For my birthday, the Universe saw fit to introduce me to a rather nasty virus I have been battling for the last six days.
I am not a good patient–I will be the first to admit this. I have so much to do I end up totally pissed off at my body’s betrayal. But you can’t argue with it (I tried!) so the best thing to do is just roll with the punches and wait for a better day.
So, to ease my boredom, I binge watched a show called Harper’s Island which is streaming free for Amazon Prime members. It popped up on my feed, and when I read the description I was intrigued.
“Harper’s Island is an American horror mystery limited series created by Ari Schlossberg for CBS. Schlossberg, Jeffrey Jackson Bell and Jon Turteltaub served as executive producers. The series followed a group of family and friends that travel to the titular locale for a destination wedding, only to learn that there is a killer among them. At the center of the mystery is Abby Mills (played by Elaine Cassidy), whose mother was one of several people murdered by John Wakefield seven years prior. At least one character, and as many as five, were killed off in each episode.”
It’s only one season, aired in 2009. I figured, what the hell? I’ll give it a shot.
I’m really glad I did. The ending surprised me, and it was fun to rule out suspect after suspect. The series doesn’t seem to take itself so seriously in spite of the gruesome plot, with a wink and a nod to many horror/slasher/mystery movies that have come before it, such as Scream. But of course, as a writer/editor, I watched with great curiosity why, in spite of some pretty glaring potholes and deus ex machina moments, I was so hooked and could look past the plot.
Part of it was the diverse cast of characters. Some I liked, some I loathed, but during the course of the series they really came across as real people in an unreal situation. Another part was the mystery of it all–who the hell was behind what happened, and WHY? I was dying to find out, and it kind of carried me over the plot bits that as an editor, I would chew the writer’s liver out for attempting.
You know, just when you think you have it figured out…BOOM. Nope.
Also, the writers and directors really did a good job in creating tension, but even better, they paid attention to the flow of tension. This is not an easy task. None of the actors were told when they were going to die until the day before they got the script, so maybe this was a contributing factor.
All-in-all, I really liked it. I would love to see another “mystery event” like this, in a different setting with a different cast. I don’t know if you can catch magic in a bottle more than once, but I’d be willing to watch another show like this.
I have completed another revolution around the sun. And while I am fighting a head cold, I’m pretty happy.
Birthdays are a time of reflection, I’ve come to find out. Sometimes it’s New Year’s, but birthdays are more personal and conducive to looking behind to see where I am now. To see and appreciate the journey so far. Because life is all about the journey, not necessarily the destination. So far, it’s been a wild ride, and I don’t see that changing.
I never really had any idea of where my life would go. To be honest, the majority of it I’ve spent in survival mode, and it was all I could do to keep my head above water and just…well, survive. These days I’m looking to thrive. There’s a big difference, and thriving takes just as much effort, but with better returns. It can be difficult to change that mind-set, but I can tell you it’s worth it.
I was never able to imagine my life at this point, but now that I’m here, I can’t imagine it any other way.
This year, I turn eighteen with forty years experience. I still have a lot to learn, but this is what I’ve learned so far:
1. Listen to your head, but follow your heart. And when your gut speaks, it trumps all. LISTEN TO YOUR GUT.
2. Erase the word “can’t” from your vocabulary. If you want it bad enough, you can make anything happen. Even magic. ESPECIALLY magic.
3. “Failure” is not a dirty word. A mistake is not a failure. You will learn more from your failures and mistakes than you will from your successes. Embrace them for the valuable lessons and then move on.
4. If you think it sounds mean in your head, it will sound meaner if you say it out loud. Think long and hard, then err on the side of kindness. Kindness doesn’t cost a thing but meanness will extract an expensive toll. By the same token, if someone is mean to you, that’s their problem, not yours. Don’t take it personally. It says a lot more about their struggle and character than it does yours.
5. Self-care is not selfish. It is necessary. When you love yourself, it’s much easier to love other people, with all their faults and magnificent humanness. Still, don’t be afraid to walk away from toxic relationships. Yes, it includes family. Sometimes the only way to treat an infection is to cut and cauterize. This is part of self-care.
