There is a new blog out called Oh Get A Grip. Supposedly they are going to give an opinion. I haven’t seen it yet. I think they’re scared. They are a bunch of good girls who wanna be bad – so I have called them out and slapped them with the glove of challenge.
The Amarinda Blog challenges the Oh Get a Grip Blog to put their money where their mouth is and give an opinion. I want to know the 5 things that totally and utterly piss you off beyond all reason. No namby pamby responses will be accepted.
‘Just got an email from the ‘grippers’ and already they have put their own interpretation on this challenge. It is 5 things each not 1 thing each as they like to believe. I have explained this in depth to them – even pulled out the sock puppets to help them understand – so let’s see what other ways they can think of to get out of the challenge. To give you a clue grippers – this is what I mean….
5 Things that piss me off…
1. Pushing in front of me or others in a line – don’t do it unless you want to be embarrassed because I will embarrass you big time. I am the person that stands there and announces to all that ‘it’s not your turn and get back in line.’
2. Bad manners – if you cannot say please or thank you, prepare to meet thy doom. Example of this, I was forced to buy Tim Tams yesterday and this man was ahead of me at the checkout and he dropped his money on the ground. The check-out chick got down on her hands and knees to pick it up. She handed it to him and he did not say ‘thank you’ – he just ignored her. Not good enough. I pointed out what she had done for him and that he needed to thank her as she was not his slave. Yes, men can blush. Did he say thank you? Yes. I can be pretty scary clutching a pack of hormone soothing Tim Tams in one hand with the death stare going on…you either say sorry or gnaw your leg off to get away from me. 
3. Men who believe all women should have a Paris Hilton -like body and consider anyone else a ‘dog.’ Well you know what? Real women don’t want men who think Paris Hilton in the essence female beauty. Real women don’t want boys…go ahead – play with Barbie or yourself – probably the only real action you’re going to get that you don’t have to pay for.
4. People who sniffle!! Use a handkerchief or tissue – I don’t want to hear you snorting up and re-circulating snot throughout your body – it’s pukeable and yes I will tell you.
5. Want to see me really stamp my feet? I hate and loathe surprises. The only good surprise is one that I know of in advance. I hate to be surprised – it pisses me off big time. Go surprise someone else is my theory…
Yes, how annoying I am and I could go on and on….
So….everyone appears to be in a frenzy to change their blog template at a moment. Is it a full moon or something? They all look very nice and creative but there seems to have been this sudden rush to change. Did a memo come out that I missed? Will I change my template and follow the trend – nope… that’s just not me. I like to dig my size 8 heels into the ground and be stubborn and buck the trend. I’m perverse and I like that about me. So what is it with blog land at the moment? Why the blog changes? Is it because everyone is doing it or is it some existential moment of your own realization as an individual amongst the faceless masses in blog existence? No really, I want to know.
Speaking of feet…were we? Yes, I mentioned size 8 heels…I got an email about my blog comments yesterday about what a drag it was to have a big bust. The email was from a friend, lets, call her…er…Melanie, who read my blog and said and I quote – ‘yeah, boo hoo, I feel so sorry for you.” Yes, sarcasm – I love it. She is flat chested and she is right – we whine about stuff that other people would kill for. So, I will not mention the big boob issue again. So what does this have to do with feet you ask? Well, nothing really other than I have flat feet (flat chest, flat feet – no it doesn’t have to make sense) and someone told me today that my feet were dainty – and no they did not appear to be drunk. And yes, they wanted something from me. I have to say complimenting my flat feet is a new one on me. Did they get what they wanted from me? No, but I awarded them a 9/10 for originality in sucking up. So what is the weirdest compliment you ever got?
Let’s all say a soothing prayer for my editor tonight as she edits my latest book. I swear she thinks I torture her. I really don’t…I just consider it playing with her mind….she has a brilliant mind…I’m trying to warp it. People are 'who' and not 'that' - see I do get it. Remembering it is the hard thing.
Do you remember Mervina the possum? No? She is a possum that hangs out at my place and looks really pissed off to see me when I come across her. Hey! I own the place you ball of fluff- don't be giving me attitude. Well, Mervina has taken to living under the house in my store room Okay, fine, whatever...you need your space I get it. What I don't frigging get is why Mervina delights in making noise at 2 am in the morning. She knocks stuff down under the house and it sounds like a herd of wild elephants have rampaged through. Now, fine have a night life - go out and rage with the other possums but for god sake shut up. I have been told to get a cage and trap her. I am against this because I think she is too smart to be caught and she will delight in driving me nuts. I also think that if she gets trapped and released in the bush she can no longer play with the native wild life because she is such an urban smart arse. So, what the hell am I to do with this wild child possum? Sandra Cox - author and animal lover - what's the answer?
Anny and Kelly are doing Anny and Kelly stuff – go check them out.
www.freewebs.com/amarindajones/
Go ahead: Live with abandon. Be outrageous at any age. What are you saving your best self for?
Monday, 31 March 2008
Monday frigging Monday....
Sunday, 30 March 2008
It does not compute…
*Did women take these adverts seriously in the 70’s? I doubt it. There is an advert on TV now where these women rip off their shirts and parade down the street in their whatever brand bras. I would suggest no woman is going to do that...that would be male fantasy
The quote below came from Cover Artist Lyn Taylor from Friday’s comments about the cover model on the Penned Again cover…scroll down and take a squiz to remind yourself…
“And I tell you I'd be damn happy with a set of firm, perky little breasts like that. Would be nice to not need a hydraulic lift to haul them around. Honestly, big boobs are WAAAAYY over rated!”
