and yes I do consider myself a romance writer. I just write a little heavier sex with my romance. I love the term Erorom for what I do. And no writing sex doesn't bother me in the slightest. I mean I love romance. I love that simple story of two people meeting and falling in love. It is my favorite and it never gets old to me. There is so much you can do with just that simple plot device. Deep space, wilds of Africa, city subway, country farm. It doesn't matter really the time or setting or if the characters are even alive. And that is why Twilight was a hit. For the record I have not nor will I read that book. And I will make fun of you forty year old Twilight fans. I will. Guys and girls. All of you. You know who you are. 0_O Yes I will give the book kudos for taking the girl meets vampire and falls in love theme and running with it but that is where it ends. Shudders. He sparkles. Shudders again...I have mentioned that I'm not a fan of cutesy. Vampires and Lisa Frank should not ever mix.
I know I have professed to be the most unfeminine female in the world so you would think I wouldn't like the Happy Ever After stories. It's my one girly thing. That and quilts. I love quilts and transfer ware dishes. Hell I love dishes. I'm a dish-a-holic. Right now I'm replacing my plates with all white restaurant style platters and bowls. Just let me loose in a second hand store with a new selection of dead grandma dishes and....uh, ahem. So what were we talking about? Why I love romance...
I came from an abusive home. Not physical though sometimes there were close calls. There was no love. The neglect wasn't on the surface. We had everything the other kids had. Hell I had stuff the other kids didn't have. That was how my parents showed affection. With stuff. Okay? And how is that abusive? Let's just say my mother called me Fart face for six months instead of my name. And that was her milder name for me. We attended school functions but very little else. We were isolated from our family. It was just us. My brother, and my much younger sister. Just us. I was mother and father to them both. And we never once heard the words I love you.
So yeah, I sort of gravitated to books that had the idyllic life I craved. Parents who talked to you instead of telling you how fat you were where's my damned dinner. Family vacations instead of summers locked in a house alone. You know normal. I wanted normal. I just wanted someone to love me and not call me fart face or lard ass or hey baby elephant. I wasn't fat.
I started out with the fairy tales. I identified with Cinderella, except you know I had nice clothes, because we must maintain appearances of a loving family. I did all of the cooking and the dishes and the laundry and the dusting and vacuuming. I cleaned my brother and sister's rooms. I grabbed the kids and ran when the hate started flying. I knew there was no such thing as a Prince Charming especially for a gender confused girl in the middle of nowhere Florida.
But I wanted the damned Prince Charming. Dammit.
I had girl friends, not that kind of girl friend, come on, I was gender confused not sexually confused there is a difference, but I had more boy friends. Alas, not the kind I wanted. And really what guy wants to hold hands with the girl who can beat his ass on his own turf. Sort of odd kissing someone who can catch a baseball barehanded and not flinch. I scared guys. But they talked to me. That's how I learned about men. By being just one of the guys.
Okay, so really, I know you're not following. I ramble remember.
I figured out that not all guys were good and not all guys were bad. But a good man can do bad things if pushed hard enough. Savvy?
Okay, I figured out what men to stay the hell away from. The ones who wanted to control and dominate were to avoided because most likely they would become abusers. The ones who just wanted a mama. I was already mama to two kids without ever having sex, I didn't need another person to clean up behind.
And really, I love romance because I wanted that ideal. I wanted there to be a better life out there. I wanted to know that the strange girl who loved cars and books and rock music and football could find someone who understood her. Who loved her. Because of her weirdness. I wanted that with all my heart.
Does that make me weak or crazy or delusional? I prefer to think it makes me human.
I told you yesterday that I married at nineteen. I was too young. And I did marry in part to escape an increasingly intolerable home life. I am lucky that I met the right man the first time. Yes we have our problems. We are people and we live in the same space. Of course we have problems. We work on ours.
So really even that doesn't answer the original question. Why exactly do I love writing romance?
For the women and yes even the men who didn't find Prince Charming the first time. For the women who's husbands put them in the hospital. For the little girls who grew to be women without ever hearing the words I Love You. For everyone who comes home at night to deal with messes they didn't cause. For that boy who didn't know what a father was supposed to be.
And that is why I write romance. Because every person deserves a HEA. Damaged people, whole people, straight people, gay people, ALL people.
Mercy
Let's talk about pornography NSFW
The Merriam-Webster
Definition of PORNOGRAPHY
1
: the depiction of erotic behavior (as in pictures or writing) intended to cause sexual excitement
2
: material (as books or a photograph) that depicts erotic behavior and is intended to cause sexual excitement
3
: the depiction of acts in a sensational manner so as to arouse a quick intense emotional reaction <the pornography of violence>
I met my husband when I was nineteen years old and he was twenty-seven. We married six months to the day after we met. I was still nineteen he'd turned twenty-eight.