6. Depression lies. Fear lies. THEY ARE DIRTY LYING LIARS. Do not buy what they are selling. They are straw soldiers and you are a warrior.
7. Create, create, create! It is the heart of life, no matter what form it takes. It could be writing, painting, sculpting, coloring…it could be cooking, keeping house, anything.
8. If it doesn’t work out, your life wasn’t meant to go that way. Instead of focusing on what you haven’t achieved, train that focus on the opportunities ahead.
9. Don’t worry about what other people say or what other people think. It is none of your business, and you have better things to do. Do them.
10. Pay it forward, in any way you can. Even small deeds can make a big difference.
I’m ready for another year. In fact, I’m really looking forward to it.
Please note: the website is currently under renovations. Don’t mind the dust. Work progresses as time allows. There’s missing studs and holes in the walls, but we’re getting there. Thanks for your patience!
I have been an indie from the get-go, since I was a tiny person. It’s in my nature and I can’t help it. I’ve always cavorted to a tune it seems no one else could hear; independent to a fault, some might say. It has its ups and downs, pros and cons, highs and lows. During my lifetime, I have been both rewarded and punished for it. I was raised to be independent, and my life’s journey has trained me to be independent.
And while you might be able to teach an old dog new tricks, it’s much more difficult to change an intrinsic part of your personality.
When I started my writing career, it was a no-brainer for me to go independent. I might be a bit of a control freak, and when it comes to my fiction, I want to be the one in charge. After all, fiction has been and always will be a gigantic part of my life. It means so much to me I can hardly bear the idea of handing off something into which I’ve poured my life’s blood and soul to someone else.
But in the changing tides of today’s publishing, it makes good business sense to keep your options open.
I have come to realize everyone’s circumstances are different. What works for one writer may not work for another. I’m not built to follow the road most traveled, anyway, and most of my close personal friends would scream, “HALLELUJAH” to that statement. I have to make the best decisions for myself without looking to see what other people are doing. I’ve lived most of my life that way, and it hasn’t turned out too badly, despite some spectacular failures. Hey, go big or stay home.
I have also discovered if something scares me witless, it’s probably the thing I need to do the most. I live with a lot of fear—but I never let it stop me. I was scared to go freelance when writing non-fiction. BOOYAH. I was scared to dive into fiction. Double BOOYAH. I was terrified to venture into editing. HAH.
So when I contemplated my next business move, I considered sending a novel to a traditional publisher. I almost talked myself out of it. Was I scared of rejection? Nope. Been rejected on several levels, many times. What I am scared of is success.
Which told me I needed to do it.
So I sat my happy ass down and took a few hours to do something for ME. I wrote a synopsis, put together the first three chapters, and wrote a cover letter. As we speak, my little package is winging its way to a traditional publishing house to see what we can see. I’m not even worried if they don’t like it. I’m worried that they WILL.
“Writers are, in a way, very powerful indeed. They write the script for the reality film. Kerouac opened a million coffee bars and sold a million pairs of Levis to both sexes. Woodstock rises from his pages. Now if writers could get together into a real tight union, we’d have the world right by the words. We could write our own universes, and they would be as real as a coffee bar or a pair of Levis or a prom in the Jazz Age. Writers could take over the reality studio. So they must not be allowed to find out that they can make it happen. Kerouac understood long before I did. Life is a dream, he said.”
~William S. Burroughs in “Remembering Jack Kerouac” (1985), included in The Adding Machine : Selected Essays (1993), p. 180
You have the power. Now write it.
*Photo courtesy of Morguefile.com
Back in 2008, I wrote a blog post about finding the time to write. I thought I’d re-visit the topic, especially since a lot of things have changed since then, although the basic issues I address in that particular blog post still apply. Right now I know many writers who are neck-deep in NaNoWriMo, and finding the time to write is really a concern. But for most writers, it’s an ongoing issue since the majority of us hold full-time jobs, have families, or would just like a spare moment to eat a meal, visit with friends and family, or even take a pee break.
