Do You Hear the Banjo?

Hello from Tennessee! I'm on vacation now - visiting DH's sister and nephew at their new home in the freaking sticks. Let me share what the adventure has consisted of so far: sitting on the porch shooting the stop sign with a beebee gun, feeding the sheep, trudging through a "haunted" cave on a private farm where the overall-clad owner gave a dissertation on canning peaches and making rabbit, dove and deer stew!!!, eating lunch at the old school cafeteria (now a down home style restaurant), which had pretty good food and a shlocky junk store attached, sitting on the porch and shooting paper cups and plates with the beebee gun, shooting the wooden wind chimes with the beebee gun, going the "Second Amendment Gun Shop." This evening we go bowling, then back home for guess what - more target practice - YAY! Tomorrow, we'll probably tour Vanderbilt University's campus (which will actually be interesting) - DH's sis works there now. The nearest neighbors are about half a mile away - past the soybean field and the tobacco field. In all seriousness, it's nice to see where my SIL lives and to visit, although DS and I decided if we ever had to live here. we'd have to hang ourselves. The town (population 300) has 7 churches and a post office - nothing else. SIL bought this giant house built in the 1920's with loads of space and lots of charm. Oh - did I mention the graveyard on the property, which dates from the 1820's? Many of the neighbors also have similar graveyards for their ancestors. I think they died of boredom! Or overindulging in soybeans, corn and tobacco (pronouced tub ak uh here). The natives need subtitles to be understood.
Sunday morning we take our leave and head to Savannah, one of my favorite cities for a Ghost Tour, lots of sightseeing and some good old Southern charm. Thank God it's an actual city and that we're leaving the beebee gun here!

New Writing Partner

About two months ago, I decided to write a Young Adult short story targeted at The Wild Rose Press new line of YA, Climbing Rose. My daughter was so excited that she'd finally be able to read something I wrote, so she sat with me at the computer as I worked. She helped me with plot points, added dialog. Soon, she was fully involved in the process, a co-writer, as it was. When I submitted the story, I listed her as the co-author. Well, the story was accepted. Poor Me will be about 25 pages and is really a cute story with a little bit of a moral. My daughter, a new author at 13 is beside herself.
But she still wants to read my other works. "Not a chance," I told her over dinner the other night. "When then?" she asked. "When you're thirty," I responded.
"My God, Mom. What are you writing?"
I got a good laugh out of this one. But it got me thinking. Why is it that it's easy to put my work out there for countless strangers to read, but not my own kids. I have an eighteen-year-old son and I'd die if he read my stuff. It was really hard knowing my Dad would read sex scenes I'd written, but I have to believe he glosses over that stuff. Please, don't tell me otherwise!
What about you? Are you comfortable with your adult kids reading your sex scenes? What about your parents reading them?

Priority Adjustment

We had a frightening medical scare this month involving my son. After visiting a specialist this morning, we learned he's perfectly fine. Then we drew a huge relieved breath and I burst into tears. There's nothing like a threat to a member of my family to grab me by the collar, shake me and leave me with a new appreciation of what's really important.
I may still fret a bit over a rejection or because that agent I'm hoping to snag still hasn't responded, but in the big picture, it just doesn't matter that much. I've been incredibly lucky to have my work published so quickly. I've been even more fortunate to marry my soul mate and have two wonderful kids.
So the next time you hear me whining about something, you have my permission to verbally slap me. I said verbally.
I hope everyone in your life is healthy and happy. That's the most amazing feeling in the world.

Go Ask Alice Cooper

My daughter is floating through the house singing, "School's out for summer!" She and her friends are on cloud nine as they plot and plan mischief to get into over the summer. Keep her busy, my mind keeps advising. So busy she won't have time to call the boy she's had a crush on for a solid hour the last day of school. But I know it's all innocent - for now. Being that she is my offspring, I know I must watch carefully for any signs of demonic possession.
When I think back to when I was her age, it was a different Alice Cooper song coming from my lips. At 13 or 14, I sang, "I love the dead before they rise, no hellos, no goodbyes." Yikes! What must my parents have thought?
Jefferson Airplane was big when my DH was in his early teens. "Go Ask Alice" was one of his faves. Great - a song about drug use. Since we both contributed to her gene pool, we'll be watching very carefully!
A special note for my sister Ruthie, who is in the hospital. Get well soon. I love you lots.

Running the Treadmill

Lately it seems like I can't keep my head above water. May is an incredibly busy month for my entire family. Between writing responsibilities, my son's graduation from HS, Mother's Day events, social obligations and the millions of other things I have to do, I feel like I'm racing in circles on a treadmill. When a good friend called yesterday to ask if she could take me to lunch for my birthday next week, I was speechless (which is not a common condition for me). I'm not sure if my birthday slipped my mind or if I'm now blocking the messages saying "You're growing older."

