Scribbling #4

So I'm a writer who's not been writing and desperately needs to or she'll die (that's not hyperbole). I mentioned in a recent post I took a writerly type class*; in it, the instructor gave prompts meant to spur us into writerly type action. Which, of course, they did (mostly--at least one class saw me penning diatribes against things over which I've absolutely no control because I was emotionally distraught from an earlier event).

Anyway, I'll share with you here something I enjoyed scribbling in class. The prompt was "Write about a physical hardship/injury you've endured."

*     *     *    

"Push! Push! Push like you're going to the bathroom!" Hitler's little sister screamed at me.

"What do you think I'm doing?" I squealed back. My now ragged fingernails dug into the vinyl where I half-sat, half-lay. I felt another one break and bit back a curse.

"You're not pushing!" Hitlerita barked.

"Yes I am!" I attempted to bark back, but a contraction spiked on the monitor and then in my gut and the words slid out on an impotent groan. Bad enough I knew the pain was coming--with that damned machine I could tense up in anticipation of the next fresh wave of hell, which was super helpful, by which I mean not at all. "Please," I panted, "give me an epidural." Another violent cramp gripped me, like a hand had shot up my ass, grasped the base of my spine, and wrenched it like the arm of a slot machine.

"It's too late for that," my OB-GYN said as he fake-jogged into the room. "You're nine centimeters along, we need you to be able to feel so you can push."

"Like you're going to the bathroom!" the Nazi in the surgical mask helpfully reminded me.

On the verge of telling them that I bloody well was pushing, I felt a shift within and held my breath.

"He's coming," said the doctor.

"PUUUUUUUUUUSH!" yelled Eva Braun.

But even as my innards roiled and surged, even as every muscle poised to shoot out the little parasite, I clenched. I was suddenly afraid to see it through, afraid of that final thrust and what it might bring. Or what it might take.

*     *     *    

*If you're not local to NY but interested in writerly type classes, Gotham Writers does offer online classes. Mind you, I've never done any kind of online class, so your mileage may vary. Anyway, I'd say they're worth checking out.

Cover Reveal ~ L.G. Keltner's "A Silent Soliloquy"

It is my distinct and genuine pleasure to pimp out reveal unto y'all the cover for fellow blogger and writer L.G. Keltner's debut, A Silent Soliloquy. Over the past few years I've truly enjoyed reading her flash fiction and can recommend her work with all my heart. Check it out!

About "A Silent Soliloquy"

TIPPIE was created to be a weapon.  By all appearances, she's an ordinary girl of 18, and she uses that to her advantage in her work for The Facility.  What no one sees is that there's another girl buried deep inside.  She can't speak or control the movements of the body she inhabits.  As TIPPIE's silent passenger, she can only observe.  She uses the details she learns from TIPPIE's work to reconstruct the stories of other people's lives.  It helps her feel a little more connected to the world she can only watch.

When TIPPIE's work leads her to David, a young man with a haunted past and information that The Facility wants, TIPPIE uses her skills to earn his trust.  The silent girl beneath the surface knows that TIPPIE is only going to hurt him, but she can't help but feel for him.  Those feelings only grow, but she knows all too well that TIPPIE's work will soon come to an end.

About the Author

L.G. Keltner spends most of her time trying to write while also cleaning up after her crazy but wonderful kids and hanging out with her husband.  Her favorite genre of all time is science fiction, and she’s been trying to write novels since the age of six.  Needless to say, those earliest attempts weren’t all that good. 

Her non-writing hobbies include astronomy and playing Trivial Pursuit.

You can typically find L.G. lurking around her blog, on Twitter, or on her Facebook page.

Pre-Order "A Silent Soliloquy"
Amazon US
Amazon UK

My Overprotective Kid

You may remember me mentioning how, when he was younger, my son Balthazar disparaged men who showed romantic interest in me. (And by "disparaged," I mean that he denounced them as being serial killers whom I should avoid like...well, like one should avoid a person aiming to end one's life.) Well, given that he's achieved the ripe old age of 20 (holy shit!) and has been away at a very liberal, girl-pow-ah kind of college for the past three years, I figured he'd outgrown this absurd over protectiveness/smart-assed desire to kill my buzz.

I figured wrong.

A few weeks ago, I texted Balthy the following:

So, like, I was waiting for the Shuttle to GCT & this guy comes up to me & hands me a piece of paper saying, "Excuse me, I just wanted to say you're drop dead gorgeous, I love your hair and eyes. Here's my number, if you ever want to call me." Think I should call him?

After two days of radio silence, I nudged him. Thus replied Balthazar:

No

Me: Why not?

Four hours went by. I nudged again. Balthy wrote back:

Ask one of your friends

Me: The two I asked told me to call him. Why do you think I shouldn't?

Balthy: I don't care, do what you want. I just don't want to hear about it or find out that you're beheaded in an alleyway.