Okay, I have to agree with Lyn – big boobs are overrated - and I have to ask how they ever got this high rating in the first place. I suppose possibly in caveman times, when Gronk would been looking for a spouse, the concept of a well-endowed woman who could keep him warm at night and feed the ensuing babies that he planned to found the Gronk dynasty on would have been a consideration. But honestly, the majority of women that I know that who are top heavy, wished they weren’t – and of course I am talking about those that are
naturally gifted that way and not artificially so. Don’t get me wrong – if you think implants will make you happy then I say do it. I just personally could not fathom being any bigger. I used to sit beside a woman at Promptel who wanted implants. She hated being flat-chested and could not understand why we bitched about big boobs. She had never had a sore back or dints in her shoulders from the hydraulic requirements of defying gravity and holding them up. I think another employee, that we used to call the narc, summed it up best – It’s like carry watermelons around on your chest all day and when the curse strikes once a month it’s like someone has taken a hammer and smashed it against them. Yes, couldn’t trust the narc of course but she got it in one on the boob issue.
So, is it women that rate large breasts so highly or is it men? Yes, I know, dumb question but in the spirit of equality I thought I should ask. Now that that’s over with – what is it
with men? Why does everything have to be bigger to be better? An acquaintance of mine wants to have a breast reduction due to the pain in her back. Her partner is against this as he likes her breasts the way they are. That’s all very nice but he’s not the one in pain. So she hasn’t done it yet because he won’t be happy…What? He won’t be happy? Is that a partnership or a dictatorship – though there’s a dick in there somewhere that’s for sure. So do you think men believe larger is better? Then if so how does this equate to some men who will not date a larger sized woman? Isn’t bigger better for them? Or is it that just some parts that are deemed acceptable to be super-sized? Or maybe it’s a case of some men are not even as evolved as Gronk the caveman.Do any men read this blog? I don’t know but if any man does and is game enough to comment on this topic, naturally we would applaud you for your two cents on this subject.
Lyn Taylor’s Artwork
Lyn Taylor’s blog
Lyn Taylor’s Website
It’s starting to get cold in Brisbane. I know it’s not the sort of cold you know but its cold for us sub-tropical types. The thing is it is the end of March and it is Autumn Down Under so you would expect it to get cool. But normally in Brisbane, where we have a fantastic year round climate, I don’t have to swap shorts for trackie dacks (tracksuit pants) til at least the end of April…it just seems wrong to me.
I was reading the Sunday newspaper. A 57 year old woman had a baby.57??? Come on…at 44 I would not consider having one even if I was drunk and offered all the money in the world. Now, it’s not an age thing because I believe physical age is irrelevant. I just don’t know why you would want a baby coming out of your body at 57. What stress and strain would that cause? The couple in the photo looked thrilled and
slightly bewildered. I would like to think when I hit 57 I would not have to be thinking about changing nappies(diapers) and dealing with an ankle biter (crawling baby). Think about it and tell me honestly – would you have a baby at 57 or 47? Or what is your cut off age? I know people who are desperate to have kids but at 57? It would take some balls to do that…well balls and other stuff of course.To err is human, to forgive is optional—Amarinda Jones…I’m still thinking about the options.
As always Anny is scintillating on her blog and Kelly is quotatious on hers. Yes, H, I made that word up. Expect to see it in a book soon.
www.freewebs.com/amarindajones/
Go ahead: Live with abandon. Be outrageous at any age. What are you saving your best self for?
Saturday, 29 March 2008
The Saturday waffle on...
Hint of the day -- don’t put furniture together at 4am in the morning because you can’t sleep. I ended up with 4 washers and 3 screws leftover. Probably just spares I guess…I hope…ah, who knows…
Well that’s just wrong…
Kevin Rudd, George W Bush have Oval Office talks on Iraq
Mr Rudd returned the favour by making the President an honorary Queenslander, but came close to overstepping the mark when he mentioned the sunshine state was bigger than the President's beloved home of Texas.
http://www.news.com.au/dailytelegraph/story/0,22049,23450291-5001021,00.html
http://www.queenslandholidays.com.au/
Speaking of overstepping…
…a moment to vent…what do you do when you tell someone something privately, but they then tell other people that private stuff that they have no right to say about you? The person in question may see it as a trivial thing to mention so they do. But the thing is it’s not up to them to make announcements on your behalf. You, as tit for tat, could do the same to them however you know that something told in private is just that – and that you hold more respect for the person than to do that. So, do you get annoyed, especially if they have done similar before? Have it out with the person? Or think before you tell them anything in future? Just how private should info between people, you view as friends, be do you reckon? And yeah…I’m mad but I’m a little wiser and more cautious.
Clean it up…I was walking through the shopping centre car park last night and there was this woman and her kids getting into a car. Normally this would not have caught my attention. The thing that did was that the woman was swearing non stop at the kids. It was f&*$king do that and f&*$king do that you little f&*$kers. Yes, I do swear but I am careful when I do. I would never swear in front of kids. Yeah, I know they hear it on TV, at school etc - however I believe an adult should have more sense. Sure they’re her kids but how are these kids going to grow up? As trashy as her? Is their self esteem low because they called you little f&*$kers? Anyway, I slowed down with my shopping bags and gave her the death stare and she got embarrassed because clearly she knew I had heard her abusive language. I have no doubt she continued swearing after I passed by. To my mind, some people, like this woman, have absolutely no class whatsoever.
Fillet me… I overheard this woman carrying on like a pork chop (going mad) that McDonalds Fillet o’ fish no longer has a full slice of cheese on it. And? How is this a Greek tragedy that needs to be wailed about? She was quite upset. The thing is I used to work at McDonalds as a teenager after school and on the weekend. I happen to know that even back then a Fillet o’ fish only ever had half a piece of cheese on it. I know this because I used to pick up mega shifts and extra dollars working the harder stations – ie.- not front counter – like the grill and the chicken and fish area. I made sooooo many fillet o’ fish that I stopped thinking of them as food. They were just things that had to be produced on a mass basis. So why am I waffling on about this you ask? I just wonder why you would actually care whether it was a full or a half slice of cheese? I don’t know why you would even look. I asked the woman that. “Someone told me, so I looked. I feel cheated.” Yes, we have world poverty, disease and greenhouse gas problems yet she feels cheated over cheese. She also said she would ‘never eat one again’…score one for the fish.