When I wrote the original post, I was just launching a career in writing, which at the time meant writing non-fiction copy. Fitting in fiction was difficult, especially since there were these pesky things like “deadlines” and “rent”. It’s hard to make that brain switch between non-fiction and fiction, and sometimes I couldn’t do it at all. I mean, there are only so many hours in a day and my brain can handle just so much.
Even still, I managed to put together my flash fiction collection, other shorts, and my first publishable novel, Athena’s Promise. Since then, my career has changed (change is the only constant, I’ve found) and I am working quite steadily as a successful fiction content editor. I realize how lucky I am; I have a dream job, work for no one but myself and from home, and therefore, set my own schedule.
But I put in long hours and still have deadlines and there’s always that damned rent thing. So finding time to write my own fiction is…challenging, like it is for most of us who have this deep, abiding passion to throw words on a page to see what sticks. I still have other things to do, like eat, sleep, try to get the word out on my own fiction efforts; mop the floors, clean the litter box, and run my business. I struggle with brain re-charging, dealing with family issues, health issues, keeping up with the industry, networking, finding new clients so my cat and I don’t end up living in a cardboard box. I count myself very, very fortunate because even with all that, I’m doing what I love to do so I’m not complaining. Not even one damned bit.
But it wasn’t always so. It has always been a challenge to find the time to write, and I am sure it always will be. But that’s not necessarily a bad thing.
When I started writing fiction, I had a full-time job in the Out, and three kids to raise as a single mom. I think it’s the main reason I started with flash fiction, which will always be my first love. I still maintain writing flash is one of the best training grounds for writers — but that’s another topic. The point is, finding time to write it was almost impossible. But with this burning need, I really didn’t have a choice. It was write or die. And I don’t know about you, but writing sounds a whole lot better than dying.
So I managed. After working eight or ten hours a day, taking care of the house and the kids, I’d scratch out what I could and just put all my nuts in a basket. Nuts which later turned into a collection of which I’m very proud. I was on my way. I also started a daily blog (yes, DAILY) in which I’d write something, ANYTHING, no matter how banal and stupid it might have seemed to me, just to get into the habit of writing something every single day. This is known as “discipline”.
Fast forward a few years (what, you think this shit happens overnight. Heh. You funny.) and I’m working in a hotel. Long hours. LONG. Brain-numbing, in fact. I just didn’t have time to write fiction, although I kept up the habit of blogging every. Single. Day. Even through an awful storm knocking out the power for five days, I wrote a blog post in longhand on yellow legal pads, and then posted them later. I did this for a total of six years. I tried NaNo once, without computer access during my imprisonment–uh–I mean EMPLOYMENT at the hotel, by using the same method–you know, real paper with a real ink pen, no spellcheck–and crapped out at 25k. What I wrote was awful and will never see the light of day while I draw breath, but I tried.
Then, I started freelancing, and trust me, I worked harder than I ever did in an Outside Job. That’s the nature of the beast, but being no stranger to hard work, it didn’t faze me. In this time, I wrote “Athena’s Promise” and although it was slow going, I got it done. I set myself a goal every day, and no matter what, every day I hit it. I hit it as hard as I could.
Currently, I am more often than not neck-deep in Other People’s Words. And I love it. I absolutely love what I do for a living. It’s not easy, but my Momma always told me life was not easy. While she may have been wrong about a lot of things, about this she was absolutely, 100% correct. Life is not easy and it’s not meant to be easy. Switching my brain from Other People’s Words to my own is difficult. You know, deadlines and stuff. Immersing myself into a world of someone else’s creation and picking apart the mechanics. Another switch to click and all that. But the voices in my own head are loud, and chatty, and just won’t shut the eff up. And I have yet to train my cat to clean out her own litter box. (She’s an asshole.)