Ok, Mercy, so what does this little bit of history have to do with your title?
Just be patient, you should know by now I like to ramble around before I get to the nitty-gritty.
So back to my history. I've been with this man for twenty-three years in one form or another. Our wedding anniversary is Christmas eve, 23 years this year. I know him better than any person on this planet, okay with the exception of the four humans I gave birth to, that is. So by the same token I would think he'd know me as well. I'd think that. But I'd be wrong.
Over the years his gifts to me would make any red-blooded woman happy. Jewelry, flowers, clothes. But I'm not any woman. I'm not interested in jewelry, the flowers I like tend to be bulby and not easily found at a florist except at Easter. I love Gerber Daisys and tulips and crocus. Not roses. And clothes. He picks silky frilly stuff. Even now. I detest silky frilly stuff. Give me a cotton shirt and a pair of jeans and we're good to go. I don't own anything silky, frilly or with a skirt. I got married in jeans. I have never regretted not having a gown.
So okay, still not sure what any of this has to do with the title and I feel tricked and deceived...I hear ya, just bear with me a little bit more. Okay. I'm telling the back story now.
I've noticed lately a certain, shall we say distance from my husband. Haven't thought much about it, he works a lot, I work, the kids are in that all ways around and needing something summer pattern. We've been together 23 years and have had times we were distant. We don't fight (much). We bicker a bit. He's a know it all. I'm a know it all. Neither of us know shit. Of course we bicker. I'm right, he's right. It's the way we are.
So today I was over at the Coffee and Porn in the morning blog. I go there everyday, for the articles. Yeah. That's my story. So I was over at the cupoporn blog and there was this post Thursday Things: Rhianon Etzweiler on #Soldierporn.
Go look, I'll wait. Humming Jeopardy theme, hum hum hum hum, hum hum hum hum, hum hum humhu hu hum hum......okay done?
Go look, I'll wait. Humming Jeopardy theme, hum hum hum hum, hum hum hum hum, hum hum humhu hu hum hum......okay done?
So like I do when I'm browsing, I make comments. And this post isn't the usual porn that I know bothers him So I share.
He doesn't get it. Men in military uniforms somehow turned into a heated discussion of how he doesn't understand women. And that somehow moved into the I don't even know who you are anymore territory.
Hello! okay. I've sort of always been this way. Before I met him. All the years we've been together. I am not interested in girl things. I love guy things. I love guys. The male body, clothes, gear, toys. I can wield a power tool better than he can. So. Okay.
The second daughter pipes into the conversation, because we weren't hidden away. Her comment is, well, it's Mommy, just more magnified.
Exactly. I used to keep my likes to myself because it embarrassed me to be different. I don't anymore. And he doesn't know how to...
It's the gay porn thing.
He was fine with my choice of movies. I like action movies. Swords, car chases. Shit blowing up. He didn't have to go see kissing movies. Our first date we went to see Young Guns. My choice. Clue numero uno. She ain't right.
So for years it was great. I'm not like other women. I make no demands. I don't shop til I drop. And I cook. It's like having a really cool best friend you can have sex with and not be gay.
We watched porn together. I tolerated his interested in girl on girl. He didn't understand why I'm not into porn. Ooh, look three some with some double penetration. Ooh, now that I like. Except I always came away disappointed that the guys didn't touch. Or kiss. Or have sex. And I kept that to myself.
We stopped watching porn. I found it...okay straight porn to me is disturbing. Not all but the majority of the movies we rented featured very young women, eighteen, nineteen maybe twenty, being fucked by ugly old men. The girls, and that's what they looked like to me, girls, had that glazed eye look. They for the most part just lay there and let these dirty old men molest them. The women who were into the action who'd made names for themselves, had butchered their bodies in horrible ways that just repulsed me. Surgical scars under their beach ball breasts. White hair, orange skin. Heavy make-up to disguise that they were old at twenty-four. And dirty old men. Fat guys. Ugly guys. The last movie I saw, which was recent, one of the guys looked as if they picked him up at a homeless shelter, nasty long ZZ Top beard that he tied in sections. Naked sagging skin, and dirty Velcro tennis shoes. The girl was very young and stoned out of her mind. I'm sure the scene was out of context, maybe it was a theme about helping out the underprivileged by having sex with them. Or he was a pirated brought to this time and...no. just no.
And then there is girl on girl. Not to be confused with Lesbians. Straight girls who have sex with girls because it turns guys on. And this turns my husband on. And that's fine. That's normal. That's...I'm not the slightest bit turned on by the female body. I don't imagine myself in the heroine's shoes in romance novels. Women do not do it for me.
But I watched it with him because he liked it.
I never watched gay porn. That is to say until I started writing gay romance. Then I watched my first all male sex.