Rose Quartz – by Sandra Cox out now through Cerridwen Press – click and the cover and buy it. It’s a hell of a read.
The restroom was clean but had seen better days. There were two steel-gray partitioned stalls for privacy and a couple of sinks with a wide mirror over them. Water plopped from a leaky faucet, leaving a mineral buildup in the basin.
The young women stood at the washbasin, giggling. The blonde looked to be about five-four. Bella shrugged. She was five-five. Close enough.
Bella walked up and reached for a brown paper towel. “Hello, ladies.”
“’Lo,” the blonde muttered. The other young woman ignored her.
“How would you each like to make a quick fifty bucks?” Bella dry-washed her hands with the paper towel, wadded it up and tossed it in the trash.
“We aren’t pushers,” the blonde spoke up.
“Or hookers,” her companion added.
“I’m glad to hear that.” Resting her hip against the counter, Bella spoke to the blonde. “I just want to exchange clothes with you.”
The blonde looked at Bella’s expensive silk blouse and fitted beige skirt and rolled her eyes. “Sorry but that’s so not my style.” She turned back to her friend.
“Listen, girls, you’d be doing me a huge favor,” she improvised. “My ex is waiting for me outside the diner. I’ve broken it off but he won’t take no for an answer. I’ve got a date and I don’t want him showing up and ruining things for me.”
It worked like a charm. The girls were all sympathy, their eyes alight with adventure. The blonde nodded her head vigorously, her thin hair falling in her face. “Been there. Done that. They just can’t take no for an answer.” She slipped the long-sleeved, tie-dyed tee over her head.
“Men,” the brunette added.
The women swapped outfits. Bella stuffed herself into jeans she couldn’t quite zip up and a tie-dyed tee that fit her like a second skin. She’d be lucky if she didn’t get picked up for hooking.
Handing the girls each fifty dollars, she made a point to hold the young blonde’s hand for a moment as she placed the money in it and thanked her. Energy sizzled down her arm and out her fingertips. The transformation was instantaneous. The young blonde’s thin lank hair became full and shiny, her skin luminescent and her lips moist and ripe.
Her friend stared. “Wow. I’m going to have to start going for the middle-aged look. You look fabulous.”
Anny is talking about chatting on her blog and Kelly has an interview with a reader. Please make sure to check them out.
www.freewebs.com/amarindajones/
Go ahead: Live with abandon. Be outrageous at any age. What are you saving your best self for?
Friday, 28 March 2008
Woo hoo Friday...
Thanks to whichever God was on duty today for bringing Friday to a swift conclusion....
Funny…
I said on yesterday’s blog, about blogs, something along the lines of ‘who do you want to tell to shut up on a blog?’ I also indicated you could tell me to ‘shut up.’ I had the best email from let’s call her...er, Pam. She emailed me on my Amarinda mail – amarinda_jones@yahoo.com.au and said “Sometimes I wish you would just concentrate on one subject on your blog. So yeah, I would like you to shut up occasionally.” Only ‘occasionally’? Well, no can do Pam – but hell, I enjoyed the honest feedback. I emailed Pam back and thanked her for the comments and for reading the blog. People rarely tell me to shut up so I enjoyed that – no, not in a sado-masochist way –“Oh yeah baby tell me again how much I annoy you. Tell me to shut up…please I really need to hear it. Please…ooh yeah baby.” In reality its Buckley’s chance that I am going to stick to one subject on every blog. I am one of those people who tend to jump from subject to subject without drawing breath. That’s who I am and I like that about me. But I loved the email. Thanks mate.
*Buckley’s chance - Aussie for 'no chance'. Who was Buckley? Who really knows? But he has a place in the Aussie language.
Penned Again….
Quite a few people have commented on the Penned Again cover – no, not just because it’s a good cover – more that they find the woman on the cover ‘unnatural’ and that ‘real women’ do not look that way. Well yeah, duh. Let’s be bloody honest here, the models on covers are stunning people to start off with – not that you and I aren’t – we’re just stunning in a more ‘lived in’ goddess-like way. And as we all know, covers are air brushed and heightened to make them look appealing so you and I will be attracted by them. Anyway, the main comments from friends are they loved the red polka dot dress but ‘there is no way that woman’s arms can look that good.’ The source of irritation is that she has no armpit hair and her under arms are ‘too firm.’ Okay, I went and had a look at the arm issue. Correct, no armpit hair. What can I say? She obviously knew she would be sticking her arm up in the air and defoliated appropriately. But don’t we all do that if we are going to wear something sleeveless? And no, I do not have upper arms like that. While I do have muscle, like a lot of women who do not pump iron, I have what we would call in Australia ‘tuckshop lady’s arms.’ The flesh does wobble there if pushed. My care factor on this? Negative 12. Will wobbly underarms ruin my life? Hmmm…I don’t believe so. If that’s the worst thing in my life then I’m doing okay.
*tuckshop – school canteen – and by the way tuckshop ladies are usually volunteers and they are bloody hard workers.
Last change of subject….
Our Prime Minister, Kevin Rudd, is in the US at the moment. Kev’s there to see George. Problem is he is not a kiss arse like our previous PM who agreed with everything George said. It should be interesting. Kev got elected on things like promises to sign the Kyoto Protocol – which he did - and to bring our troops back home from Iraq. Of course George is a bit pissed about this. Now, don’t get me wrong – I totally support all troops and law enforcement people who are away from home on either peace making or peace keeping missions…but frigging hell… enough is enough George.
Vision of Darkness – Judith Rochelle out now through www.thelotuscircle.com. Click and buy, click and buy – you know you want to...
No. I’m tired. That’s all that’s wrong.
Mia Fleming put aside the art book lying open on her desk, closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. She’d just been staring at the photo of the Da Vinci painting too long, that was all. As art historian and assistant curator at the DeWitt Museum, she was immersed in research for the private collection due to arrive at the museum next month. Part of her job was to gather information for the brochures that were printed and the press kits they distributed. And as usual, she’d been overdoing it.