And so, more material was wrought, and remembering my lessons on discipline, I have been working on the sequel to “Promise” titled “Athena’s Chains” and am halfway there. In the meantime, I have completed the first in a series of novellas, titled “The Trailer Park Tiara and Goat Incident–The Adventures of Sally Mae Riddley” (coming soon) and started the second, working title “You Ain’t The Boss Of Me – The Adventures of Sally Mae Riddley Volume Two” with three more (at least, if Sally Mae doesn’t quiet down) planned.
How do I find the time to write? I make it. Late at night, with my asshole cat prowling around yowling it’s time for bed or destroying yet another roll of toilet paper, I set aside at least an hour after a grueling 12-16 hour day to make it happen. Because I know if I don’t, it’s not going to happen. Nobody’s going to write these stories but me. I have to make it work, because I AM A WRITER. I am a lot of things, but at my core I AM A WRITER. And writers write, even in sub-optimal conditions. Tired? Sure. Obstacles? Definitely. So. What. Even if it’s only a hundred words, a thousand. Whatever it is, I’ll take it. Because here’s the thing; you take a small thing, and add another small thing, keep going, and the next thing you know…you have a Big Thing. (Yes, I know that’s a lot of “things”.)
If you want it bad enough, you make it happen. YOU. No matter what stands in your way, no matter what it takes, YOU are the only one who can make it happen. The obstacles or challenges just make the journey that much more rewarding. And really, in the grand scheme of things, it’s not the destination which matters as much as the journey.
Happy trails. Keep on keeping on. YOU CAN DO THIS. Now, get to it.
*All photos courtesy of Morguefile.com
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I know you were crushed when we broke up, and believe me, it was as difficult for me as it was for you. While I was disappointed and hurt, I never really was angry. I just thought we needed some time apart to evaluate our relationship and I appreciate you gave me that.
I will admit to a flirtation with Adam, but you and I were on a BREAK. And you know, he’s a great guy but he’s sure no Captain Mal. I as much as admitted this in our last communication. I also have to admit I was a little distracted by the pretty.
But pretty is as pretty does. I did pine for you. I watched my DVD of Firefly over and over, wondering where we went wrong, contemplating how something as small as a piece of twine could come between us. And I cried and cried. My life was missing something, something I couldn’t fill with watching “The Voice”. It just wasn’t the same.
But then, something happened. Something wondrous. That something wondrous was the San Diego Comic Con, and there was this:
I could tell you were trying to woo me back, especially when you let the restraining order expire. I tried to stay away, but I just couldn’t deny the bond between us any longer, especially after I watched the Firefly panel presentation.
I fell in love all over again.
See, I’ve never seen Adam getting choked up over the love of his fans. I’m sure he loves his fans, but not like you. The story about how you protected the females of your cast; the obvious respect of your crew; the fact you are aging mighty well and are looking really fine; the fact I can’t stop fantasizing about you in a pretty floral bonnet…
And then, when I thought it couldn’t get any better, it did.
I knew immediately this was your way of apologizing for the Twine Incident. Your way of telling me our love is unbreakable, transcending time, space, and cancellation. Your way of expressing how much you want me, NEED me back in your life.
Apology accepted, Nater-tater. Totally and 100% accepted.
Relationships are never easy, Nathan. I think we’ve both learned something from this painful experience, and have come out with a bond stronger than ever. So, I guess we can thank the twine for getting us back on track. Communication is key, and now I understand.
You are, and always will be my one and only captain. Forever.
Sorry, I had to answer the door. Thank you for the restraining order. That was quick. <3
[caption id="attachment_1962" align="aligncenter" width="244"] Oh yeah. Let’s misbehave, baby. *MUAH*[/caption]
Yeah, I know I said I’d update last week, but something ate my Wednesday and I was all discombobulated after that. Tempus fugit, whatever. Don’t play like you don’t know.
Actually, the only update I have on the car cookies is this meme from the very same husband of my daughter’s BFF. He’s a crazy mo-fo, but I say that with all the love in my heart. Because I love me a crazy mo-fo.
I’m still laughing. Just. So. Hilarious.
