Get back Loretta....

I swear all the men in the office were in stupidity, can’t-tell-my-elbow-from-my-arse mode. Among the mannnnnnny stupid things they said and done today – they being ‘men’ - one told me another man could do something so much faster than me to get it done and what was my problem? After my best death stare which made him wince because his balls were shrinking by the second under that stare, I pointed out that women like to do things properly and maybe slower but they get more satisfaction out of skill and technique than rapidly throwing something together and then asking ‘was that good for you?’ He shut up after that. Then another one who had clearly lost his mind used the ladies loos. Oh no fucking way. Not on my watch. So he had to be told in no uncertain terms that men stink and mess things up and that women, delicate, freaking creatures like myself, cannot ever allow them to use our loos. I swear, we woman are bloody Trojans to put up with them sometimes. I had to stop and buy ‘The Killer’ wine on the way home to chill out. Men. Lovely, tasty but sometimes….I swear...

I blame the orange highlighter….

So, in my office manager gig, I wear a white work shirt and black pants. I look like a weird arsed penguin. Only inappropriate office jewellery and Doc Martens make it better. On the whole, I don’t like wearing white. Why? I’m a messy bugger and today was no different. It all started with an orange highlighter. As a rule I don’t use orange highlighters. I like pink highlighters and if pink is not available I will go yellow or if extremely pushed blue. I never use orange and I make no apologies for it. Anyway, I had to use orange today as my other highlighter pens had gone walkabout...but that’s another story.

So, armed with an unfamiliar orange highlighter I began working, and I dropped it, on my white shirt leaving a lovely trail of fluorescent orange down the front and from then on that white shirt took hit after hit – coffee, tomato, peppermint tea, lipstick on the collar – damned if I know how I managed that - soap from when the soap dispenser broke as I tried to fix it and then a large water stain as I tried to get rid of the soap and then dirt from the box of freight that arrived and rubbed against my damp shirt. As I signed for the freight the delivery guy looked at my shirt and said to me ‘Hard day, love?’ My response. ‘It’d make you cry if I told you.’

Gentlemen...

So, I walked in on a bloke at work taking his shirt off. He was embarrassed. Me? It’s just a chest. Last time I checked most men had them. He apologised. I said ‘what for?’ Later I realized that was probably the wrong thing to say as it may have indicated I found him less than impressive. The thing is I like naked men at the right time and place and to be awe inspired and turned on? Well, only a few truly do that to me. But I did find it interesting that he was embarrassed. Why? Well, you would have thought in this day and age where people have seen, done and eaten it all, naked flesh is nothing special. But, it did indicate to me that a lot of men have manners and do and say the right thing and that’s nice to be reassured that not all men are yobbos. To the gentlemen out there – I still like doors held open and manners displayed – thank you.

Got a hat?

So I went back to see the crazy lady Doc from the US. I know she’s from the US because she starts every second sentence with “In the US…” Anyway, today, I trusted her with a scalpel on my head to cut away what looks like a skin cancer. Living in Oz, skin cancer is not unusual and the sooner you deal with it the better. So I dealt with it. I have to say it was one of the more memorable ops I’ve had done on me. It started with us all trying to find her glasses that she swore were in the operating room but were in her handbag in her office. Then I lay down and she shoved a needle into my scalp and got ready to operate to remove said lump. Problem.
“You’ve got a hard head woman,” she said.
My response, “Are heads as hard as this in the US?”
“What are you doing for birth control?” She parried, as she cut into my scalp.
Me – “Am I at risk of getting pregnant right at this minute?”
“No, geez look at the blood – you should have told me you bleed a lot – and just because you’re 47 doesn’t mean you can’t get pregnant. Did you bring a hat?”
“What?”
“You gonna have a lot of blood in your hair. Got any metal on you?”
Me, the queen of wearing too much jewellery? “Why?”
“You’ll find out. Let’s cauterize nurse.”
At this stage I’m ripping my rings and earrings off and contemplating taking out my navel ring when I smell hair burning. “Am I on fire?”
“We’ll have to put stitches in and maybe we’ll make a hat for you from gauze and tie it under your chin.”
“Ah, that would be a no.”
“Allergic to iodine? Never mind, it’ll cover the grey hairs.”
“There’s always a bright side…”
“That and the blood will do it,” says the nurse who has been quietly standing by.
“Ooh, I know what we’ll do.” The Doc says. She grabs a can of liquid skin and sprays over the seeping blood and bloody stitches. “Are you sure you don’t want me to make a hat?”
At this stage I turn and see myself in the mirror and laugh my arse off. My hair is bloody and lacquered down with liquid skin and I couldn’t look worst but at least it was a moment to remember.
“’Gonna faint on me?” She barked out.
“This is Australia. We don't faint, we just swear a lot.”
“I need to see you in two days time.”
“I can hardly wait.”