And I liked it.
Too much.
In the interest of total disclosure and the fact that I don't like him sneaking porn behind my back, I shared. He opted not to watch with me.
And we had a discussion. About the stories. About why I chose to write in the genre. Did it bother him? No, no. He read In from the Cold. He said he skimmed through the sex because the story engaged him. He pronounced it the best thing I'd written.
So I'm tooling along thinking okay. This is good. I finally understand things about myself that I didn't before. I'm happy with myself for the first time, ever. I don't have to pretend to be super woman. I wear pink because I like to wear pink. I wear my chain mail bracelet and my man's watch because I like them. I wear jeans. I watch Sam and Dean Winchester and think about Dean and Castiel and I get happy at car chase scenes. Oh and I like to watch pretty men have sex with pretty men. I'm just as normal as...well no one.
So let's talk about porn.
By the definition above
the depiction of erotic behavior (as in pictures or writing) intended to cause sexual excitement
porn can be anything as long as it sexually excites. I know women who become orgasmic just looking at shoes. Men and...is there anything that doesn't sexually excite men?
Why is it more acceptable for a man to watch girl girl scenes than a woman who is aroused by men? Why is it not gay when two women do the gay for pay thing, but gay when men do it?
Is there any straight porn that isn't drugged out little girls or surgically enhanced bimbos and ugly men?
Because, you know I don't really want to think about why my husband is upset because he finally sees the real me. The me that has been in front of him all this time.
Yes, denial is just a river in Africa.
So talk.
What does it for you?
Eww porn is wrong. You are evil.
Am I going to hell?
Well, probably, but the hand basket will be pretty full so I'm not too worried about it.
Mercy
A few books on my keeper shelf
I'll let you in on a little secret, one I tend to keep very quiet. I do not like classic literature. There I said it. Yes I've read my fair share of the classics, some without being assigned. The Good Earth by Pearl S. Buck comes to mind. I found it hiding in a box of "contraband" books in my dad's closet. I was bored so I read it. And enjoyed it for the most part. I also found Valley of the Dolls in that box and read it twice. I sort of enjoyed Brave New World which my son is slogging through now. But really I'm not much of a fan of what is deemed literature. Little hint, do not tell a group of romance writers that you can't stand Pride and Prejudice. It tends to make 'em mad. But I don't. I couldn't tolerate Jane Eyre either and mercifully turned down the opportunity to read Wuthering Heights. Little Women, I liked the Winona Rider movie couldn't stand the book. I loved The Secret Garden as a child but hated The Little Princess. Tom Sawyer yes, Huck Finn not so much. Nor anything else by Twain. Tom I think appealed to my hooligan side that being a girl I never could quite pull off. I loved Treasure Island. And some Poe. I could not read any of Tolkien's books. I tried. They made my eyes roll into the back of my head and get stuck. Slogged my way through half the Narnia series, The Magician's Nephew being my favorite. Loved the Charlie Sheen Three Musketeers but the book killed me. And we aren't even going to talk about college level. Okay, one notation, by the time I finished reading Paradise Lost in Brit Lit I wanted to go hunt Milton down and do horrible things to him. I would have dug him up.
Does this make me stupid? Or not well read? I mean seriously how do you classify well read anyway? Is there a list of books I should have committed to memory. If The Scarlet Letter is one of those, just shoot me now please. Hawthorne, I detest Hawthorne. DETEST. I feel like I live in the story Young Goodman Brown most days so really UGH.
One of the books that popped up on my kids middle school reading list was the reason I wanted to become a writer in the first place. The Outsiders. I loved that book. SE Hinton was a teen when she wrote it. I devoured it, three times in one day. I love that more up to date books regularly show up on the summer lists nowadays. Books I sought out when I was a kid or books that are current and speaks to them. No one has had to read Hawthorne. Or A Tale of Two Cities. And really is that a bad thing?
Is it? I'm asking, because I read. I just prefer genre fiction to that other stuff.
And another little romance writer tip, never ask who Georgette Heyer is? Because I'd never heard of her. Honest, story. Just don't ask.
So what do I read? What are some of my favorite all-time novels? Besides Gone With the Wind and Valley of the Dolls and Peyton Place and Fear of Flying (yeah I found that one in the contraband box, somebody had a taste for trashy sex novels and I never knew who). Not that GWTW is a trashy sex novel. Scarlett was but not GWTW, I really liked Scarlett. And I read Erica Jong when I was fifteen, so really doesn't that sort of counter all of the other stuff I refused to read????
No!
Okay, moving on. So let's talk about what I have on my keeper shelf. The books I won't let my kids take out of the house. Besides Anne McCaffrey's Harper Hall and Dragonriders of Pern trilogies (wasn't horribly fond of the later books) I'm going to stick to grown up books.