And actually, I am seriously contemplating these next:
Last week turned out to be an Errand Frenzy, and you all know how much I love going into the Out. Here are some highlights from my Facebook posts:
Getting new shoes for the Bitchmobile. It hurts. Gonna be a long hour and I hate how they try to talk you into extra shit because you have a vagina. I had to show my balls. Now I feel like throwing up. Especially when they tried to tell me the amount due was $100 more than they quoted me yesterday and tried to sell me an additional service I don’t need. Unfortunately for them, this isn’t my first day at the rodeo and therefore, I walked out with what I wanted at the price I wanted and WHAT’S MY NAME? That’s right, bitches.
All righty then. Phase I of errand day is complete and while waiting at the tire place, I actually outlined the Intro Mod of my Secret Project and quite pleased about that. Now to the Ninth Level of Hell, aka “Walmart”. Anything after that is going to be anti-climatic.
So, made it out of Walmart with no casualties, but only because I don’t have a flamethrower. Oh, and elderly lady at the pharmacy counter? The only reason I didn’t take you down is because I’m almost old and will (hopefully) be elderly like you, someday. Otherwise, the fact you not only picked up your ‘scripts but also checked out your full cart of ginger ale, Depends, baked beans, cat litter, and Imodium making me wait in line for twenty fucking minutes would have meant bruises if not downright broken bones. P.S. Cut back on the ginger ale and the baked beans and you won’t need the Depends and Imodium. Just a thought.
Lunch. Then back into the Out for Phase III. This time it will be Goodwill and some doodads. I’m gearing up for Phase IV which will include the Post Office. There’s a possibility someone could die today. I can guarantee it will not be me.
Phase IV of Errand Day has been cancelled due to a borked air conditioner in my car. This is what I get for having bad thoughts about the old lady in Walmart, although the thoughts still stand. A big thank you to Jeremy at PetCo for helping me psychoanalyze Athena and directions on how to woo her. Plus a pheromone collar designed to calm her ass down. Hah. If this is a day off I don’t want another one because I am beat.
And this is why I try to stay away from the Out. Unfortunately, I was unable to finish the mission in one day, which is really what I wanted to do to minimize the Out Experience, which led to this:
Phase IV about to commence. Hopefully not as intense and much shorter then yesterday’s operations because my back is killing me today. Thank you, Grandmother, for the spinal stenosis. It says a lot to say it was the nicest thing she ever did for me, but I ain’t mad. I’ll get it done.
P.S. The drug collar seems to be working for Athena. Praise the Mighty Flying Spaghetti Monster. Unless I come home and find she’s peed on my bed.
I did not know it was possible to sweat from this many crevices. I did not know I HAD these many crevices.
I would have been done by now but I decided to chop off my hair.
Stopped home to rehydrate — two more itty bitty errands and I’m to review a Scoundrel. Excited to pick up my framed poster of the cover of “Rolling Sixes” by Mitch Davis, who surprised me with it. I have the BEST clients. For now, I’m going to catch my breath a little and cool off. Jeezum, I should have put a roast in the car today.
Fuck summer. Yeah. I said it.
So, first the poster Mitch Davis sent me of the cover of his soon-to-be-released novel, “Rolling Sixes” (SO. EXCITED!)
And then the haircut:
Hopefully I won’t have to go into the Out for at least a month, but I’m afraid I’ll have to hit it again long before that. My downfall? Cat treats. I’m counting them out very carefully to make them last as long as possible, but without cat treats I’m doomed. Athena will kill me in my sleep or pee on my bed. I’m hard-pressed to tell you which one would be worse.
Bad planning on my part. *sigh*
So, that was my week. Coming up I have a lot of editing work, the Secret Project to complete, and maybe meat muffins to bake in my car. YAY!
The Internet is a really weird place, which is probably the main reason I love it so. I’m going to tell you a little story about what happens when an innocent conversation on Facebook (okay, maybe “innocent” isn’t the right word, but work with me here) goes completely off the rails.
