I ain't dead yet

As I fumble through the last few chapters of the first book I've actually finished in over four years, I question my arrogance in thinking anyone will want to read anything I put out after being invisible for so long. Perhaps this is why I'm so consistent in starting books but never finishing them. The fear of not just rejection but total dismissal is a powerful one. Safer to set aside and start anew than finish what I start.

My husband jokes that he is going to take a cue from the men in my books and spank me until I finish something. We laugh, but I'm not entirely sure he's joking these days.

Little Nikki's picture stares back at me from my screen, begging me to finish her story so she can share it. She's quite a precious kitten, and impossible for me to say no to for very long. I've already missed my self imposed deadline to get her wrapped up and sent to the publisher by a couple of weeks, but she and I can smell the ending now and she's giggling with glee.

Thanks guys

From an early age I was always drawing. If there was a pencil or crayon or bleeding thumb available, rest assured I'd put it to use sketching. The majority of my work consisted of horses in various poses, though I'd draw any animal if the fancy struck. As I got older I began entering my best pieces into local art competitions, mostly 4-H and state fair ones. Why I don't know, because I was always extremely protective of my art. I wasn't drawing for ribbons and I certainly wasn't doing it to hear criticism. Perhaps I wanted to hear serious approval; the best I ever got from mom was "cute" and that always set my teeth on edge. After all, I wasn't drawing fluffy fucking bunnies with rainbows and unicorns.

Over the years I wound up with boxloads of ribbons, lots of seconds and thirds, but never that damn blue. The blues and best of shows always went to full color pieces. Mine were always charcoal and chalk, or pencil. For some reason color eluded me, and back then (or at least where I was entering) the divisions weren't broken up that far. They simply lumped it all in by age group. So, I did what any arrogant, yet slightly insecure artist would do when faced with the realization that their best will never be good enough for others.

I quit competing.

Oh I didn't quit drawing. I just quit showing it to others. And eventually I learned how to handle color. Case in point. :)

My writing goes along the same lines. I do it because I have to, not for the ribbons. My best may never be good enough for others, but sometimes it's good enough for a handful. If it weren't for you precious few, the ones who leave lovely reviews and who buy my books, I'd quit competing once again. So thank you. You have no idea how much I appreciate you.

Pink

Growing up I hated the color pink. Much of this was a result of having Flo "Kiss Mah Grits" Castleberry from Mel's Diner as my only source of pink-wearing-redhead inspiration. The "pink is for girls" mentality of the day also turned me hard against the shade. Determined to hang with my three older brothers, I denounced pink and all it's incarnations and declared blue to be my favorite color.

It wasn't until many, many years (ok a few decades) later that I began to embrace the hue. It started with a pair of pink stilettos that went oh so awesome with my faded, torn jeans. Then a set of pink rhinestone bangle bracelets came on board. A pink ankle bracelet. A pink ostrich purse. Pink sweaters for my dogs. I even have a pair of pink tinted glasses for those days I don't feel like dealing with my contacts. Even then, I limit the color to easily manageable accessories. Images of gum smacking, blue eyeshadow wearing waitresses kept me properly wary of otherwise adorable things like midriff baring pink cashmere sweaters or fluffy pink scarfs.

More than once someone has told me I'd look lovely in pink, but they've never seen me sweating it out in 112F Texas heat. My normally ivory skin turns an alarming shade of magenta in such circumstances, and adding a pink blouse to the mix would be criminal on the felony level.

I will, however, happily slap one of these on my Samsung Note 3 phone.

Confessions of an Unfit Blogger

Having a blog wasn't my idea.

Upon learning I'd had some books published, a friend of mine demanded I get a blog up and running at once. Never mind I have the attention span of a diabetic hummingbird, she insisted I needed a blog so I could keep people updated on my every move. Because you know, maybe some day my travels will extend further than the well worn path between my desk and the refrigerator. And gosh darn it, people will want to know!

Or so she claimed. I rarely check my stats but I'm fairly certain the number of people I've helped overcome insomnia barely requires the usual number of fingers and toes to keep track of.

I read other people's blogs and am quite impressed. Blog hops! Guest authors! Excerpts from their books! Free short stories! Competitions! Just looking at all the work they put into their blogs makes me swoon for the comfort of the couch and a glass of Disaronno on ice. I'd blame that on my corset being too tight... but I generally write in the buff so there goes that excuse.

I didn't start writing books so I could spend hours pimping them on social media. That isn't the adult way to look at it I know, but tweeting endlessly about my literary hack jobs just ain't for me. I write stories because if I don't, they'll conspire to pack one side of my skull with tannerite and blow themselves a hole to freedom. Sometimes the sheer number of stories and characters clamoring in my head for release keeps me from writing a single word, because the cacophony drowns out the single voice I'm looking for.

So I'll apologize in advance if my blog sends you straight to sleepytime. I have nothing else to blather about beyond my dogs, our occasional road trips, or some character that's in my head refusing to shut up. If I post at all, it's to share my personal bits with you, and though that's rarely entertaining at least it's real.

Ladies and Gentlemen, allow me to introduce Miss Abby Willis

Jesus I thought this day would never come!

Much like I was at her age, Abby proved to be exasperatingly difficult to deal with. One minute she was in my head, the next, who knows? Probably off stealing a car or flashing a fake ID in hopes of scoring some beer for the weekend.

Love the cheeky cover Stormy Night Publishing came up with!

In other news I have neglected this blog for over six months, partly because I've been lazy but also because I forgot how to get into it. I have too many passwords and email accounts to keep up with these days. With over six inches of snow on the ground (yes it does snow in Texas) I decided it was time to park butt in chair and do a little dusting around here. Thirteen passwords later, I'm in!

And now that I'm in, I realize I have nothing to say. How appropriate.