Interview with the Vampire
I sort of borrowed this book from my friend Robert one day in '88 while he was in class. Not this cover but an older version, before the books found fame and Tom Cruise ruined Lestat for me. A Gothic looking cover that drew my attention. And the homoerotic vampire making scene sort of turned me on. Robert didn't get his book back until the next day. gorgeous book. The Vampire Lestat not so much. It took me three months to read that thing.
The Chronicles of the Cheysuli by Jennifer Roberson. Eight fantasy shifter novels. My brother gave me the first one Shape Changers for a Christmas present in '89. I'm guessing some girl gave it to him and he couldn't be bothered so he pawned it off on me. The writing in the first one is a bit, well, it's not horribly good, esp compared to the later books, but the story was amazing. I can overlook a whole lot for a good story. And as a trivia topic, my first three kids are named for characters in these books, the older two first name the third's middle name.
Susan Elizabeth Phillips has two on my list. It Had to be You, the first in her Chicago Stars series. Because I love football and kick ass heroines. And because she broke a whole lotta rules. First, the whole omniscient POV thing at the beginning and secondly the hero had some kinky ass sex with his ex-wife, fully described. Uhm hello role play much.
And Nobody's Baby but Mine. There wasn't a whole lotta football but the Lucky Charms scene about midway through is what sealed the deal for me.
Mary Kan Andrews wrote a perfectly wonderful mystery series set in Atlanta under the pen name Kathy Hogan Trocheck (sorry if I spelt that wrong) with such delightful titles as Ever Crooked Nanny, To Live and Die in Dixie, and Homemade Sin. I recommend these books if you can find them, they are woefully out of print. But Savannah Blues and Hissy Fit are not. Now these books are more Chick-lit than mystery there is that mystery subplot going on. I can never decide which book I like best. Both are about romance gone wrong with two very willful heroines at the center, both have junk picking and salvaging which I shamefully love both have flamboyant best friends, one Southern Belle by the name of BeBe Loudermilk the second has the gay best boyfriend down to a science. She has a couple of sequels to Blues that just aren't as good. And her newer novels are pretty much complete romance novels without the hot sex.
Garden Spells by Sarah Addison Allen. I found this book on a library sell rack, it had been donated and since our library system does not accept donated books....I'll admit the cover sold me. I'd never heard of the author, it isn't really anything like I've ever read, a little romance, a little magic, a little southern sister drama, gorgeous storytelling. Sarah has just release her fourth novel The Peach Keeper. But this one is my favorite. Sort of a fairy tale but not. Just go find it.
Molly Harper. I love Molly Harper. Her Nice Girl's Don't vampire series is damned fricken hilarious. I love a sense of humor and this series wasn't all dark and Jane isn't some sort of warrior on a quest to save....nope she's a librarian. A librarian. And there's a vampire name Dick Cheney who's a bit of a hound dog. And yeah, I think it's better than Sookie Stackhouse. So sue me.
And One Last Thing is not a paranormal at all. It's a chic-lit in the same vein as Savannah Blues and Hissy Fit. Beautiful. I was laughing so hard I was crying when the heroine discovered her husband was cheating on her and decided it would be a good idea to make his little indiscretion known through the company newsletter. And One Last Thing. Go read this.
And now about the boys. The gay romance thing. Did I ever mention that I sort of have a thing for homo erotica? No? I'm pretty sure it's always been there. I mean Bo and Luke Duke, Starbuck and Apollo, Sam and Dean. I do love me some buddy drama. And let's not forget that whole Lestat changing Louis thing. So damned erotic. In case any of you don't know, Lestat was sort of gay. His whole story is one long drawn out male/male romp through the ages. With the exception of his mother (and what gay man isn't attached to his mother) and Claudia, because Louis was a bit of a perv Lestat didn't mess around with the girls.
So in no particular order I'm including some of my favorite gay erotic romances. I don't actually have these on a shelf they sort of live on my hard drive.
Caught Running is a sweet romance, okay not sweet there is hot and sticky man sex going on, but it's more like those teen romances I read in the 80's nerd boy meets jock boy and they go through this whole song and dance of crushing on each other and not wanting the other to find out. And when they figure it out it's just too much. The writing is well, too much head hopping sometimes in the same paragraph, and a couple of unexplored plot points that got confusing and really I need someone to explain that thing with the limes because I am still clueless. Anyway, this is the sort of story you can read all night and in the end you go awww.
Dreamspinner Press
I will admit I didn't want to like this book. The main hero was only 19 the second hero older and someone he knew as a kid. Plus there's that little thing of Tristan and Michael are the same exact age me and my husband were when we first met. 19 is too young for a committed relationship. So really I'm not sure why I bought this one.