My daughters and I live far away from each other, but we use Facebook to stay in touch. We’re all strange and twisted — anyone who knows us is aware of this fact. The girls were actually together visiting at my oldest daughter’s home, and of course, we were conversing a bit via FB. Out of the blue, my oldest daughter posts an update:
The youngest daughter was next.
“Bitches don’t know.”
“Bitches be trippin’.”
And then me, because this was just too good not to jump on:
“Bitches be trollin’ for a bitch slap.”
To make a long story short, this went on for nineteen comments in all, each more hilarious than the last. It was a riot.
I’m sure you’ve seen various memes around the ‘net like, “I made the bitch a cake. Bitches love cake,” or “I gave the bitch a cookie. Bitches love cookies.” Well, every time me or my girls saw a meme like that we just cracked up. Because it’s true — bitches DO love cake and cookies.
Then, a good friend of mind posted a meme showing three phases of cookies actually baking on the dashboard of a car. I was all like OMG! I have got to try that someday! Another good friend of mine re-posted the meme and begged me to try this and document the process, as it would be great entertainment for her. My oldest daughter concurred, and said, “Mom, you really have to do this.”
As you may or may not know, I am located in the Midwest which is currently in the midst of one of the hottest summers ever in the land. As in, triple digits for ten days running so far. It is hotter than the armpits of Beelzebub, to which I attribute the next part of this story. My brains are fried, my friends. Totally fried. But since it was my dear friend who needed the entertainment, and with my daughter’s support, I figured — what the hell? Worst case scenario, baking cookies in my car would be a dismal failure and best case scenario, I’ll have cookies! AND BITCHES LOVE COOKIES!
I didn’t know the Internet would lose their damned minds.
Here is a step-by-step description (with pictures and accompanying commentary) how my experience baking car cookies actually played out.
On this day, July 5th, 2012, the temperature was predicted to hit 107 degrees. That’s right. ONE HUNDRED AND SEVEN DEGREES. Without the heat index. With that in mind, I left early in the morning to procure supplies for Operation: Car Cookies. I notified my kid and my friend I was about to commence the experiment with a photo album dedicated to the process so they could follow along.
I then set my phone alarm to go off at 2:15 PM CST so I could check on the cookies and provide further documentation of the process. By now I’m sweating like a gym rat (as if! I’m baking COOKIES) and I have work to do. But I will confess I was itching to go back out there and see what the cookies were doing. If anything. But I restrained myself until the alarm went off.
When I went back out there at 2:15 PM CST, this is what I found:
I confess my heart started to beat a little faster. Could it be true? COULD I REALLY BAKE COOKIES IN MY CAR? Afraid to be too hopeful, I further documented the process.
I set my alarm for 4 PM CST. Hell, I had work to do and this is supposed to be the EASY way to bake cookies. All this trekking back and forth was making me SWEAT. The things I do for the people I love. Remember that when I’m too old to wipe my ass, okay?
At 4 PM CST, the alarm sounded. TIME TO CHECK THE COOKIES. This is what I found:
But I’m just here for the cookies.
Okay, set the alarm once again for 6 PM CST. I realized all this trekking out to the car is starting to wear my ass out. I need a nap, but instead I went back to work, anxiously watching the clock and hoping like hell these damned things would be done so I only had to go out into that blistering heat one more time. FINALLY…
Now, for the cookies.
But then, it hit me!
So, that’s the story of baking car cookies. But it doesn’t stop there, because of course, it’s the Internet.
Next thing I know, people are commenting and laughing their asses off, snarfing beverages through their sinus cavities, and clamoring for this photo album on FB to go public. So I did.
Shares everywhere. My email blew up. My Facebook blew up. And I am giggling so hard at all the comments and shit I had to change my pants three times. I AM CRACKING UP. My daughter calls me and we’re both giggling so hard we couldn’t even understand a word the other one was saying. HILARIOUS. People are vowing to try this at home. Someone suggested bacon chocolate chip cookies next time. Someone else said their husband was going to try meatloaf in their attic, and I laughed so hard I fell out of my chair and scared the cat.