Shoving her long brown hair, the color of rich chocolate, back behind her ears, she pulled the book forward and began to study the page again. And there it was. Just as before. Shimmering in the center of the photo of the Da Vinci painting. An ugly rock that looked like a misshapen lump of clay, bumping along, wobbling back and forth, with a pair of hands reaching for it. Then nothing except the original picture, undisturbed.
God, not again. Please, please, please. Choose someone else, okay?
Why did she have to be the one these things happened to? Why did she have to have what her grandmother called a “special gift”? More like a curse than a blessing, she often said.
But she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the book. The image on the page kept shifting, first the photo of the painting, now that stupid little rock with its jerky movements. Finally, the shadow hands reaching for it. Like a broken record, the vision continued to repeat itself over and over again, taunting her to find its hidden meaning.
Mia slammed the book shut and shoved it away from herself. It was just like always. How on earth was she supposed to figure out what the vision meant? A rock was a rock, right? Still, she’d learned to be extra cautious over the years. The images that came to her without warning and at the strangest times were not always easy to interpret. She’d been wrong more times than she’d been right because she’d misinterpreted what she’d seen. Or because the visions had come to her after the fact. She had no training in deciphering these things and certainly no place to go to find any.
When she was younger there was a desperation in her determination to find answers. Getting people to listen to her was a battle itself. Her parents had always considered her a strange child—aloof, shy but apparently making up weird stories to capture attention. They never believed her stories about “visions”.
“Don’t keep telling people those crazy stories,” her mother said too often to count. “They’ll think you’re crazy. They’ll think we’re all crazy.”
“The neighbors are all talking,” her father admonished her. “I don’t want them pointing fingers at our family.”
They even sent her to a psychiatrist who was supposed to “deprogram” her. What a lot of fun that had been.
But still the visions continued to plague her. Too often the images had been too vague or misleading and now she’d almost become a pariah. When she did get someone to listen and she had success, the media called it a fluke. The frustration of not being able to make people understand the things she saw and the rejection because of her “oddness” had finally caused her to isolate herself from everyone else.
When she finally escaped to the University of Michigan, she convinced her father to pay the extra money for a single dorm room, then she eventually moved into an studio apartment. She chose art history as her major, because she could lose herself in the richness of the creations of the artists and sculptors, the potters and temple rubbers. The orderliness of delineating art history gave her a personal discipline that allowed her to exert some measure of control over her existence.
The visions, for whatever reason, came less frequently while she was at school, all the way through her postgraduate studies. When they came, they were so fractured she made herself ignore them, even if the effort sometimes made her physically ill. 
But finally she was finished with her studies, sporting her brand new PhD, and the visions came roaring back. Not knowing how or when they’d appear, she isolated herself more and more except at work. She lived alone in her house, surrounded by the books and music she loved. It wasn’t that she was antisocial or weak, just self-protective. It took strength to deal with the impact of her visions and the primarily negative responses she’d learned to live with.
Her life, for the most part, focused on her career with the museum. Her job suited her perfectly, since it allowed her to work alone the majority of the time. She was always on edge that a vision would explode from nowhere and being isolated allowed her to deal with them without distraction or embarrassment. During those instances when she had to meet with the museum curator, she found herself praying that she would not be disrupted by one of her visions. They came without warning and she didn’t think Mr. Hunter would be too impressed by them. For someone who appreciated art, he was definitively black and white in his outlook.
Today, thank God, he was away on a trip and unlikely to wander into her office unannounced. Her newest vision had disrupted her work half a dozen times already this week. Just seconds each time. That was all. A brief flash. But it wouldn’t go away and she had no idea what message she was supposed to read into it.
She’d almost begun to believe that whatever was causing this to happen to her had disappeared. She hadn’t had one of what she’d taken to calling her “episodes” in months now and had almost begun to relax, thinking they’d gone away for good. Not so. Her stomach was doing the jitterbug as it always did at the beginning of one of her incidents and an aspirin-proof headache was already beginning to build behind her eyes.
She stacked everything in neat piles on her desk and put away her pen and magnifying glass. Okay, time to go home. She could only hope the vision would go away, or else somehow a sharper image, more defined with a clearer message, would be given to her. One she could interpret.
Anny and Kelly have some interesting stuff on their blogs – go check 'em out and be amused.
www.freewebs.com/amarindajones/
Go ahead: Live with abandon. Be outrageous at any age. What are you saving your best self for?
Thursday, 27 March 2008
Really?
I got an email from a writing acquaintance bemoaning the fact that no one comments on her blog and what could she do about it? These are my thoughts – if people want to comment they will, if they don’t then they won’t. Pretty simple. There is no rule that says that if you read a blog you must comment. Comments are great but I don’t expect people to write a note if they have no thoughts on what I have written. I don’t agonize if I get no responses one day and 12 the next. I tend to think if that’s all you have to worry about you are doing pretty well in life. But that’s just me.
And lets face it sometimes it is damn hard to make a comment on a blog. It quite fascinates me when I read the amount of personal details some people give on their blogs. I am a private person by nature. What I write about on a blog is silly inconsequential stuff that happens but it is only a very small part of my life. I know you lot are smart enough to realize that and I know you would not expect me to tell you personal details. That would be crazy right? But of late the stuff people write about on blogs is alarming to me and in some cases bores me to tears – but again - this is
all subjective. This is Amarinda opinion only. What bores me will fascinate someone else. To me a blog is like an online diary. It’s also a useful tool for a writer as it keeps readers aware of your books and other people’s books I put on the blog. But in saying it’s a diary – I personally don’t want to know everything you ate in a day or how many miles you drove to in order to have the cat/dog/guinea pig vaccinated or what TV shows you watched. That’s just me. I find blogs like that hard to comment on. Also, another Amarinda peeve, if you announce on a blog you’re going to give hard hitting opinion and you don’t, then why bother announcing the ‘opinion’ thing at all? What is the point of that? I love controversial blog sites – but will I always comment on them? No, because some blogs are best not to have your name attached to unless you personally feel strongly about an issue and you know the consequences of putting your two cents forward. Is that cowardly or sheer smarts? I tend to think the latter.