In the last few weeks, my husband started a second job. He's finally past the training phase and keeps assuring me the hours will ease off to a more reasonable level now. The thing is, our time together has dwindled to next to nothing. So my fun time has also dwindled. Not that I don't have fun with friends and the kids, I do. But my time with my DH charges my batteries and when that time is short, it takes a toll on both of us. I must say though, my WIP is moving along very quickly. My creative energies are all being poured into writing. So maybe there is something to that tortured artist thing. And at least, I know it's temporary. So in the meanwhile, I'll try to keep tapping into my temporarily tortured soul.

Lassie the Cat

"Timmy's in the well," my cat, Tinker meows in the middle of the night a la Lassie. My DH swears when she bursts into our bedroom at 3 AM, meowing loudly and sometimes howling, she's really trying to tell us something urgent. Why else would she awaken us and shout at us? She must have some canine or human DNA, I'm sure of it. She has no trouble making her will known. When I've been working too long and not paying attention to her, she jumps up onto my desk and parks her furry butt right in front of my computer screen. If I have the audacity to keep working, she swipes at my fingers as they tap the keys. "Pay attention to me" comes through loud and clear.
Speaking of cats, I've noticed a strange trend among my many writer friends. The vast majority are cat owners. Maybe it's because we can relate to their nocturnal nature. I'm often found pounding away at the keyboard in the wee hours. Or perhaps it's their preference for solitude that draws us to them - writing is a solitary endeavor. Although I must admit, long before I was a writer, I was a cat lover. Maybe it's my lazy nature. I have no use for an animal I have to toss a toy to a million times. All one has to do to amuse a cat is throw a toy mouse - once. Particularly if the mouse is laced with catnip.
So what about you? Do you have an animal preference?

The Best of the Best

I've gotta tell you - I have the best DH in the whole world. I know, I know, I complain about little stuff like him using my deodorant, but he's really an awesome guy. Two and a half years ago, he encouraged me to leave my job and write full time. Now, this was no easy feat - we'd been a two-income household since we got married almost two decades ago. Give the writing a chance, he said. Now mind you, I'd barely completed my first manuscript by this time and had no prospects of publication anywhere. But he had faith in me. And it was his faith that boosted mine. He took on a part time job in addition to his full time law enforcement job so that we could make ends meet while I pursued my dream.

Last night, he hung my fifth book cover on the wall over my computer and gave me a little pep talk about how far I've come in two and a half years. But the truth is, I'd have never taken that very first step without him holding my hand. I'm still far from where I'd like to be in my writing career, but I have a feeling it's only the beginning. I have this amazing cheerleader standing behind me, whispering in my ear, "You can do it."

Pulling the Wool Over my Eyes

OK - when will my DH learn that he's not swift enough to fool me? This week's example: Deodorant. A few days ago, he tells me he's almost out of his deodorant. Rather than write it on the shopping list , which is posted on the fridge, he never says another word about it. Now, I am funny about MY stuff. I don't share things like toothpaste and deodorant, even with the man I sleep with. Another way I'm funny about my things is I always put them in exactly the same place after I use them. So, imagine my surprise when my deodorant was on the wrong shelf in the medicine cabinet. Then it happened again the next day. So, now I do a little investigative work. I look through his mish-mash drawer where he keeps his things all willy-nilly. No deodorant! And he thinks I don't know. Will he realize I've abandoned that deodorant for the one I keep in my vanity? (Because God forbid I'll use it after he has!) He'll never get it. Not only that - he'll finish mine and leave it there empty, mark my words. It's a good thing I love him!

I'm in Print!

Yeah! It's finally here. (Drum roll, please) My first print book, Rose Petals, Volume III, is available to order at The Wild Rose Press. It is an erotic anthology featuring my short story, Desert of Desire. The way I got into this book was by entering a contest sponsored by the publisher. One of my critique partners, Terry Odell, talked me into entering. I did, even though I hadn't written a short story since college! Well, I won my category and Terry won hers, thankfully. (Might have been awkward if one of us won and the other didn't!) We were not in the same book originally (there are three anthologies) until Terry spoke up and asked if we could be.

On another note, my son called yesterday from New York, where he's Spring Breaking. Seems he was ice skating at Rockefeller Center. Not bad for a native Floridian! (Rumor has it that there is an ice rink somewhere in Orlando, although no one seems to know where. I think it's a myth.)