And then? A smart-assed husband of my daughter’s BFF posted this:
I laughed so hard I’m pretty sure I ruptured something serious. For real. TOO. DAMNED. FUNNY.
After things had calmed down, I reflected my life is just so effin’ hilarious sometimes. All I am is a bitch who wanted cookies. And to make her friends and kids feel better after a spectacularly shitty couple of weeks on the personal front. I thought about all these people giggling or smiling over some stupid, crazy hair I got up my ass, and it brought me to tears. So I ate another cookie and felt much better. Heh.
Oh, and the cherry on top of the cake? My kid called me the Best Mom In The Universe. In public.
Life just doesn’t get any better than that.
Special thanks to Stephanie Haworth, Lisa Henderson Perez, Donna McCoy, Tina Bean, Martha Mineo, E Ryan Carr, and all the kindred spirits out there who love car cookies. You people made my MONTH. Much love to you!!
UPDATE: Due to special requests, there are now magnets and mugs available for purchase at my Zazzle store, which is so brand-new it’s probably not even visible yet. However, you can find the magnet here and the mug here. More products as time and hilarity allow. If you have a special request, let me know and I’ll do my best to accommodate you. As long as it doesn’t involve a goat or other barnyard animal.
I have loved you deeply, hopelessly, since the Firefly days. I’m sure you must be sick of hearing that (or maybe not – love is love, no matter how demented and twisted) but it’s the truth. I have the season on DVD and a copy of Serenity. I can also watch you on Netflix on my Kindle Fire from bed, but we better not go there or I won’t finish this letter.
And then, there’s Dr. Horrible. You’re not exactly a Big Damned Hero there, are you? Maybe that was a foreshadowing of things to come. But still, not only do you look absolutely yummy, you display an intoxicating sense of humor I find irresistible. As in “OMG, I have to get in bed with my Kindle Fire!” irresistible. When you started your gig as Richard Castle, in spite of my abhorrence of ABC’s series (with the exception of “Revenge”, because that really appeals to my sense of justice – don’t be nervous – and “Once Upon A Time” because of Rumple) I followed you there, too. After all, you play a dashing, handsome, and funny writer. And I follow you on Twitter. Some may look at this as a type of stalking. I prefer to think of it as being a devoted fan.
However, this debacle with the Bloggess has forced me to evaluate our long distance love affair. Oh, it’s true – I’ve flirted with Adam Levine, but he’s just a boy when compared to your manliness. My heart has always belonged to you. But when I learned the Bloggess (who is a Goddess of the Funny whereas I’m just a Goddess-In-Training) asked you for a small favor involving twine for over a year and was totally ignored, I had to question just exactly how committed you were to our relationship.
Nater-Tater, (that is a brilliant nickname from the Bloggess, except I now have a strangely erotic reaction to potatoes) I am truly disappointed in you. All the poor woman wanted was a picture of you holding twine to stave off the Evil Marketers who stalk her. I figured, of course Nater-Tater would do this! He’s a Big Damned Hero! He loves his demented devoted fans! He knows he would be nowhere today without their adulation!
But you didn’t.
Others had to step up where you did not. People like Penn Jillette, and Jeri Ryan, and Wil Wheaton. People like Simon Pegg and Brian Boitano, for the love of Baby Jeebus. THOSE are Big Damned Heroes, Nater-Tater. Though I will say, this whole thing led to a picture of Matthew Broderick holding a spoon – which not only makes him cool, it makes him sexy. And I NEVER thought anything would do that.
Those are people who appreciate the funneh, people who remember what their fans have done for them. My defense of your action (or more specifically, NON-ACTION) has weakened because I’m feeling like you just don’t care. And that has broken my heart into a million pieces.
I’m sure you have your reasons. Like your quote when asked about it – “I just don’t do those kinds of things.” Jeezuz wept, Nater-Tater, I don’t get this at all. There are pictures of your bare ass all over the internet! Would one lousy picture of you holding an innocuous piece of twine really kill you? Especially if it made people happy? Really?