Thought #5612

When I was doing my tax last week, and sorting out the profits and receipts from book sales, it occurred to me that I have been at this writing lark for a bloody long time and interestingly enough, after the first what-the-hell-am-I-doing-year, sales have remained strong and consistently the same for the last 7 years despite dealing with some appalling, Nazi-like publishers. Nope, I never expected to be a JK Rowling. I’m too realistic for that. I expected writing to be a part time job with a comparable income. I got what I expected. Yep, by all means dream big but a healthy dose of reality keeps you grounded.

Why I bring this up is I’m tired of writers who whine about their sales and how they’ve not sold the five thousand they expected to sell because their family and friends all like that book so ‘why aren’t I on the bestseller list?’ It could be that you suck. It could be that it takes a while for readers to find you. It could be that you're family is doing what families do. Then there are those people who do disgustingly well on their first books. Some of those people are flash in the pans while others just go on to write the same book over and over again because the first did so well so why change the story – just change the names. Good luck to them I say. Then there are others, one in particular springs to mind, like Rita. I really liked her as a person and a writer. There are those of you who would remember Rita fondly. She wrote one book then walked away from the writing business. Why? She had more important and interesting things to do in life. I’ve always admired her stance. Writing is not life. Go Rita.

So what am I crapping on about? Writing – it’s a tough, uncaring, manipulative, shithouse business. The strong survive and evolve into indie writers and publishers, with a steady income, because they’ve worked out what’s going on and they can do better with more honesty and less drama. The average continue to plod along scared to upset diva publishers because apparently they think they’re God. They ain't. And the truly awful writers? Sometimes no taste or sense is a good thing.

Kissing dummies…

So I did my first aid certificate today. Work paid so I turned up – but, in saying that, knowing first aid and how to respond in an emergency is vital. Do you know how many people don’t want to help anyone in a medical emergency? A lot apparently. They don’t want to administer aid due to germs or they ‘don’t want to get involved.’ My view on that? Those people suck. Yep, opinions are free on this blog.

What intrigues me when you attend these courses is there is always an ‘expert’ there - and it’s not the trainer – who wants to tell every story about every first aid experience they supposedly ever had or dreamt of and basically bore the socks of people. Why? Where do these people come from and when are they going back? No one gives a toss you once bandaged your cat’s big toe in the middle of a blackout while trying not to knock over a cup of tea and a plate of jam drops. Shut up and sit down I say.

First aid. Need it. Administer it. Learn it. Your life may depend on it.

Of castles and bandicoots…

I quite enjoyed Paronella Park – see yesterday’s blog if you wonder what it is. It’s quite inspiring to think that one man hand made – literally – piece by piece - the castle of his dreams in the middle of the rainforest.

I learned some stuff from this outing. First up, it consolidated my belief that you should never ever allow anyone to stomp on your dreams, that walking through a caravan park at night, torch in hand, to get to the loo is waaaay too outdoorsy for me and bandicoots and bush turkeys enjoy surprising people like me carrying said torch too much. But seriously, Paronella Park is an excellent life lesson. Dream big and to hell with what anyone else says.

One man’s dream…

I’m heading down to Paronella Park. It’s about an hour or so – depending how many times I stop to look at stuff - from Cairns. What is Paronella Park? Well, in 1930 Jose Paronella decided to build a Spanish-type castle out in the rainforest of Far North Queensland. Like all rainforests it’s thick, impenetrable and people thought he was nuts to do it. But he had a dream. He succeeded in that dream.

