Come as you are…

So, I had lunch with a friend today and we got on to the topic of forming your own religion. Blasphemy? Nah, we were at Subway. Anyway, his basic idea is a religion based on wearing a mask that covers most of your face. It would be a religion for men only and it would be called Orroz. Why Orroz? Well, that’s Zorro backwards. Zorro = mask = Zorro. We did discuss the moral, ethical, philosophical, sexual and dress code of Orroz and you know what? It’s bloody hard starting your own religion. It’s going to be a work in progress. The religion I’d start? Amarindarism and other than wearing black and subtly undermining Orroz because it’s an all-male based religion and it would be fun to infiltrate and toy with men as only women can, we basically would do what we liked…you know, like everyday life.

Religion – do as you believe and come as you are…it’s all up to you…

Dark at Heart - All Romance Ebooks

Dark at Heart - All Romance Ebooks

When all else fail so it yourself...

**warning - Dark at Heart contains, graphic rape and violence

Random thoughts #61297, 61298, 61299….

Who invented fluorescent lights and are they aware of how bloody annoying they are with all that flickering business when you turn them on?

Did the person who invented the vibrator patent it? Was it an enlightened man or a frustrated woman?

And who came up with the saying "opening up a can of worms"? Were they trying to can worms and if so for what reason?

Co-opt me in…

Interesting idea popping up on the author circuit. Co-op publishing. Yes, it’s probably always been out there but of late I’m seeing it more and more and being asked to join in on it. What is it about? Essentially a bunch of writers pool resources – that is talents be they editing, cover art, formatting etc - and publish on an already established site where advertising and audience appeal is a done deal. The beauty of this is the royalties are higher, there are less Diva publishers who think a writer should kiss the hem of their skirt and you have a say in what and how you’re publishing your work. Sure, a lot of authors will still publish with established e-publishers in the traditional way. Some will do both trad and co-op. Some, like me will do trad, co-op and self pubbing. Choice for a writer is important. Control is paramount. Freedom? Priceless.

I left the house open…

I had the TV dude come around today while I was at work to install a TV antenna. I’m in a mountainous area where the reception is limited. I never watch much TV normally but it was more a case of when I want to zone out I require more than just the news channel and an ethnic TV station.

Anyway he came when I was out and I left the house open for him. House. Open. Unlocked. I left the house open so he could get in and do TV stuff. I left the house open so a complete stranger could come into my home. I. Left. The. House. Open. Me. The woman who has limited trust did that. That’s frigging huge. I still can’t believe I did it. Am I worried about someone taking my stuff? No. As my father pointed out they’d probably break in and want to leave money on the table as I like old, 1930’s furniture and they'd probably would feel sorry for me. It’s more that up until a year or so ago I trusted absolutely no one but myself. But then, something world shaking happened that made me place a huge volume of trust in another and the trust thing seemed doable.

So, I left the house open…amazing, Grace. Whatever next?

I don't think so, Tim....

So, I’m going to make sure I ask the general manager at work today why he wasn’t in Friday and of course I would never believe the incredibly true and verified rumour he was hung over from getting truly Brahms and Liszt (pissed) at a buck’s party on a work night.

Now hey – I’m not big on rules at all but I’m very much into equality and the fact that you can call yourself by any title you like but it doesn’t mean you are better than anyone else. I know for a fact if one of us at work had pulled the same stunt we’d be in trouble. The thing is we’re not stupid enough to get pissed on a work night and not be able to drag our arses in the next day. It’s to do with a little thing called responsibility and while general managers are apparently human they forget others are and I’ll make sure today to remind him when he sends another one of my colleagues into tears. Me? I don’t allow others to make me cry. Him? Oh, I’ll have some fun today….

Sunday morning…

…and the rooster is crowing. Yes, this is my rooster, Neil. I like obscure things like this where people have gone - “I’m gonna make me a rooster out of that bit of iron.” It’s supposed to be a weathervane – the base extends. Mum bought it thirty years ago and I inherited it. Correct, there was no fight over it. I reckon, by the look of it, it's from the 1930’s when people made things with their hands and made do with what they had. Society doesn’t do that much any more. We want sparkly and new and stuff with history gets pitched. Shame. We lose out on a lot of quirkiness. Want obscure? Come to XH. It’s a time warp….

Stop stuffing around...

...and write woman!!! Back tomorrow...think evil, delicious thoughts while I'm gone...

An unsuckable moment....

http://yougottareadreviews.blogspot.com/2011/06/review-not-so-secret-baby-by-amarinda.html

Random thought #76987

So, after a recent plane trip, I've been wondering about flight attendants. They're immaculately groomed to the point of plastic and all that smiling? It’s scary. I'm wondering if they were less Barbie-fied – and I include the blokes in this as well - and more ratty like the rest of us would there be a different credibility level? To be honest if the plane is going down I want someone kick arse and Gerald Butler like to save me and not some well-groomed and prissy looking person who can point to exits but can they use them? We need more Geralds on planes. Just a random thought...