So there you have it. I mean, I'd no intention of calling the guy (he never asked me for my name, which I found really weird) and, admittedly, you never know whether a stranger means you harm. But that'd be true at a nightclub or a bar or a party, right? I mean, all the old-fashioned/more traditional ways of meeting people couldn't ensure they'd be decent, non-psycho-killers. Surely there'd be a "safe" way to get to know someone from the above scenario?

Maybe there's a more promising opportunity coming around the bend for me, one even The Kid won't be able to balk at. Obviously, I don't require his permission. But I wonder if he'll ever be OK with me having a love life of my own...

Probably not.

Streaming Consciousness: Wanting to Wake

...so, I haven't been doing very well. My day job's been "challenging" since the end of last July. Then all hell broke loose in December and I'm just now in a position to shove most of the Devil's prancing minions back behind the rusty red gates. On the bright side, I'm proud of myself for buckling down and plowing through the 12-hour (and 13 - 14 hour) days, getting shit done, and done well. On the other, Gothier, dark side, I feel like my spirit's finally snapped. I've known moments, many moments, when I wasn't sure I cared about living. But I'm not dead yet. So fuck you, Monty Satan...

...I won't hide from that part of me that knows as hard as things have been with my day job, dealing with that's been easier for me to face than writing...

...I've gained a stupid amount of weight from comfort-fooding and boozing to sop up the pain. Now I'm even more insecure, unhealthy, and uncomfortable. That's bullshit...

...I've managed to resist smoking. Yay, small victories...

...I haven't managed to resist coke. Diet Coke, that is. Just for the taste of it. God help me, I'm addicted to the stuff. It's just so fucking refreshing, you know???

...endeavoring to self-medicate in a healthier way, I signed up for a writing course with these cats here in the city, Gotham Writers. No, not just 'cause they've got "Goth" in their name. Though that was, I'll admit, a strong inducement. First class was April 13: did more writing in it than I had in AGES. Procrastinated on the homework assignment till Sunday night (for the April 20 class) and only just managed to churn something out. Ah well. Baby steps to self-actualization...

...went to a tea-leaf reader recently who told me, among other things, that something evil attached itself to me a loooong time ago. Which is pretty fucking freaky but not wholly unexpected...

...she also advised that my navel and throat chakras were blocked but I could easily sort them out myself. I picked up a book on the subject but am having a tough time getting through some of the more academic stuff 'cause I keep thinking to myself, "Chakra-Khan, let me rock you, let me rock you, Chakra-Khan. Let me rock you, that's all I wanna do, Chakra-Khan." 'Cause that is my maturity level at 44, folks...

...I miss you. I miss the Blogosphere. I miss creating. I miss me. Don't call this a comeback, because I'm not sure I'm ready to really engage with the world again. Perhaps the best I'll ever manage is poking my head in to say howdy, now and again. But I want to wake up. I think...

"One Good Catch" is out NOW!!!

My last post was a cover reveal for One Good Catch, the second installment in a series by my fellow romance writer and bloggy-type pal, Heather M. Gardner. Well, that bad boy's out NOW and I am just so totally stoked about it I wanted to let all y'all know! You can check out the book blurb here; read on for an excerpt!

~~~)(~~~

Kate crossed her arms. “I’m not complicated.”

“Oh yes, you are. Incredibly complicated. And off limits.”

“Look, it was just a kiss. If you can’t handle a little first base, it’s your problem, not mine.”

Rhys stopped in front of her, shaking his head. “What?”

“I’m not some kid anymore, Rhys. I can kiss whomever I want. And I do. If you want to continue living by my brother’s rules, then I suggest you head back to the bar.”

“I guess I have more respect for Steve than to try and feel up his sister after being back in town for less than a day.”

“That’s fine. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

“Fine. I’ll sleep just fine.”

“Then, goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” he said.

Rhys reached for her, his fingers tangling in her hair. He pulled her in to kiss her again. Kate enjoyed this kiss even more than the first one. It was full of his exasperation, plus his inevitable surrender, making it incredibly hot. Her victory was intoxicating.

~~~)(~~~

And so was that excerpt, dang! Seriously, though, I can really identify with Kate: nothing fires me up more than knowing the man I'm so totally into is completely losing control for want of me. W00F!

If you're in want of some more woofery, you can pick up a copy of One Good Catch by clicking one of the links below. I know I do/will!

Kobo

All Romance Ebooks

B&N

Amazon

Cover Reveal: One Good Catch by Heather M. Gardner

My good pal Heather Gardner, from The Waiting is the Hardest Part, is coming out with the second book in her Maquire's Corner series and asked if I'd join in the love fest/cover reveal. I'm all about the love, y'all, and I really enjoyed the first book in the series so here I am to pimp book #2. Check it!