Or why I love it. It has moments that make it wall bouncer, and really I'm not fond of Michael even in the end. But Tristan, Tristan I adore. Plus there is the greatest Thanksgiving scene in the history of Thanksgiving. And yes it's a simple boy meets boy romance and I sort of like that. Though the condom thing nearly drove me bonkers.
Loose Id
Finding Zach caught me off guard. I read the first chapter excerpt and hit buy. I had to have this book. It's a difficult story. Not really a romance but more of a coming of age story for a badly damaged young man. This one will dig your heart out and feed it to you. It's not easy to read so be prepared if you buy it. You won't regret it, but still there isn't enough tissues made.
Dreamspinner Press
And speaking of tissues. You're gonna need them for this one too. Again not just a simple romance. The life long best friends story, add in professional basketball and a homophobic coach. And I'm pretty sure between Amy Lane and Rowan Speedwell there hasn't been a torture plot left unwritten. They might just be the queens or the tortured heroes.
Dreamspinner Press
Two hot firemen. New York post 9/11 setting. The Gay for you story. Written by a guy. With enough alternate versions of choking the snake and spanking the monkey, seriously just take notes. Hot hot sex. Firefighting action and porn. What's not to love. Well the editing could have been better. Grown for Groan. But again the story is what matters. Hot Head. Damon Suede. You won't be sorry and you might develop an accent. Go read.
Dreamspinner Press
And this is only a taste of what I like. So I've shared mine. What's yours? I'd love to hear from you. Let's talk.
Mercy
Does this make me stupid? Or not well read? I mean seriously how do you classify well read anyway? Is there a list of books I should have committed to memory. If The Scarlet Letter is one of those, just shoot me now please. Hawthorne, I detest Hawthorne. DETEST. I feel like I live in the story Young Goodman Brown most days so really UGH.
One of the books that popped up on my kids middle school reading list was the reason I wanted to become a writer in the first place. The Outsiders. I loved that book. SE Hinton was a teen when she wrote it. I devoured it, three times in one day. I love that more up to date books regularly show up on the summer lists nowadays. Books I sought out when I was a kid or books that are current and speaks to them. No one has had to read Hawthorne. Or A Tale of Two Cities. And really is that a bad thing?
Is it? I'm asking, because I read. I just prefer genre fiction to that other stuff.
And another little romance writer tip, never ask who Georgette Heyer is? Because I'd never heard of her. Honest, story. Just don't ask.
So what do I read? What are some of my favorite all-time novels? Besides Gone With the Wind and Valley of the Dolls and Peyton Place and Fear of Flying (yeah I found that one in the contraband box, somebody had a taste for trashy sex novels and I never knew who). Not that GWTW is a trashy sex novel. Scarlett was but not GWTW, I really liked Scarlett. And I read Erica Jong when I was fifteen, so really doesn't that sort of counter all of the other stuff I refused to read????
No!
Okay, moving on. So let's talk about what I have on my keeper shelf. The books I won't let my kids take out of the house. Besides Anne McCaffrey's Harper Hall and Dragonriders of Pern trilogies (wasn't horribly fond of the later books) I'm going to stick to grown up books.
I sort of borrowed this book from my friend Robert one day in '88 while he was in class. Not this cover but an older version, before the books found fame and Tom Cruise ruined Lestat for me. A Gothic looking cover that drew my attention. And the homoerotic vampire making scene sort of turned me on. Robert didn't get his book back until the next day. gorgeous book. The Vampire Lestat not so much. It took me three months to read that thing.
And Nobody's Baby but Mine. There wasn't a whole lotta football but the Lucky Charms scene about midway through is what sealed the deal for me.
Molly Harper. I love Molly Harper. Her Nice Girl's Don't vampire series is damned fricken hilarious. I love a sense of humor and this series wasn't all dark and Jane isn't some sort of warrior on a quest to save....nope she's a librarian. A librarian. And there's a vampire name Dick Cheney who's a bit of a hound dog. And yeah, I think it's better than Sookie Stackhouse. So sue me.
And One Last Thing is not a paranormal at all. It's a chic-lit in the same vein as Savannah Blues and Hissy Fit. Beautiful. I was laughing so hard I was crying when the heroine discovered her husband was cheating on her and decided it would be a good idea to make his little indiscretion known through the company newsletter. And One Last Thing. Go read this.
And now about the boys. The gay romance thing. Did I ever mention that I sort of have a thing for homo erotica? No? I'm pretty sure it's always been there. I mean Bo and Luke Duke, Starbuck and Apollo, Sam and Dean. I do love me some buddy drama. And let's not forget that whole Lestat changing Louis thing. So damned erotic. In case any of you don't know, Lestat was sort of gay. His whole story is one long drawn out male/male romp through the ages. With the exception of his mother (and what gay man isn't attached to his mother) and Claudia, because Louis was a bit of a perv Lestat didn't mess around with the girls.