I remember you...

So, I stumbled across an old school friend. We both attended Centenary Heights High School in the 80’s – stop counting on your fingers – I’m 47. I saw something about this high school on facebook which connected to another page and a bunch of people I remembered but only a couple I would want to see again. High school was never important to me and I’ve always said I could have gotten along just as well without it. The only thing I learnt at high school was how to ditch Wednesday arvo sport without anyone realizing it for the two years I didn’t bother to show up to it. I worked at McDonalds on those afternoons and that money got me overseas when I was 19 which was a way better education.

Anyway I came across a name of someone who wasn’t at the school long and left before I did and I thought I’d like to see what she’s up to. So I sent a note of ‘do you remember me?’ She did and we chatted on email and will catch up via phone and when I’m back down south. So what this tells me about high school – nothing other than if you’re lucky you’ll be simpatico with one person at school and the best way to bunk off sport on a Wednesday arvo is do it out in the open because that’s when people least expect it.

Things to do...

I must learn how to juggle. It annoys me I still can’t do it…

On a Sunday arvo stroll...

I went for a walk along Freshwater Creek. It’s five minutes from home but sometimes I forget to do the obvious things, like this, when I need to think. And think I did. I worked out where I was going wrong on a story and million other things in my life. The thing about these pictures are they go from the sublime to the ridiculous – beautiful fresh running water hidden away in rainforest and then to 100 year old trees cut down for no reason and signs that state the obvious in a place where only nature should be obvious…life huh?

Le Chat...

So, I went to the RSPCA (Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to animals) and took a squiz at the pets on offer. I saw Princess – no, I didn’t name her – and we clicked. I spent a long time chatting to her and she spent a great deal of the time looking confused. When I went to adopt Princess they were thrilled...okay, yeah, I know you start thinking wait a second is this a psycho cat from hell that everyone wants to see the back end of? But no. Apparently Princess has had somewhat of a checkered, unhappy past and the staff were hoping someone would take her. She’s hung around a while as she not cute. Well, I’m not cute and I understand checkered pasts so we hit the road to XH. At the moment Princess is wandering around the house but coming back every so often to lie over my feet.

Pet Me...

So, I’m off to the RSPCA – Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals – it’s a shelter – to look for a pet. Yes, I have been going to get one…not going to get one…getting…not getting…now I’m back to getting. Why so indecisive? I am totally aware a pet is a huge responsibility so I had to get in the mindset of looking after another soul apart from my own. I’m in the headspace now. So I’m going to look and see what appeals to me. I could just come back with anything…

Adoration...

You may not be aware of this but I simply adore Fridays...

Random thought # 9127…

Is it easier to write sex when you’re having sex or is it like being an athlete where you perform better without sex before the big game?

Just pondering slotting A into B and the perils of doing so either knowing with cold blooded intention you do so to write a story or whimsically because you’re buzzed from sex - and then which one makes a better read? And then there’s the thought that too much thinking gives you a leg cramp as does sex…it's all too hard or maybe too soft...

Hmmm…

Tacky, tacky, tacky...

So, I was talking to a woman at work and she was saying that she wasn’t going to allow her husband to do something he really wanted to do. I asked why? Apparently she just didn’t want him to do this thing because it didn’t suit her and he would do as he was told. Now, it was a pissy, harmless little thing he wanted to do that apparently he enjoyed doing and the last time I checked slavery had been outlawed. One of our few male employees came in during this discussion and I said what do you think about that? He said to keep life easy he does what his wife tells him. Now, I’m all for empowerment of women, for females to be in charge, break through glass ceilings and have an equal say and pay but allowing or not allowing someone you’re supposed to love something that’s important to them? What’s that about? I respect equality. That's not it. I respect strong women. There is no strength in degrading another. As for emotional blackmail and powerplay? It’s tacky treating someone in such a shabby way. Is that love? Apparently only if she says so...

No place like home...

Skidded in after 12:30am...comatose by 1pm...walking dead 4 hours later. Travel does broaden the mind and arse but there's no place like home...good one Dorothy.

Queen Elsie...

Monday is a public holiday in most parts of Oz due to it being the Queen’s birthday weekend. Now, the old duck’s actual birthday is in April but we have so many public holidays in April that we shoved it forward to fit in with the Aussie lifestyle.

As my Grandma Elsie would say ‘We’re more royal than they are.’

I’m not sure how...but exactly.

Random thought #13678...