Title: One Good Catch

Author: Heather M. Gardner

Genre: Contemporary Romantic Suspense

Publisher: InkSpell Publishing

Cover Design: Najla Qamber Designs

Release Date: March 13, 2015

~~~)(~~~

Ignoring a recent trauma that is affecting her everyday life, ER Doctor Kate Maguire engages in some high risk activities, but putting herself in these dangerous situations isn’t enough to feed her edginess. She needs something more. When her brother’s high school best friend comes back to town, it’s her chance for a ‘no strings attached’ fling with the man who still headlines in all her best dreams.

Rhys MacGrath’s days of one-night-stands are long over. The pro-football player might be side-lined at rehab for a shoulder injury, but that doesn’t mean he can’t admire and desire the all-grown-up, so-damn-hot, version of the tomboy he once knew. His sudden interest in Kate might be aggravating his best friend, who doesn’t approve, but it’s her indifference that’s driving Rhys crazy.

Everything heats up when Kate’s nosy nature sets her in the line of fire of an arsonist forcing them to deal with more than just the sparks igniting between them.

~~~)(~~~

Heather M. Gardner's love of books began on the hand-woven rugs of her small town library where her mother worked. There she had a never-ending supply of stories to read at her fingertips. As a teen, her favorite genres to curl up with were romance and mysteries. When she started to create her own stories, they were the perfect fit.

Heather resides in New York with her best friend who is also her husband, plus her talented and handsome son. She is currently owned by four stray cats. Heather's a full-time mom, works part-time from home, a chocolate enthusiast, coffee junkie, cat addict, book hoarder and fluent in sarcasm.

Blog: The Waiting is the Hardest Part

Twitter: @hmgardner

Goodreads: HMGardner

Facebook: HeatherWritesRomance 

Dreaming...

Photo by Marcus Cyron
via Wikimedia Commons

About a week ago, just after the start of the new year, I dreamt I was married and had a daughter*. But it seems I'd been neglecting my family, as well as my duties to our home. Not sure why; possibly because I pursued a career or simply my own entertainments, apart from them. A violent pang of remorse, and a deep desire to atone and reclaim my life, made me return to our home.

I went to my "husband" first. He was grimly unhappy with me. Hurt, somber. He was a tall, blond man, wiry, with a bit of scruff along his jaw and chin. He looked like a man who hadn't slept in God knows how long. He's not anyone I know in real life. I walked up to him, gingerly hugged him. I had to stretch and get up on my tiptoes to do it. He didn't resist me, but was slow to respond. He did eventually hold me, though. It was almost as though he surrendered to the inevitability of having me back.

I apologized for not being what I ought to have been to him and our daughter. He was quiet, wary, sad. But he loved me, he wanted me, and he was prepared to do what it took to mend things because we belonged to one another. His embrace went from passive to active, he held me closer, welcoming whatever I had to offer, even if it was more pain. I pressed a kiss, like a pledge, to the area of his face between his chin and cheek, and I loved the feel of his yielding flesh beneath my lips. Then I sagged in relief against him. Over his arm, I spied a home in dire need of attention, a sink overflowing with filthy dishes. Guilt for having shirked my responsibilities to those I loved, for so very long, overwhelmed me.

I searched for my daughter next. A matronly woman appeared, a babysitter or nanny. She eyed me with grave suspicion, and I couldn't blame her. I told her why I was there. The woman said my daughter feared me seeing her, worried that I'd be disappointed by her. From what my dream self could remember, she was really just a little girl, perhaps five, and that she could harbor such concerns puzzled me. I stood firm in my wishes and the woman took me to my daughter's room. I approached a crib, I think, and a small, blanketed figure was handed to me. But it wasn't human. It was a tiny Lego figure. That was my daughter—a thumb-sized, hard, plastic figure. I felt alarm, hysteria, but also a bewildered love. Had she become that way for want of me?

The Sleep of Reason Produces Monsters
by Francisco Goya

I awoke soon after that discovery. Regret, shame weighed heavily upon me all that day. The suffering of my dream mate I could still feel, like a fog drifting around me. And the shock of seeing what had become of my daughter, I couldn't bear. Meaning grew, like ivy, taking over every thought. My husband was God, a Judeo-Christian omnipotent power, ready to forgive and welcome home the wayward sheep; the home in shambles really my notebooks, containing tales and songs half-done, gathering dust in their various stacks; my plastic daughter who'd failed to become real and thrive signified the talents I've been given and have failed to nurture ever since the fall of 2013. Or maybe she represents me: a woman made small, and immobilized, by depression...

...or do dreams even mean anything, at all? Back in college, a psych professor told me they were nothing but electrical activity in my brain, triggering memories that flashed in my mind's eye. Maybe that's so. Maybe we'll never know, either way. Perhaps we're not meant to be satisfied on the matter, but to ever wonder at the secrets we tell ourselves as we slumber...


*In reality, I'm a divorced mother of a teenaged son.