So in no particular order I'm including some of my favorite gay erotic romances. I don't actually have these on a shelf they sort of live on my hard drive.
Dreamspinner Press
Or why I love it. It has moments that make it wall bouncer, and really I'm not fond of Michael even in the end. But Tristan, Tristan I adore. Plus there is the greatest Thanksgiving scene in the history of Thanksgiving. And yes it's a simple boy meets boy romance and I sort of like that. Though the condom thing nearly drove me bonkers.
Loose Id
Finding Zach caught me off guard. I read the first chapter excerpt and hit buy. I had to have this book. It's a difficult story. Not really a romance but more of a coming of age story for a badly damaged young man. This one will dig your heart out and feed it to you. It's not easy to read so be prepared if you buy it. You won't regret it, but still there isn't enough tissues made.
Dreamspinner Press
And speaking of tissues. You're gonna need them for this one too. Again not just a simple romance. The life long best friends story, add in professional basketball and a homophobic coach. And I'm pretty sure between Amy Lane and Rowan Speedwell there hasn't been a torture plot left unwritten. They might just be the queens or the tortured heroes.
Dreamspinner Press
Dreamspinner Press
And this is only a taste of what I like. So I've shared mine. What's yours? I'd love to hear from you. Let's talk.
Mercy
Where I Live
I read a review of my short story The 51st Thursday on Goodreads this morning that made me smile. Why? Because the reviewer liked three things. How I described my setting. How I described a hurricane. And the kick ass game of basketball my guys played.
So on the never ending hunt for new blog material I thought I'd talk a little about those three items. First thank you to the reviewer Val. Second well, let's talk about basketball. I sort of lettered in the sport in high school. Average height white girl with no real skill. By lettered I mean I sat the bench or ran up and down the court. I never scored. But I had fun. And yes that really was all that mattered. And the hurricane...oh, sweet readers, you have no idea. I think I've weathered about fourteen hurricanes from tiny barely worth calling a hurricane to wipe you out. Ivan and Katrina both side swiped us. We evacuated during Ivan, went to the Tallahassee area and my family. And did not escape it. We hunkered down for Katrina. I watched a tree twist around on itself during that storm. Yes I was looking out the window. (don't do that okay) That tree is still standing. I looks like a wash cloth that was rung out and left to dry in that shape but it's still alive. What I've learned about hurricanes I put in that book. Unless you live near water or the coast chances are good you're going to survive. Now I didn't say undamaged. But really after those two storms I learned there isn't really any where to go that's safe. Get out of the flood zone. Clean up your flying debris. Put heavy blankets over your window inside at the very least. Fill your freeze with bottles of water. (IMPORTANT) as many as you can. Gallon size and drinking bottle size. Why, because during an extended power outage the frozen water will keep your freezer cool for a day or two longer and if your water supply is contaminated or shut off then you have drinking water. Cook your meats if you don't have a generator. And for fuck sake have a barbecue grill with plenty of fuel and a chainsaw. And a full tank of gas in your cars. It's all you can do really. The aftermath is usually worse than the storm. I can go on forever but I'm stopping there.
And my setting. I set two of my books in the city in which I live. 51 and my first book If Tomorrow Never Comes, and really Sunny with a Chance is sort of set here, if across the bay in Baldwin County counts as here.
I live in Mobile, Alabama. I grew up in Florida near Tallahassee. I came here to go to college at the University of South Alabama in 1987. I left in 1988. Came back in 1992 with a kid and a husband. My daughter is now a student at the same school. She used to play on that campus and wondered why it seemed familiar. Duh. Anyway, we've been here ever since.
I have a love hate relationship with this city. I really love it and I really hate it. That is to say, parts of the city is just gorgeous, very old. Mobile is one of the oldest cities in the United States. Over 300 years. And older than New Orleans. Mobile survived the Civil War largely intact because Mobile Bay was not taken until the end of the war. Look up Damn the Torpedoes Full Speed Ahead and Farragut and the Battle of Mobile Bay. No, Mobile survived the war, but not their own greed. Throughout the twentieth century the city demolished most of it's history to make way for parking garages and such nonsense. The University of South Alabama Archives has tons of pictorial history that will make you cry. Yes we are Southern down here. Yes we have an accent. We have several accents. Upper Class southern, Redneck southern (most of us fall somewhere in between), and Black southern. I speak em all. Along with some really good Yankee too.
We are incredibly diverse here. Not many southern cities are. It's because we are a major port. I have been privileged to meet and work with people from all over the world. My kids grew up with kids of just about every religion and nationality.
But we do have crime, post Katrina crime, and blight. And despite the diversity we still have that Good Ole Boy thing going on. The politics here is infuriating most times entertaining all the time. We are a modern city with modern problems. But our history is thriving.