The dream castle, like all dreams, is now just a beautiful ruin in the rainforest. I was there in February this year, with some friends, cleaning up after Cyclone Yasi. After the clean up, due to my state of knackerdom, I only had a brief look around but I made a vow to go back. So, I’m spending the day there, doing the night tour and staying overnight in a cabin in the rainforest. I’m looking forward to it. I love people who dream big and refuse to be dissuaded from those dreams.

http://www.paronellapark.com.au/whatisparonella.html

Got pierced…

So, I got the navel piercing today during my lunch hour. I like it. I like it a lot. It’s almost exactly like the pic but for the fact I have two fake diamonds - I went the extra $6...hey big spender... and the dangly bits. The lady who did it said ‘wait a while before your do the dangly bits.’ Noted. Actually she was really good and we chatted a lot. I think she was relieved I wasn’t like the guy who was in there before me, also in his lunch hour, getting his tongue pierced. He had been a tad pale and woozy – but he went back to work. Anyway, I covered all the important topics with her like just how bloody painful – no I’m not, never, no way, nuh-uh – is nipple piercing? She said not painful for a woman due to the stretchiness factor but very painful for a man as there’s no give in their nipple. Piercing your tongue? Heals fast. It would want to. Piercing ear cartilage is a bitch of a pain. Yep. The 3rd holes in my ears hurt like hell and other more intimate areas? Well, you can’t have sex for quite a while after having them done. Hmmm…jewellery verses orgasm?

This too shall pass...

"I’ve come to the reluctant conclusion that unless I’m willing to write extremely graphic erotica, i.e., m/m/m/f/f/m/m/m/f/BDSM/fem/dom/vampire/shifter/multi-hued aliens with pokey penile appendages/dripping females/menage/multiple/dog sex/butt plugs (not yours, Larry/Jill) – I’m doomed to forever languish in Romancelandia..." ~ Julia Barrett

Exactly...though Julia forgot to mention the heroes need to be deep, soulful thinkers who have learnt from the pain of their twisted, convoluted past and the heroine needs to have a 'daddy' fetish and the stamina of a warthog...

Stuck up...

I had to deal with a stuck up, snotty personal assistant this arvo. PA’s – they’re from a planet where no one is happy, they speak very suc-cint-ly and they suffer from tight knicker elastic. This one, let’s call her Phoebe, was pissed because she got something wrong and then tried to turn it back on me, a lowly office manager. Actually, my theory on PA’s is they are PA’s because they cannot manage their own lives so they attach themselves to another and then look desperately efficient to make themselves look less of a slack arse. I could be wrong of course… but I’m not.

Anyway, Phoebe used words at me like ‘presume’ and ‘ascertain’ and 'incompetence.’ I said, "Oh don’t take it too hard. Everyone makes mistakes. I’m sure you’ll get it right next time.” Toy with me snotty nose? I think not…

Riiiight….

So I went to the doctor today. I’ve been trying to find one who suits me. I went to this one nearby where I work. I knew she was going to be different when she announced to the waiting room very loudly, in a very Yankee voice, “Amarinda Zelda Jones” and then just stared at me because – I was, after all – the only one in the waiting room which made the name calling out thing kind of moot. Anyway, I sat down and started telling her what I wanted done etc. She kept saying “In the US we do this and that and the other thing.” Uh huh. I only just managed to refrain from pointing out she was in the very laid back, to the point of comatose tropics of Cairns and she needed to dial it down a notch. She continued on with the US stuff and kept telling me my prescriptions were wrong, I looked good for 47 and did I know most people at 47 are half dead in the US? Well no, I didn’t. Then she eyeballed me and said “Did you know there’s a lot of sexually transmitted disease in the tropics? What are you doing about it?” My response, “after this, I’ll probably never have sex again.” She said that ‘is the best contraception.” Riiight….

So, at this point I am thinking ‘you are a fucking space cadet lady and I need to get out of here.’ Then all of a sudden she changed tack and became quite funny, amusing, caring and knowledgeable. It was weird. Bizarre. It occurred to me she’s exactly the doctor I want. I want someone off the wall, mouthy and straight to the point. I’m going back next week to get a procedure done. At least she’ll be entertaining.