So – feel free to give your opinions on blogs or not…up to you. What topics on blogs drive you to the point of boredom? What interests you? Who would you just like to tell to shut up? Yes, you can tell me to shut up if you want – I have a thick skin.
Dreaming….
I had this dream last night at 2am and I stumbled out of bed and wrote down some notes because at 2am it seemed like a fabulous idea for a book. Here are the main points I jotted down
- auburn haired man
- rowing machine
- Prince Charles
- glass light shade
- flying bat
“I’m not young enough to be your daughter you know. Not unless you’d started awfully early.”
He stared at the painting on the wall opposite the bed for a moment, swirling the wine in his glass before he answered. “Intellectually I’m aware of that. I guess I’ve just spent way too long laughing at middle-aged guys who go out trolling for younger women. And it isn’t just your age, you know. I’m—dealing with that. It’s everything about you, Lydia. You’re so beautiful, so dynamic, so full of life. I’m well aware of the fact that I’m not the most exciting guy in the world. Boring is usually one of the nicer things I get called—my ex-wife could have gone on about that one for hours. There’s a big part of me that still has no idea what someone like you sees in someone like me.”
Lydia laughed. “Galen, I can see a mirror right over there on the dresser. Learn to use it. You’re tall, you’re fit, you have gorgeous hair and the most amazing blue eyes I’ve ever seen. Whereas I’m medium height, thirty pounds overweight and pretty much average by almost any standard. Brown hair. Brown eyes. Medium pale skin. If we’re talking about physical appearance, you’re way out of my league. But when you look at me—then I do feel beautiful. And do I need to point out the absurdity of the words boring and handcuffs coming out of your mouth in the same five minutes? Aside from being almost scarily smart, you’ve got a wicked sense of humor and you’re inventive as hell in bed. What on Earth makes you think you’re boring?”
“Well, not too many people know about the handcuffs,” he admitted with a chuckle. “It doesn’t really go with the scholarly image.”
She shrugged. “The combination works for me. How many guys I’ve dated do you think can put up with me getting lost in a manuscript or history book for hours on end? Or understand that being a bit submissive in the bedroom doesn’t mean I don’t have a mind of my own?”
Go ahead: Live with abandon. Be outrageous at any age. What are you saving your best self for?
Wednesday, 26 March 2008
It’s life Jim but not as we know it…
How do you like this cover for Penned Again? Once again the Cover Gods have smiled on Amarinda. What’s the book about? Well, I am yet to write a blurb but basically it’s about a demon, Penn Ripley, who takes on a bet to win his mortal wife back. Arlo is a little pissed off that Penn did not tell her the truth about who he was. So when he turns up in her life again, Arlo’s not happy and despite the wisdom of a helpful Spellbinder and the threat of demonic attack, she’s not about to forgive without a lot of sucking up from Penn.
So the internet line was stuffed. It was in the lap of the gods or more to the point in the hands of the Keystone Cops called Promptel – code name for crap phone company – as to when it would be fixed. It was most annoying and naturally it’s the sort of thing that always happens at the worst possible time. But then, that’s life isn’t it?
When I rang up my ISP they, as expected, told me it was all my fault. I used to work for this chicken shite outfit and I knew all the moves of denial they would go 
with. So I spruiked (reeled off) all the excuses/reasons for no service as I knew they would use just to get them out of the way. Yes, I have paid my bill. Check your records. Yes, I have unplugged all the other equipment on the line. No, I have no security systems that would interfere with the internet. No, there has been no fire, flood or famine in my area to affect the lines. And no, before you ask, I have not tampered with the line. Nor has a herd of wildebeests gnawed on the line. I have not been worshipping the devil, nor sticking my tongue in the phone sockets and golly gee yes, I do have the power plugged in.
The consultant – let’s call him Wayne – said “well your phone line is clearly disconnected.” Genius – not. “Wayne I’m speaking on the line to you now. This is not a physic connection. This is your network error and you need to fix it asap.” Wayne, foolish mortal that he is, suggested I wait a couple of hours to se if it ‘sorts itself out.’ “Wayne – please run away and find a supervisor.” Betty came on the line. She instantly understood I was not some average dumb customer to be fobbed off with the usual Promptel bullshite. She tested the line. It was ‘bad’ apparently. “It’s somewhere between the exchange and your home. The techie will have to check the entire line from the exchange onwards.” Ooh yes, how difficult that sounds. Of course it was bullshite again. “Betty, let’s cut the crap. I know you know the exact location.” 
Hell, I used to work at Promptel complaints. I know what they can do. She agreed that she did and my complaint would be escalated. Did I want compensation? Damn straight I do Betty. The upshot of all this is that I am not the only customer who service is on the fritz. I am apparently however the only one that is ‘complaining about it’ – so I was told. Well yes, I actually expect service when I pay for it and yes I will complain about it until your ears bleed. That’s what we do in the Jones family.
I rang Ethel, best friend and hater of all things Promptel, and told her the story. As expected she said they were ‘f#@$ing wankers.’ Yes, they are. I asked her to email my editor just to let her know I was not dead, merely floating. I said “Tell H the internet is f#@$ed.” Ethel said she could not say f#@$ed to a complete stranger. I reminded her that most of the email profanity filters around town had her name on red alert for incoming emails due to her ability to make the English language more – well - colourful. I pointed out that she just needed to say it was a message from me. “Okay then, so it’s not really me swearing. You’re making me do it.” Sure, whatever…
So I wandered off to use the computers at the local library. They are pretty feral but they do have an equitable system of usage so no one is disadvantaged. They are not keen on people bringing in their own data discs but when I showed them the covers on this disc they were intrigued and a little worried about the naked people. I was assigned a far away computer due to the kids that use the library. That’s fair enough – though from what I can see most of the kids are watching music down loads with half dresser strippers in them. In comparison my covers are tame-ish.