If you get down here you should stop and visit. Gimme a holler and I'll show you around.
Mercy
So on the never ending hunt for new blog material I thought I'd talk a little about those three items. First thank you to the reviewer Val. Second well, let's talk about basketball. I sort of lettered in the sport in high school. Average height white girl with no real skill. By lettered I mean I sat the bench or ran up and down the court. I never scored. But I had fun. And yes that really was all that mattered. And the hurricane...oh, sweet readers, you have no idea. I think I've weathered about fourteen hurricanes from tiny barely worth calling a hurricane to wipe you out. Ivan and Katrina both side swiped us. We evacuated during Ivan, went to the Tallahassee area and my family. And did not escape it. We hunkered down for Katrina. I watched a tree twist around on itself during that storm. Yes I was looking out the window. (don't do that okay) That tree is still standing. I looks like a wash cloth that was rung out and left to dry in that shape but it's still alive. What I've learned about hurricanes I put in that book. Unless you live near water or the coast chances are good you're going to survive. Now I didn't say undamaged. But really after those two storms I learned there isn't really any where to go that's safe. Get out of the flood zone. Clean up your flying debris. Put heavy blankets over your window inside at the very least. Fill your freeze with bottles of water. (IMPORTANT) as many as you can. Gallon size and drinking bottle size. Why, because during an extended power outage the frozen water will keep your freezer cool for a day or two longer and if your water supply is contaminated or shut off then you have drinking water. Cook your meats if you don't have a generator. And for fuck sake have a barbecue grill with plenty of fuel and a chainsaw. And a full tank of gas in your cars. It's all you can do really. The aftermath is usually worse than the storm. I can go on forever but I'm stopping there.
And my setting. I set two of my books in the city in which I live. 51 and my first book If Tomorrow Never Comes, and really Sunny with a Chance is sort of set here, if across the bay in Baldwin County counts as here.
I live in Mobile, Alabama. I grew up in Florida near Tallahassee. I came here to go to college at the University of South Alabama in 1987. I left in 1988. Came back in 1992 with a kid and a husband. My daughter is now a student at the same school. She used to play on that campus and wondered why it seemed familiar. Duh. Anyway, we've been here ever since.
I have a love hate relationship with this city. I really love it and I really hate it. That is to say, parts of the city is just gorgeous, very old. Mobile is one of the oldest cities in the United States. Over 300 years. And older than New Orleans. Mobile survived the Civil War largely intact because Mobile Bay was not taken until the end of the war. Look up Damn the Torpedoes Full Speed Ahead and Farragut and the Battle of Mobile Bay. No, Mobile survived the war, but not their own greed. Throughout the twentieth century the city demolished most of it's history to make way for parking garages and such nonsense. The University of South Alabama Archives has tons of pictorial history that will make you cry. Yes we are Southern down here. Yes we have an accent. We have several accents. Upper Class southern, Redneck southern (most of us fall somewhere in between), and Black southern. I speak em all. Along with some really good Yankee too.
We are incredibly diverse here. Not many southern cities are. It's because we are a major port. I have been privileged to meet and work with people from all over the world. My kids grew up with kids of just about every religion and nationality.
But we do have crime, post Katrina crime, and blight. And despite the diversity we still have that Good Ole Boy thing going on. The politics here is infuriating most times entertaining all the time. We are a modern city with modern problems. But our history is thriving.
If you get down here you should stop and visit. Gimme a holler and I'll show you around.
Mercy
The Modern Mobile Skyline complete with the tallest building in Alabama the RSA tower on the right.
As seen from Dauphin Street (our Bourbon St but without the strippers).
The USS Alabama sits in Mobile Bay just outside the city.
The Amsouth Bank Building built sometime in the first part of the 20th century
More Dauphin Street in Downtown Mobile
This is one of my favorite buildings I'm not sure of its original name it's currently the Compass Bank Building
The GM&O Railway building fully restored and stunning. Now the hub of Mobile's public transportation.
Barton Academy. This building started out as a boarding school for girls. Became Mobile High School, which I think (need to verify) is the first and oldest high school in the state of Alabama. MHS moved to a larger campus and became Murphy High School. Barton Academy became the central offices of Mobile County School Board but is now abandoned and deteriorating. Remember what I said about Mobile and it's history? Anybody want to buy a big ass square building?
This is Murphy High today. A huge sprawling Spanish influenced school.
I can't remember the name of this Cathedral it sits at the head of Cathedral Square which is one of many parks downtown.
One of the oldest buildings in the City. Government Street Methodist, lovingly called the Beehive. Because it sort of looks like one. Aubrey calls it the Pirate castle because the massive doors have X s on them.
We have a fort. It sits right over the I-10 or Wallace Tunnel. Fort Conde (not the original nor in the original location) is the oldest building in the city, the surviving portion of it is open to the public.