Why not I say!

So, I’ve decided in a mad moment to get my navel pierced this week. Why? I just wanted a little madness in my life. It needs a shake up. I’m perilously coming close to being sedate. Eee gad! That must stop. So. Done deal. Doing crazy things make me happy…hmmm…what to do after that?

Restless...

You know those days when it’s not about hormones, it’s just you can’t do enough, you couldn’t possibly do less, you’re too fat or thin or ugly or beautiful, you want to get another tattoo and then you think what-the-hell-do-I-want-with-another-tatt-I-should-get-my-belly-button-pierced, you want to go for a walk, you also want to hunker down and watch TV, you want your cake and to eat it too even though it’s so bad for you yet sometimes bad is so damn good that you’re tempted to do something so crazy that you know you’ll regret because you always do, so you think I’ll write or not, clean or not, so you settle for a hair treatment that makes you hair feel good even though it cost a bomb so it would want to feel good but you’re so bloody restless and no one but you and I understand what that’s like because we’re unique and above explaining ourselves because you’re not really sure where to start anyway and then you realize a huge lack of sleep has made you this way and tomorrow if you can just get eight, solid hours of sleep you’ll be just fine dammit…sigh…

Taxing...

Tonight I’m in for some real excitement. Hot date? Sexy man? The world’s supply of chocolate? Dancing until dawn? Nope. I’m sorting out my tax. It’s in a big pile of receipts on the lounge room floor awaiting me to sort it out. A smart person would have filed the receipts alphabetically and in order of tax thing-a-bility but there we are. I didn’t. I ain’t.

Why the picture of the knife throwing act? No, I won’t be wearing that outfit – though if I was going to have knives thrown at me I would probably wear it as it would distract the knife throwers aim or make him laugh so much he’d want to pee and I could then wander off and find a shirt. Life…it’s all about watching out for knives and doing taxes.

Friday thoughts...

- I only know one man who can multitask
- It takes forever to get to 5pm
- I always buy the size too big and then have to return it for 2 sizes smaller
- Radishes give my the itches
- Wayne & Cheryl, my budgies have a new plastic toy to beat up instead of a mirror.
- Did I mention the multi-task thing?
- Two glasses of wine after 4 weeks of not drinking wine is beaut
- Don’t sleep in a subway…unless it’s a Subway restaurant then you can have breakfast there the next morning
- There is no such thing as luck
- People – except you and I - are strange
- I need to cut my toenails.
- Possibly I could be a better person…oh, fuck that. I like me a lot.
- I’m addicted to the rowing machine at the gym…and it’s not even fattening. Go figure
- I must buy a turtle as a pet
- And, above all, to thine own self be fair dinkum (true)

Exactly....

It's been a what the hell and I dunno kinda day where nongheads have been in abundance...bloody hell Nora....

Why so expensive?

I don’t understand why e-book publishers are charging the public so damn much for an e-book. Since working on Scarlet Harlot Publishing I’ve noticed this –

- Covers… yep, there are some mighty fancy ones around but look at the actual image. It probably cost no more then $2…more likely 75 cents.
- Editors…can be very competitive on rates if they know they’re going to get steady work.
- Formatting – yes, it’s a complete embuggerance at times but you do it once, in many versions, for each book and then you sell that version. There’s no paper or transport costs. There’s no need to pay to get the book on a prominent shelf. One pdf can be sent out infinitesimal times.

If you split those costs over hundreds of sales for one book, they’re nothing. So why are e-books so expensive? Greed…and it’s not always good. Look at the word length before you buy and judge if it's worth it and use your power to exercise your consumer rights before you buy. I tend to believe people buy at a higher point out of no choice. Demand choice and competition. It’s your hard earned dollars after all. E-book publishers need you to buy from them. You have the power.

Love...

On viewing this cover I posted, a facebook friend asked me, ‘why are they so young?’ You know, it never occurred to me to look at their faces. I was looking at his arse. Does that make me a bad person? But seriously, does love have an age? Everyone has an arse so I view love in the same way. Love is as universal as bums. I bet you'll never see that on a Valentine’s Day card…now go off and ponder bottoms and love and see what you come up with...