When I was a kid and someone first explained sex to me I said ‘No way! That so does not happen.” I thought it was the most ridiculous thing I had ever heard. I just could not believe any girl would allow any boy to do that.

Now as I sit and write the sequel to The Not So Secret Baby, I think to myself how much girls really want boys to do that and other things to them and how, unfortunately a lot of women have to find sex in erotic romances rather than with one of those boys….maybe they just never grew up and our imaginations outstripped theirs…just another random thought…

Arse freezing...

I will be here this weekend - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Toowoomba. It's way down south from the tropical Cairns and hang a left at Brisbane. Toowoomba is in the mountains and c-c-c-cold. I will be freezing my arse off...if only that was possible...

Billy Joel - Pressure

I'm sure you'll have some cosmic rationale
But here you are with your faith
And your Peter Pan advice
You have no scars on your face...

The dickless rating...

So, as I was driving home from work I was listening to the radio and they were talking about how men rate women – you know, that old dumb scale from one to ten and 99.5% of the time it’s based on the outward appearance – the dick jerking effect – of the woman on a man. It’s a load of bollocks – literally. Anyway the female announcer was saying how one woman was rated an 8 out of 10 and she was pissed and she couldn’t work out how she lost out on those 2 points. Then they had people ring in and talk about ratings and how that rated themselves and others.

So it got me thinking, as I then went on to buy groceries, how do I rate myself? I came to this conclusion in the fruit and veg aisle as I bought celery – I’m a 7 out of ten. How did I come to that? Well, I didn’t use the dick jerking formula as I’m sans dick but I based it three things - looks - 3, brains – 10 and personality – 8 = 21– divide that by 3 and the average is 7. I’m happy with that. How do you rate yourself? Do you need to be a 10?

Beware of publishers bearing gifts….

As a lot of people know the vast influx of new publishers opening up and self publishing becoming easy and more lucrative to do, older e-book publishers have been losing authors. The obvious question arises from this – if you were a good, honest publisher paying a healthy royalty percentage and treating your authors like people and not with contempt, then in theory you shouldn’t lose writers because they would be loyal to you. That’s the theory. As we know theory doesn’t always work. The reality is a lot of e-pubs set themselves up as demi-goddesses when they were at the height of their popularity when it never occurred to them that they could fail or that publishing would change. Hindsight - 20-20 or what?

So I’ve been hearing from various sources that some of these supposed demi-goddessses are now trying to be ‘nice’ to writers and they’re giving niceness lessons to their staff in order to stop the exodus. Uh-huh. Two thoughts on that – it’s a bit bloody late and people – writers – for the most part – are not that bloody stupid to believe in someone who has treated them like crap suddenly wanting to be their best friend. And secondly, beware of publishers bearing gifts.

School of life…

I was flicking over someone’s facebook page and they had a reunion type page and for some reason I decided to type in the name of the last high school I attended – I went to a few schools – and up popped all these names I had not heard of in years…and pictures of the pukeable school uniforms we had to wear. What memories. Some were bloody ghastly ones and others were okay. Looking back over those names and those awful uniforms I realized how far I had come and once more how I never saw the point of high school. I never learned anything of any value. I have always believed the best lessons came from real life and not the rarefied atmosphere of socialized institutions designed to repress spirit and free will. But yes, memories have their place. In this case? The girl I was in high school is the woman I am now. They just didn’t get that then.

"I don’t give a shit about author branding..."

"...I’m as sick as I can be of hearing about building ‘platforms’ and ‘social networking’. If I spent as much time building a platform and networking as I’m supposed to, I’d never write another word. I do as much as I can reasonably do, and that requires 2-4 hours per day, time that could be spent writing. Don’t believe anyone who says you can build a ‘platform‘ in fifteen minutes a day. That’s a load of crap. I’ve been in the platform construction business for four years now. However, I’m not going to kill myself networking. In a perfect world, my work would speak for itself. The world is far from perfect, but to some extent, my work is going to have to speak for itself."

Exactly. Thank you Julia.

Look for Julia here - http://www.juliarachelbarrett.net/

Thar be rocks...

…a very good friend came round and helped me barrow load rocks from the front of the house to the back of the house. That’s true friendship when a friend sweats for you. I’m not allowed to say thank you so I’ll say ‘merci beaucoup, je suis un rockstar' to my muscle-bound friend instead.

So, I have rocks and tomorrow I shift them around in between setting pavers in place. I was going to do it today but I got side-tracked with hibiscus plants…as you do…never a dull moment at my house, XH.

Watch out for Ralph...