Am I going to change ISP provider? Oh hell yes. They apparently ‘would hate to see me do that.’ Really? Well provide the service. I have only stayed with them as they seem to think I am still staff and I get staff discount. But they don’t seem to understand that. I had to ring them recently to get a particular certificate of service sent to me so I could claim carry-over of long service in another job. The benefit of this is that although Promptel paid out my long service leave I can pick up extra leave/money if I can prove I once worked at another job for ten years. Yes, it’s a hell of a lurk but I’m happy to cash in on it. Anyway when I rang Promptel for this certificate they said “You’re still employed with us.” No, I replied,"I left giggling hysterically with the payout you gave me to get rid of me in 2005.” This upset them as they had me been listed as employed. I point out that I was getting no pay from them and if they would like to start sending it, I would be happy to take it to fit in with their records – you know – just being helpful. But no, apparently that’s not something they do. Anyway, despite that call, I am still listed as a Promptel employee…whatever.
So the tech came – as we all knew the problem was out in the street. He fixed the internet line – hallelujah and pass the gin. Am I a pushy bitch? Why yes. But I rarely get anything I want in life sitting on my hands and waiting. What about you? Do you expect people to fulfil their obligations of service or are you the patient type that can sit and wait? And if so, how do you do that without stamping your feet?
I have no idea what Anny and Kelly are doing so I reckon you should check them out for yourself on www.annycook.blogspot.com and www.kkirch.blogspot.com
www.freewebs.com/amarindajones/
Go ahead: Live with abandon. Be outrageous at any age. What are you saving your best self for?
Tuesday, 25 March 2008
Not dead....just floating....
On feral library computer...ISP company sucks...still off line but hopefully tomorrow, all things being equal I will be back up...what an embuggerance.
What Defines a Woman?
Author Chris Power swung by to share some thoughts with us today…
What Defines a Woman?
Is it our bodies? Our hormones? What goes on between our ears or between our legs? Or a nicely balanced mix of all of it, plus that little bit of something indefinable?
I ask, because something Kelly Kirch blogged about today reminded me of some thing that happened to me some years ago.
I had to go for a biopsy on my right breast because a mammogram showed an anomaly. My friends and family rallied round the way they do when something that might be dire hovers on the horizon. But after the initial heart-stopping scare, I wasn't bothered. I knew I didn't have cancer. I quite clearly heard this voice in my head telling me so. Not, "I don't have cancer," but, "You don't have cancer."
"Okay," I thought back. "Thanks for letting me know."
"How do you stay so calm," one of my friends said. "I couldn't take it if I were you, the thought of maybe losing a breast is horrifying, I wouldn't feel like a proper woman any more and my hubbie won't find me attractive."
So I smiled sweetly and told her about my voice. Inside I was angry. But I couldn't show it because a while ago my friend had an accident that left a large hollow scar on the outer side of her thigh that she felt was disfiguring. So much so she could no longer be naked in front of her husband with the lights on. I tried to point out as delicately as I could that I was not defined by my boobs, nor was I any less a woman because I'd had a hysterectomy a few years previously [one of the best decisions of my life, but that's another story], but my friend wouldn't listen. She is also dreading the menopause for the same reason, because she believes a useless womb is the same as having one removed--she won't be a proper woman and she will no longer be attractive. It isn't vanity on her part. She is tall, lovely, with long straight naturally blonde hair, she's intelligent, has a high-powered job and her husband adores her. Yet in spite of that--or maybe because of it--she seems massively insecure.
Nor was she the only one of my female friends who said something similar, both then and earlier when I opted for the hysterectomy. Virtually all of them expressed the same opinion, with varying degrees of pity for the situation I might find myself facing. I was very much in the minority.
"I'm Me," I told them over and over, "and I'm a woman." But I couldn't get through to them that 'Me' is defined by what goes on inside my head, regardless of whether I have a functioning womb or not, both breasts or no breasts.
Much as I love and appreciate men, my life does not revolve around their approval or otherwise of the way I look. After all, no woman is put on this earth just to be a decoration on the arm of a man and to bear his children. Having said that, I'm no Helen of Troy. Maybe if I was as lovely as my friend I might think differently. But I very much doubt it.
As an end-note, the anomaly turned out to be tiny grains of calcium in my breast tissue that may or may not have turned malignant over time. As it was, the Doc at the Cancer Clinic took them out with the biopsy probe and I've had no more anomalies since.
One man’s opinion…game soul that he is…
I read somewhere that 95% of women are dissatisfied with their bodies in some way. This would be all well and good if you kept your neurosis to yourself, but unfortunately, it creeps over into our territory with comments like “I can’t stand for you to see me naked” no matter how much we reassure that the sight of you really is enticing and wonderful. Yes we like the female form – that said, one of the most attractive features on a woman is when she is confident with the body she has - with or without a breast or womb. Confidence covers a tremendous amount of blemishes and flaws (which we probably didn’t notice in the first place until you pointed them out).
I applaud Chris’ words. No woman is a pair of breasts or a set of ovaries. What I think defines a woman is the indomitable spirit to nurture, to survive and to endure the crap she is faced with. It’s her hormones, her wit and her words – and the obvious fact she doesn’t have a penis and she can multi-skill. As for Dr Daren’s words, thank you and well said Doc – but I have to disagree on one point- no woman is ever going to be happy with their body and I don’t believe it’s a bad thing to be brave enough to admit your fears. I also think the odd neurosis keeps us human – and hell, why not share them with those that want to love you?
Got an opinion or a story you want to share on this subject? Feel free to comment. Also if you are due to have a mammogram – make sure you bloody have one. Breast cancer caught early is curable.