It’s probably too late to fix this with a picture, but you could try. You could reclaim your status as my Number One Obsession, because I’m sure you’re feeling as heartbroken as I am over our rift. You can still Do The Right Thing, whether it’s with twine, a spatula, or a spoon. Or even an emery board. If you don’t have an emery board, ask the makeup person. I’m sure they have one. Or, if you give me your home address, I can deliver one personally.
*sigh* For years, you have been my Big Damned Hero. Now I have to look for another one. It won’t be easy, because you leave big shoes to fill. So, you can cancel that restraining order, because you won’t need it anymore. I am still in love with Capt. Reynolds; I still adore the crew of the Serenity, but you, Nathan Fillion, are on my shit list, as much as it pains me to say that and probably pains you to hear it.
In closing, Nater-Tater, we are over. I have to face the fact even though it has been my dying wish (well, I’m not dying, exactly, but eventually I will) to receive a Tweet from you, it is now crystal clear I will never get it. I am now transferring that wish to Adam. Please mark your records accordingly.
In true disappointment,
Your Former Love Slave
P.S. I still retain the right to sleep with Mal Reynolds at night. You can’t take that away from me!
Just a head’s up — this website will be down from 6AM to 6PM on Saturday, February 25 due to server maintenance, so don’t panic! I have not been assassinated by my cat, or eaten by zombies. Carry on.
I actually have so many things to blog about and time, once again, has gotten away from me. Actually, I’ve stopped chasing it. It’s too fast for me in spite of the fact I’ve been working out and trying to build up my stamina.
Yes, you read that correctly. FAT LADY IN THE GYM!!
I’ve never been a big exercise fan. In fact, I was firmly convinced endorphins were an urban legend, since all my former attempts at exercise never produced a single endorphin that I could tell. I thought it was all a bunch of horseshit.
I’m happy to say I believe I have actually met an endorphin, and we are getting along pretty well. Ever since I read an article about how a sedentary lifestyle and sitting on your ass at a desk for more than six hours at a time (at which I laughed hysterically, since I can’t remember a day that short for me) will kill you quicker than a zombie attack, I knew I had to make a change so I don’t die before finishing my trilogy.
Okay, that picture just freaked me out. I may need a moment. (Bonus points if you get the reference.)
Now, I’m not totally morbid, but sometimes the Universe likes to poke me, and poke me hard when trying to get a message across. (Not that I’m stubborn or anything. Shut up, you in the back!) There have been several recent events which have inspired me to try to take better care of myself.
One is this moving post from Maxwell Cynn. I didn’t really know Max — he was a friend of a mutual friend — but in the way of the writer’s world, I knew OF him. I read this post and just bawled my eyes out. You see, even though I have been through some bad times myself (oh, let me count the ways, hallelujah!) I have never had to face this and I’m not sure I could with the strength, grace, and courage of this man and his son.
In conversation with Eden, our mutual friend, we were discussing how much the story had touched us and what we could do to help. I mentioned a Kickstarter campaign, and Eden grabbed that ball with all the energy and gusto of a Titan, organizing indie authors to contribute books and services…and the response of the indie community was phenomenal.
I don’t know many people who have not been impacted by cancer in one way or another. I lost my momma to inflammatory breast cancer, had a scare of my own once upon a time, and have many friends who have battled this awful scourge. I know economic times are tight, but even if you can’t donate, if you could spread the word on your own social media sites, that’s a big help. I know Joshua and Max appreciate every good wish you can send their way. It counts, believe me. It really, really counts.
Another event which encouraged me to take a look at my own mortality was the passing of Samuel V. Kennedy III. I grew up in Auburn, and my mother was very active in the community theater group Sam had founded. Some of my most cherished childhood memories are because of this group. My mother also worked with Sam at the Citizen, the local newspaper. It was quite a shock to hear of his passing; I remember him as a warm and very generous man. I like to think he and my mother are Out There somewhere arguing over a casting call :*)
I guess the point of this post is a reminder to enjoy every minute you have, appreciate those whom you love and who love you in return, and don’t let them bury you in Wendigo land.