Constance knew she had to leave the house. There was no other option. She hitched up her ankle length nightdress and pulled on her running shoes. It wouldn’t be long before he found her. And when he did?
“I will not think about it.” Constance yanked the shoelace tight and it snapped. She told herself to be calm. She had time. All she had to do was get out of the house and run towards the sugar cane fields. She shivered as she thought of the evil lurking in the cane field at night. “From the frying pan into the fire.”
She had no idea how he got in the house. Ralph swore the house was secure. He insisted on checking each door and window himself. At the time, Constance thought it was sweet. But now? There was something not right about the whole situation. And where was Ralph? He said he would stay the night. Surely, he heard the windows smash and the creak of floorboards. Constance shook her head. Now was not the time to sit and think. “I have to move.” She grabbed the flashlight she kept beside her bed and moved to the bedroom door. To her horror, it started to open. Constance swallowed the scream that came to her lips. With nothing but a flashlight to defend herself, she knew she was doomed.
“Constance…where are you Constance?” That was Ralph calling. It sounded like he was calling from downstairs. Her bedroom was upstairs. So who is at my door? How had they gotten past Ralph? As the door swung open wider, Constance readied herself for a fight. She rushed forward and slammed the flashlight into the arm that appeared. She heard a man swear as the door swung wider, crashing into the wall behind. Constance screamed. Her intruder was tall, dark, and muscular, as well as covered in blood.
“You have to come with me.”
Constance backed away from him. “My boyfriend is in the house.” Ralph wasn’t her lover but it made it sound more solid and threatening.
“Yeah, I know, he’s the one who slashed my shoulder.”
“Ralph?” He declared he was against forms of violence.
The man winced as he slammed the door behind him. “If that’s the name of the deranged lunatic downstairs, then yeah.” He ignored her and went to a nearby dressing table. “You’re going to have to help me. My arm is useless at the moment.”
“I didn’t it hit that hard.” The sudden look of bemusement in his eyes surprised her. “Oh, you mean the knife wound.” It looked ugly, raw, and deep.
“Yeah, from your boyfriend, Ralph.”
“Well, he’s not actually my boyfriend.”
He pushed at the dressing table. “Glad to hear it. I expect presenting a homicidal lunatic to your parents would not be the thing to do. Now help me out here.”
“You may be a homicidal lunatic.”
“Honey, I’m the only one who can save your ass right now, so arguing just wastes time.”
“But—”
“Constance, Constance, where are you Constance?” Ralph called out in a sing-song tone, interrupting her. “I have a big surprise for you.”
“I don’t think you’ll like whatever he’s offering.”
It was then that all the pieces fell into place. The terrifying words in the notes sent by ‘anonymous,’ the garroted cat on her doorstep, and the slashed tires. “It was Ralph.” He was supposed to be her friend. He acted so concerned when terrible things happened to her. “But why?” Constance raced over and helped the man drag the dressing table against the door.
“Let’s just work on getting out alive.”
Suddenly, there was thumping against the door. “Let me in, Constance. I’m here to make everything better.” Thump, thump, thump. “I have a present for you.”
The man grabbed her hand and dragged her towards the window. “How do you feel about jumping out windows?”
And then the lights went out...

http://secretcravingspublishing.mybigcommerce.com/products/Cherry-Ripe-%28Dirty%2C-Sexy%2C-Yours%29.html

Just say it...

I’m older in age than most of the workers in my office. That’s ok. I like being my age and there is no way in hell I would want to go back to my twenties or thirties. I knew stuff all back then. The thing that amuses me in the office is they’re all so terribly conservative. No one speaks their mind and everyone is real careful when they say anything. Not me. I say what I think and get what I want and need but then I’ve always been like that. It frightens them that I am very direct and to the point. It worries me that people 10 or 15 years younger are so scared of life and consequences. Old age? It’s a mental thing – not a physical thing. These people are crotchety at 30. Think old? Be old.

Be yourself and age not.

Couplets…

So I was talking to a friend and the idea of individual identity within a couple came up and for the life of me I think that would be bloody hard to have. Why? Because you’re always teamed up with another person – Ken and Barbie, Wilma and Fred, Prince Charming and Cinderella. How hard is it to be just Ken? Do people ask where Barbie is? I absolutely believe that couples are the norm in the world and if you’re not a part of one you’re odd. That’s ok – I like being odd. But what if you uncouple? What happens to years of your identity being tied up with the other half? How would people deal with Wilma ditching Fred? They’re so much a part of each other questions would naturally be asked. Can Wilma be allowed to be a single woman again? What if she picks up with a non-Fred? How do married couples avoid the tag team tag? Yes, yes, it’s all about love but people are single before they become a couple and how hard is it to merge lives without losing identities? Look at romance books. If the heroine walks away from the hero at the end to live her own life readers wonder what her problem is.

Just one of my many ponderances for the day….