Bollocks...

I have been seeing an influx of virgin stories in romance writing land. No, these are not the young woman finds her true love and ‘does the deed’. These stories are about women – sometimes girls – but always virgins - who are captured or kidnapped and made to submit to their captives. These stories are written under the guise of romance. You know, she is forced to submit to some almighty conquer who doesn’t give a crap she’s a virgin because he is almighty. So she is forced into sex with him – and sometimes others – and at the end of the books she loves the almighty conquer-aka- rapist.

I don’t see this as romantic. Rape never is. It also makes me wonder what the hell is wrong with women if they see this as acceptable. When did rape of an innocent become okay and something to read? When did we revert back to the dark ages when women were still treated as chattels to be used and abused by men?

Nah, you don’t have to agree with me. And yeah, read and write what the hell you like. But call it romance and slap a woman enfolded in a man’s arms cover on it and sell it as true love? Bollocks.

Words to live by....

Back from the hairdresser. I had a long discussion with a tattooed guy about how he has large discs in his earlobes and how they do it and the best way to do it. His advice to me - "Don't use a hole punch on your earlobe" - words to live by really...

Just do it...

One finds limits by pushing them.” ~ Herbert Simon

Exactly…go out there and kick some arse.

Lipstickery...

So, I was having lunch with a good, male friend. I mentioned something to him about the pink lid on the water bottle I was drinking from and he said it looked like a nipple. It didn’t. But he’s a man. It’s all about sex - or maybe nipples - with them. Anyway, I said it could only be a nipple if someone had covered it in lipstick…people used to do that to make them redder…why? I dunno. Anyway we then got on to the taste of lipstick. I don’t think there is a taste. Men do it seems. They can kiss lips covered in lipstick and dislike the taste. Now, riddle me this…why do they keep kissing those same lips if the taste turns them off? Could it be that they’re just stoic souls who will forge on kissing a woman no matter the cost to their senses? Does lipstick have a taste? Will nipple rouging ever come back into fashion? Hmmmm…

Fat-suck-er-upper-ers….

So, I went in the pursuit of form fitting lycra fat-suck-er-upper-ers for a particular outfit I am going to wear. I’m not blind. I have faults. If my mother was alive she’d tell you ‘none of her children have faults.’ So let’s change ‘faults’ to ‘things to deal with in a constructive fashion.’ Curves. They can get out of control. Anyone who has battled their weight knows what I’m talking about. Its human nature to want to look as good as you can. However, now at 47 and been-there-and-done-that, I have come to the realization, as I stood before a row of constrictive Lycra – call them girdles or fat suck-er-upper-ers – that I just want to smooth things down and define my waist more. I don’t want to be so uncomfortably squashed in that I can’t sit or eat or do anything else. So I didn’t buy an industrial strength fat-suck-er-upper-er. I want to live life, curves and all, and not be bound by elastic expectations. Say NO to fat-suck-er-upper-ers….

The Perils of Paula...out now...

Paula Prince is destined to become a hero. But evil lurks in the shadows. There are those who seek to destroy her before she can fulfill her destiny. However four noble men will not let that happen. Their job is to protect and serve those like Paula.

But what of love? That’s the last thing Paula expects. Her life is a mess. Is she falling in love with the protection her boys offer? Can the love of the dark vampire make her accept true love can come at any time?

Be Warned: multiple partners, anal sex.

Excerpt:

Paula rolled over, her thigh rubbed against one man, her hands reached out for another. She smiled. “I’m naked and in bed with two men. Can life get any better?” Her fingers strayed down to one cock as her ass pushed against the other. “Anything this good has to be wrong somehow.” She hadn’t felt this happy or desirable in ages.
“How can it be when it feels so right?” One of the men asked, his lips fastening on her breast.
The suction on her nipple was amazing. Paula sighed and closed her eyes as the fingers of her other lover slide into the crack of her ass. Paula shivered slightly as one digit probed her anus. She was exhausted from being plowed by cock. But it was a good exhausted. A happy tiredness that had Paula feeling more alive than she had in ages.
“My turn.”
Paula held her breath and looked at the dark haired man who entered the bedroom. He was gorgeous, as they all were. But this man? There was something more to him. Every time Paula saw him her heart skipped a beat. It was madness of course. It’s not like we could ever be more than just lovers and yet...
Paula shook her head. There was no place for ‘yets’ in her life. This was what it was. He had made no mention of love or forever so wanting such was pure whimsy on her part. This was pure sex with gorgeous men and wishing it was more was pointless. That she was in bed with two lovers and a third wanted to join in should be taken as just that. While other women might not have understood it, being with multiple lovers made Paula feel good about herself and them. So why ruin it with crazy wishes?
“This is not the time to think, sweetheart. I need to fuck you and I know you need me.”
Paula smiled at the frankness of his need. To give in to desire and not worry about what others thought gave Paula a sense of relief. She could be who she wanted to be without others questioning. Paula saw the look of lust in the eyes of the dark man. She felt the same way. Desperately. As for the other men? They were lovely, desirable, and fun to be with. But the dark haired man? He was different. Paula felt a hunger for him she never dreamed she would feel for another. I know I’ll starve when I walk away from him. And she would have to. Paula knew that. This is not my life.
That she was under the command of these men was thrilling. They were aiding and protecting her, and no one had done that in a long time. It was nice to rely on another’s strength. But one day that protection would no longer be needed, and then what? She pushed at the head of the man at her breast and decided to ignore worrisome thoughts and enjoy the moment. “Sorry, boys. You heard the man.” I need to be with him for however long this lasts.
He reached out his hand to her. To not take it wasn’t something Paula would have considered. He extracted her from between the other two men and started to lead Paula to another room.
A fourth man appeared, tugging on his dick. “What about me?”
“The lady is mine for now. Come back and join us later.”
The blond haired man nodded and left.
I could so easily be yours forever. Paula followed her dark lover. They came to a halt in the cool, white bedroom. He kicked the door shut, pulled her into his arms, and kissed her. Paula collapsed against him. It was the sort of kiss that made her feel like all the bones in her body had turned to jelly and she needed his support, his touch, to keep her strong.
“Sweetheart?” His lips left hers and his tongue trailed down to her jaw line.
“Yes?” Paula knew what he was about to do. She craved the need for the hot, raw heat to surge within her once more.
“You know, this doesn’t solve our problem.” His teeth grazed the skin of her neck.
Paula shivered and held him closer. “No, but as a diversion, it’s fantastic.”
He laughed and slapped her ass. “Yes, but I need to protect you from the shadows. I need you to be safe.
“I only care that you want me.” Her eyes locked with his. Paula knew in her heart this wasn’t a one-sided attraction.
“Oh, I do.” His voice was soft and full of need. “I can’t believe after all this time I’ve found you.”
“But the other boys—”
“They give you pleasure and I could never deny you that.”
I love him. It would have been crazy to say the words out loud, but she knew in her heart it was true. How long they would be together was unknown. All Paula could do was live for the moment. “Let me give you pleasure.” She tilted her head so her neck was fully exposed to his mouth. “Please.” For however long this lasted, Paula wanted to please her lover.
His mouth descended on the thin, pale skin just above her jugular vein and kissed it in a slow, sucking motion.
Paula closed her eyes and held on for what she knew would come next. As his fangs pierced her skin, she cried out but not in fear. It was a cry of satisfaction that her lover could find what he needed in her. “Oh, darling…”
http://www.evernightpublishing.com/products/The-Perils-of-Paula-by-Amarinda-Jones.html

Oh hard....

So, I do all these complex things all day at work – organizing, arranging, bossing people around – but for the life of me I could not work out how to replace the tape in the tape dispenser gun thingy. It’s clearly a male job and there were none around. I need men for intricate-thread-tape-through-ratchety-mechanical-sharp-teeth-turn-the-handle-wheeled-thingys. I almost got into the car and drove around to ask a friend to do the thing with the tape and the ratchet whoosie-whats-it. I did contemplate throwing it on the floor to teach it a lesson hoping as I did some magical component would open up and I would see how to place tape into tiny, weeny hole. Men are good at that. Instead, I placed the instrument of doom on a male's desk with tape and a 'fix it' note. See? I call that delegating.