Want to know more about Chris Power and her great books? Check out http://chrisvpower.spaces.live.com/ and http://www.thepowerfamily.demon.co.uk/chris/index.htm
Want to know more about Dr Daren and what he does? Check out www.DarenMartin.com
Tribute Trail by Terri Beckett and Chris Power - coming 27th March from Cerridwen Press
Trained all his life to serve the will of the Great Goddess, Kherin is her Chosen, her warrior, mage and priest. The prophecy at his birth told of great things. Betrayed by one he trusted, given to be a slave to a barbarian lord, when he learns his goddess’s purpose, he finds it hard to obey.
Rythian, having challenged for the leadership of his tribe and won, is forced to put the future of his people before Syth his beloved wife, and extended family, refuses to let his sacrifice be for nothing. With enemies on the borders of his land threatening invasion and enemies within the tribe working against him, Rythian has no time for the whims of deities. He fights his god’s intent every step of the way.
Two very different men, both warriors, both chosen by the gods and brought together to be forged in the fires of betrayal and conflict.
Aided by family and friends, they must learn trust and friendship so they can combat their enemies and become weapons for their gods to wield.
Dark Waters by Chris Quinton released 28th March from Ellora's Cave
Flein is a wanderer by instinct and need, roaming the known world as the fancy takes him.
In the Highland village of Glenfinnan, women have been raped and brutally murdered. The killer is a waterhorse, a monstrous shapeshifter by all accounts. But when Flein meets Donnchadh, first in its equine form, then its man-shape, he knows the waterhorse is innocent.
As they hunt for the real murderer, Flein reluctantly becomes more and more drawn to the handsome shapeshifter. Donnchadh, though wary, shares the same attraction.
But time is against them. They must find the killer before more women die, but then suspicion is turned on them and the hunters have become the hunted.
I will be back to waffle on about the amazingness of nothingness tomorrow. Until then please refer to www.annycook.blogspot.com and www.kkirch.blogspot.com to see what they are plotting.
www.freewebs.com/amarindajones/
Go ahead: Live with abandon. Be outrageous at any age. What are you saving your best self for?
Sunday, 23 March 2008
Feral Sunday…
…the newspaper did not land on the front lawn as it normally does every Sunday so I had to go round to the shop to get it. Have you ever noticed the minimal amount of effort people put in to their appearance on a Sunday morning? I was very scruffy in my ten year old Hawaiian print Capri pants, black t-shirt and rats nest hair as I hauled my arse around to get the paper and similarly scruffy people were doing the same. Now, I’m not big on worrying about how someone looks at the best of times but I have to wonder why bare feet and what can only be pyjama bottoms and a singlet are so acceptable to some on a Sunday. Or maybe that’s a Brisbane thing…we’re terribly causal. Is it the same where you live?
Tell me…
….what part of ‘please take a ticket’ is not understandable? 
Because I was out and about I decided to go to the deli. When I got there was this woman carrying on like a pork chop (going mad) about having to wait in line. Her basic problem was, amongst many I suspect, was that she had not gotten one of the tickets, like everyone else had, out of the bright red, clearly marked ‘please take a ticket’ dispenser. I think this is a fair system. She was bemoaning the fact that she had not seen this bright red, clearly marked ‘please take a ticket’ dispenser and she felt she should not have to wait. When I rocked up and took a ticket she started to tell me how long she had been waiting. I, not the most patient of people, suggested that to solve what she considered a problem by taking a ticket and stop bitching. Is it just me or does that seem completely logical? Did she take a ticket? Did she get served? Who gives a rat’s arse.
Men are funny…
…I then swung by the flower wholesaler to buy myself some flowers as I deserved them and there was this man with a baby in his arms in the cold room where the flowers are kept. I said hello as I do to complete strangers and he looked at me with gratitude – he then proceeded to tell me, a complete stranger, his problem. It seems the man made a humungous mistake. He invited, in front of his wife, his ex-fiancée out to dinner with them and he wanted to buy flowers to make up for this enormous faux pas (the wife as expected took it badly) and what sort of flowers did I think he should buy? Yes, foolish mortal. As there were no diamond studded flowers there I pointed to this whacking great bunch of blooms and suggested alcohol would also be a very good accompaniment. I also pointed out to him flowers were not going to cut it in the apology stakes. “You reckon?” He responded in all innocence. Poor sod.
Soul mates…
…I got an email from a fellow author. She is writing a book revolving around soul mates and could I read a couple of paragraphs and give my opinion on what she had written so far. Sure. She asked did I think soul mates existed. That’s a tricky question for a romance writer to answer…but no, I don’t believe in the concept of soul mates. I just think some people get on better with other people. How do you explain people that ‘fall in love’ constantly with multiple partners and get married a zillion times with the latest Joe Blow they consider their soul mate? Are they in love with a soul mate or just in love with the concept of being in love? Yes, I think love exists if you want it and need it in your life – but soul mates? I think it’s a term used to sell greeting cards and self help books.
I was interested in…
…the comments on my blog and the private emails I got regarding book reviews. I wasn’t aware how deeply reviews affected people. Is it just the fact that as humans there is a sense of disappointment or failure when you don’t get a high grade? Does it smack at self esteem? Do we equate a high score as success? Can we not just accept things as they are and move on? Don’t get me wrong, I’m not judging anyone but I just wonder why getting a high mark or the lack there of is so important. Yes, sure there is the angle of sales but I have the belief, misguided as it may be, that if someone read your last book and liked it they’re going to take a chance on your next one even if the reviewer said it sucked. People have taken chances on my books even with the less than flattering reviews I have got. I truly believe it all comes down to competition and human feelings of inadequacies when pitted against another in the market place. I’m sure you’ll try to correct me if you think I’m wrong. 
Team playing…
…I’m not good at it. Actually I suck at it. I always feel like I have to drag people along. I am very much an alpha person who does not play well with others. I often wonder why this is considered a bad thing. In the workplace there are all sorts of cutesy posters up about teamwork and all for one for stuff but can’t we be individuals any more? Do you feel pressured to be in a team? Is it because you think you can do better alone than with a cast of thousands? Is that arrogance? I suspect it probably is but then do the arrogant truly care? Yes, how deep and meaningful for a Sunday. But I would like to know – are you a team player? Do you pretend to be a team player to fit in? Or do you make a stand and are forever known as a non team player? And if so what penalties do you get because of it?
