couldn't seem to find any homes without a kitchen? (Why can't realtors ever stick to your wish list? Do they not want the commission?) Just because we got stuck with a kitchen doesn't mean I make a habit of going in it. Incidentally, I don't enter Son's room either, but for entirely different reasons.

The event description says “BYOB encouraged.” Yeah, because I'd have to be slurry, slurpy drunk to actually pay for the privilege of cooking my own brunch.

Mother/Daughter Pole Dancing Class
What exactly was the thought process behind this? To give girls a marketable skill so they won't have to resort to more cerebral pursuits? Why not get the whole family involved? Dads can show their young sons how to make it rain up in there and how to hold in whiskey farts during lap dances.

Planetarium Outing

Gazing at the stars from a cushy recliner sounds cool, but it's too risky. Imagine a grown woman busting out laughing when the narrator says, "Astronomers discovered Uranus is full of ice and rock." You know how immature I can be. I can't even look at a map of Thailand without snickering. (Bangkok and Phuket? Seriously?!)

Well, Hubs, I trust I've made it clear what to avoid this Mother's Day weekend. You know me; I'm not one to be demanding. (Shut up. I am not.) Just make sure I'm well fed, well rested and well loved, and we shouldn't have any problems. 

Tuesday, March 25, 2014

Such a Tease

“Go anywhere your mind wants to travel.  Take us there too.”

I said I was only doing one more prompt, but how can I resist a free write?

I know this is the last Trifecta challenge evah, but my mind just wouldn’t allow me to go to a sad place. I’m sailing on a Disney cruise in five days, and Hubs and I renew our vows in a week—nothing but happiness here (and a smidgen of pre-trip stress). Besides, I hate sad goodbyes. Had too many of those in my life.

So, here’s where my mind traveled:

Legs intermingle
Emboldened by drink.
Your hand parts my thighs.
I’m nearing the brink.
I twitter and chirp.
“Who let in the birds?”

Your fingers plunge and …

I have no more words.

To the Trifecta community and the dear, dear friends I’ve made from these challenges:

Thank you for the lovely words you left on my entries over the past year. Sometimes life got in the way of me responding (like last week) but I appreciate your thoughtful, encouraging comments more than I could ever express.


Monday, March 17, 2014

My Writing Process (A Blog Tour)

My amazingly talented friend Kir invited me to take part in a "My Writing Process" blog tour. Each Monday, a new batch of bloggers answers a set of four questions about writing. Today is my turn. Check out Kir's post from last week at Prepare to be inspired. She certainly has that effect on me.

What I am working on

I am working on an erotic novel which I hope to develop into a trilogy. (Because don’t all erotic novels come in threes?) Mine is a story of love, loss, friendship and betrayal. The sex in my book furthers the narrative of the various relationships. I would like to think if you deleted all the naughty parts of my book, what remains would still be compelling. I want my characters to be captivating even if they weren’t having hot, sexy sex. But they do have hot, sexy sex.

How my work differs from others of its genre

I’m relying on hearsay to answer this one. Oddly enough, I don’t actually read erotica. And—once I started writing my book—I made a concerted effort not to read books in that genre. I don’t want to be influenced by what someone else has written.

Based on common complaints I’ve heard from erotica-devouring friends, I hope to deliver a series that doesn’t:

  • contain copius grammatical errors
  • dissolve into farfetched scenarios by the final installment
  • feature a woman who is an infuriating doormat

Ouch. That sounded bitchy. Blame my friends.

My book has humor—probably not terribly common in erotic novels. My main character is a snarky, quick-witted and frank narrator. You get to be privy to her uncensored thoughts. And there’s plenty of fun dialogue and comic situations sprinkled among the serious plot stuff and sex scenes. You’ll laugh. You’ll cry. You’ll burn through batteries.

Why I write what I do

Writing inspiration is everywhere: a phrase uttered on television, the way my dogs' paws smell like corn chips. Strange things. Mundane things. Anything can jumpstart my imagination. Man, I love that rush of inspiration. It's such a high. Writing truly is my drug.

My erotic novel arose out of sheer, unbridled envy. All the hoopla over the Fifty Shades trilogy got to me. For months it seemed every of-age, literate female I encountered recommended the series to me. It dawned on me that writing erotica is right up my alley. I love sex and I have a dirty mind. I can take any discussion down an inappropriate road--just ask my friends ... or my mom.

Also, I wanted to write a novel that’s relatable to women like me. This isn’t a story about 20-something singles. My main characters are full-fledged grownups. They’ve been married and they have children. I want to show that women like that—women like me—can still have steamy, fulfilling sex lives.

How my writing process works

When I get an idea, I have to stop what I’m doing and write it down. I’ve actually pulled into a parking lot to jot down my thoughts. At the beginning of a large writing project, I have a pile of notes written on all sorts of things: ads, bills, my kid’s report card. I use those notes to create an outline of the major plot points.

My next step is to sketch out my characters. The draft I’m currently writing spans several years, so I created a spreadsheet that helps me keep track of characters’ ages at the time of specific plot points. So, as you can imagine, I spend a lot of time planning before ever writing a sentence.

This isn’t the case for short stories. That’s more of a stream of consciousness thing. And then I revise it and hack it to all hell until it becomes something I can live with.

I try to commit a couple hours a day to my novel. When I start writing, I tend to get carried away, though. I get lost in my story, and my characters refuse to be silenced. They couldn’t care less that clothes need folded, kids need fed and my ass needs to be worked out.

At each new writing session, I review what I last wrote, make any necessary changes, and then I'm off and running again.


Now it's my turn to introduce the next stop on your blog tour:

Glynis Rankin is a poet and author of inspirational women's fiction, The Between and Linger and other short stories. Glynis writes at Imaginings of a Nubian Mind. Pay her a visit. You won't be disappointed.