Hmmm...and he's a mentor...say No to fashion designers...

What I've learned about publishing...

- just because you’re a big publisher, it doesn’t mean you can produce quality work.
- check if the person responsible for final line editing and formatting isn’t on drugs or should be on drugs
- trust no one
- believe in yourself
- walk softly
- carry a big stick
- be prepared to use that stick
- be ready to fight authority
- realize that those in authority are not to be feared
- write what you believe
- who cares if you get more money for writing anal sex. You’re not a prostitute
- be prepared to go it alone
- to thine own self be true

So, I’ve been driving myself…

…absolutely mad which, of course, is a short journey, over formatting some Ellora’s Cave books which I have taken back from EC for various reasons to do with EC suckability and my discontent with their suckability. Anyhow, I have been changing the books – due to EC’s rigid ideas on sex, babies and terminology – and putting them back into Amarinda speech. That’s easy. The hard bit is formatting them into pubs and fubs and lits and rb and LMNOP’s…okay, I made the last one up. Yesterday, I finally worked it all out. The penny or should I say a purse full of coins crashed onto my head and I had an epiphany and a headache. So, hard work, swearing and pulling hair our does work.

Thigh high...

I was buying some sheer black stockings to wear with my gothic vampire dress. As I searched through the sizes and possible shades of black and style – shine, matt, lace, fishnet…nearly bought fishnet but decided the slutty vampire look wasn’t me…not this week anyway...I listened to a woman and her boyfriend beside me. It’s not often you see a man in the lingerie section of a store. He was trying to ‘help’ her buy stockings. His idea of helping was to keep suggesting over and over and over again that she buy either the thigh high lace topped stockings or the ones with garters. She kept saying things like ‘uh-huh’ and nodding vaguely as she searched through the stockings on display. He was not deterred. He kept persisting in his attempts. It was kinda funny and sweet. Men. Simple creatures. In the end I said to him “Kudos for trying but you’d have more chance of wearing them yourself.” His response? “I’ll wear her down.” I expect he will.

Always evolving...

So, I’ve been concentrating on the task of losing weight and it’s working nicely. Why? Because I want it to. I don’t care what anyone says, Amarinda studies acknowledge 90% of people who are considered overweight aren’t that way because they stuff their faces with crap food. For me, it’s about taking my couple of thyroid meds and actually stopping and remembering to eat regular meals so my thyroid doesn’t decide to go on strike. Added to that I’m in a good place in my life right now where I can take a deep breath, relax, concentrate and consider the possibility of not racing around like a lunatic who forgets to eat.

If you are or have ever been overweight, you know what I’m talking about and I know you’ll find your own time to sort stuff out again and take a crack at losing that weight. You can do it. If you’ve never been overweight – good for you. If you have ever looked at an overweight person in disgust, then I feel sorry for your lack of understanding of human nature.

If nothing ever changed, there'd be no butterflies. ~Author Unknown

I read this morning…

….a post on facebook asking people to ‘make sure’ they follow author—er, let’s call her Bodice Ripper - because she’s been super busy and has no time to do any author type annoy-the-crap-out-of-you-marketing…okay, yeah, it just said ‘marketing’ but the ‘annoy-the-crap-out-of-you’ part is also very true because that’s what writers like to do - buy my book, squeeeee (still not and never will be a grown up word) buy my book, squeeeee, insert link, book review from writer friend, squeeeeee….the number of ‘eee’s’ indicate the desperation level to sell the book. I find it rather tacky that someone – either a person or a third party insists you follow them. My thoughts? If I don’t know you I’m not gonna follow you. And you lack time to do marketing? That’s not a reader’s problem is it? And don’t even get me started on facebook nongheads who add you to groups to follow some author diva you never heard of or dump junk on your page to get others to follow them...that gets you an instant un-friend on facebook.

Facebook – it’s the huge social media monster in the corner in a lot of people’s lives. Writers, who use it properly, can benefit from it. Put no effort in or expect others to do the work for you because you’re too busy? Who isn’t busy on the planet?