My…
…haven’t I asked a lot of questions today? Please feel free to comment on anything – anonymously if you like.
Thanks…
….to everyone who sent me the great emails on Marlow’s Curse. I am gobsmacked you read it so quickly and enjoyed it. It is most humbling…thank you…
Anny and Kelly are no doubt doing something terribly existential on their blogs – check ‘em out on www.annycook.blogspot.com and www.kkirch.blogspot.com
www.freewebs.com/amarindajones/
Go ahead: Live with abandon. Be outrageous at any age. What are you saving your best self for?
Saturday, 22 March 2008
Anonymous asks….
Anonymous asks….
Why do the reviewers feel the need to put a score on a review as if they were judging a contest?
A contest is judged by three or four judges, and the final score is an average of three or four. It's a fair way of doing it, since judging a book is so subjective.
I don't like paranormal and would never judge paranormals for fear of not being fair to the writer.
In my opinion, a reviewer should give an opinion but abstain from giving 4 cups, 3 angels or 5 flowers. A review is not a contest and certainly not an exam.
Signed anonymous author.
No, I’m not the ‘anonymous author’ as I have a genetic inability to do anything anonymously. I’m too mouthy as I am sure you are by now aware. However, I do understand why a comment like this would be sent to me to raise and asking for it to be anonymous. Authors are emotional creatures. Yes, I know who the author is and her name goes into the vault as I respect her right to privacy. However this is an interesting subject so I’m happy to take a tilt at it. I suspect Anonymous is not going to agree with the tack I take though…
About three or so years ago, before I contemplated doing the author gig, I decided to do some book reviewing for a while. The reason behind this was I wanted to see what the market was, who the publishers were and what the popular genres and the styles of writing were out there. I didn’t want to be like every other writer. I wanted to make sure my style was different as let’s face it no one wants to read a cookie cutter book. Anyway, I turned out to be invaluable experience. I found my current publisher through reviewing. I also read some truly amazing books and some really pukeable books – but that’s reviewing for you.
Why do the reviewers feel the need to put a score on a review as if they were judging a contest?
To be honest, as a writer, I don’t have a problem with scores. When it comes to books, like every thing else in life, one person’s opinion is always going to differ to another’s so I don’t stress out if I get a score of 3 when another gives me a score of 5. The first ever review I got the reviewer basically said in fine reviewer speak that the book sucked badly. My thoughts after reading this? Okay then…. she hated it and I moved on in life. The lowest score I ever got was a 2.5 out of 5 for Maid for Death. But it was just one grade – others gave it 5. Yet the most important thing was people bought and still buy the book. So what’s to get upset over? To me scores are just one individual view. I don’t see how you can get upset if you get scored a 3 when you think you should be a 5…no one is always going to get a 5. It’s excellent to have a high opinion of yourself but I believe when it comes to writing you also need to keep reality in check. Not everyone is going to love you and your book. People will go out of their way to tell you it sucked – and, to my mind, that’s not always a bad thing. You need to be aware of where you are going wrong. As for feeling the ‘need to put a score on a review’ – depends on the policy of the review site. Sort of similar to if Ellora’s Cave decides my book is erotic or sensuous. It’s their call. 
Sure getting a low score on anything in life can be upsetting. Marlow’s Curse got released today. I had a quick look at my author copies to make sure my name was listed as Amarinda Jones and not Anuska Juarez and the dedication caught my eye – I forgot I wrote it…
Marlow’s Curse
Dedication
My father was in the Army. Like all army brats I traveled a lot and my schooling was affected. This is dedicated to the school official who told me at age thirteen I would never amount to much in life. Thank you. Its nit-wits like you that make me strive to prove you wrong.
See? People always tell you you suck – whatever…move on…prove ‘em wrong. ‘Got a bad review? So what, the next one will be better.
I don't like paranormal and would never judge paranormals for fear of not being fair to the writer.When you are doing the review gig, you are asked what genres you like to read. When I was reviewing there was no point giving me the adventures of Timmy the wonder cat as he fights Venutians and falls in love with a transvestite elephant as its good bet I’m not going to be interested. There were times when I was reviewing that I got a book and read three chapters and I knew there was no way I could judge it fairly so I sent it back. That’s what 95% of reviewers do. Like any reader that is not interested in a story, reviewers are not going to forge on with it if they hate it.
In my opinion, a reviewer should give an opinion but abstain from giving 4 cups, 3 angels or 5 flowers. A review is not a contest and certainly not an exam.
Yeah but what about when you get the best number of symbols? Doesn’t that make you feel good? And, I don’t view writing as a competition. I’m not out to do better than say author Barbara Huffert or best author Sandra Cox. I’m pleased when they get 4 or 5 whatevers to my 3 thingamajigs. It’s only a contest if you make it one.
Okay – I know what you’re thinking – Amarinda’s sticking up for the reviewers. No, I don’t know them and I have no reason to – nor do I have any feeling one way or the other towards them. They read a book and form an opinion. I just think if the worst thing that happens to me is I get a 2.5 out of 5 on a book then I’m doing pretty good in life.
Contest winner…or should I say winners....
Thanks to all that entered. I did the random throw names into a hat thing and two names came out together. So, that good enough for me – who am I to query fate? The winners are Deborah and Lee – both have been notified by email. Stay tuned though…I’ll have another contest soon. Speaking of contests I was lurking at http://elyssaedwards.blogspot.com/ and I noticed there is an excellent prize on offer there – check it out.
Anny is talking about to blog or not to blog on www.annycook.blogspot.com while I have no idea what Kelly will be talking about on www.kkirch.blogspot.com – so check ‘em out
www.freewebs.com/amarindajones/
Go ahead: Live with abandon. Be outrageous at any age. What are you saving your best self
Posts