Another view of the fort from the street.
And then we have this. Or had this. I saw this a long time ago just tucked in between a couple of buildings and spent years looking for it again. History happened. To ignore it or wish it away does more harm than good. But I'll tell ya one thing. We all seem to get along very well down here in The Azalea City despite our history. Or because of it. Take that however you want.
I'm Speechless
as in I have no idea what to blog about. And really it doesn't matter anyway since I've driven you all away with my crazy. All six of you.
Yes I know it's Saturday. I never blog on Saturday. Rarely on Sunday, but never on Saturday. I'm trying to work through today with out losing what's left of my marbles. A death anniversary. My dad's. And it's the first one. I am not as weepy as I thought I would be and that bothers me. I've lost the urge to call him and catch or tell him something one of the kids did. I didn't think about calling him last month when my daughter Aislinn announced her engagement. Or that my son Aidan is starting senior year. but this is new. A few months ago at the end of school I was still looking through my phone log to call him. So yeah, this is good.
I still haven't gone through the few things I have of his. His massive coin collection. The boxes of photos from when he was young. Very young. Can't do it. I can't get to the cemetery because it's three hours from me so I haven't even seen his headstone yet.
So okay, that's what is in my mind. Not fluffy stuff that will make people feel all warm and gooey. Pardon me. I'll get past it. I swear but really the problem of trying to keep this blog fresh is growing tiresome. Because I am not the kind to share everything nor do I have huge opinions on the world topics. I'm a very private person who can when I want to bullshit with the best. I don't want to right now.
I'm not taking a break, I have a book coming out soon. I have to actively remind people that I have five other books out there. And this is my only real window to the world. So no. I'm not leaving. Just trying to find a new path.
I need a website. And a marketing plan. Or a publicist. Someone who will schedule and plan and pimp me. Because I really just want to write. I don't want to do all that. And I'm broke. So consider me a starving artist. All three of my royalty checks came in the same day, and combined it wasn't enough to pay the electric bill. I am looking for really really inexpensive. Suggestions and ideas would be great appreciated.
And I'm going to do something I've never done before. I'm going to give you a glimpse of my world. My real world. As in personal photos of okay just hush and enjoy because I might not ever do this again.
Yes I know it's Saturday. I never blog on Saturday. Rarely on Sunday, but never on Saturday. I'm trying to work through today with out losing what's left of my marbles. A death anniversary. My dad's. And it's the first one. I am not as weepy as I thought I would be and that bothers me. I've lost the urge to call him and catch or tell him something one of the kids did. I didn't think about calling him last month when my daughter Aislinn announced her engagement. Or that my son Aidan is starting senior year. but this is new. A few months ago at the end of school I was still looking through my phone log to call him. So yeah, this is good.
I still haven't gone through the few things I have of his. His massive coin collection. The boxes of photos from when he was young. Very young. Can't do it. I can't get to the cemetery because it's three hours from me so I haven't even seen his headstone yet.
So okay, that's what is in my mind. Not fluffy stuff that will make people feel all warm and gooey. Pardon me. I'll get past it. I swear but really the problem of trying to keep this blog fresh is growing tiresome. Because I am not the kind to share everything nor do I have huge opinions on the world topics. I'm a very private person who can when I want to bullshit with the best. I don't want to right now.
I'm not taking a break, I have a book coming out soon. I have to actively remind people that I have five other books out there. And this is my only real window to the world. So no. I'm not leaving. Just trying to find a new path.
I need a website. And a marketing plan. Or a publicist. Someone who will schedule and plan and pimp me. Because I really just want to write. I don't want to do all that. And I'm broke. So consider me a starving artist. All three of my royalty checks came in the same day, and combined it wasn't enough to pay the electric bill. I am looking for really really inexpensive. Suggestions and ideas would be great appreciated.
And I'm going to do something I've never done before. I'm going to give you a glimpse of my world. My real world. As in personal photos of okay just hush and enjoy because I might not ever do this again.
This is my family's cemetery in Florida. I love this place in a macabre sort of way. It's pretty old.
The backside of daughter number 3 Alaina
this is princess pink n lace who doesn't understand funeral: Aubrey
My oldest Aislinn. Behind her is the tent covering Daddy's grave.
birthday princess and the boy and middle girl goofing off
which evolved into a free for all
ah composure, I think she won
Alaina and Aubrey
Aidan and Aubrey
yes that is a boy, his name is Aidan and at the time he had the longest hair in the family
my girls
Aislinn and Aubrey
Why yes I did name all of my kids A names and yes that is their real names. So now you know what the hellions look like when I go on my tirades.
Normal. Normal Normal
Mercy
Taboos: As in where is the line and what happens if I cross it?
As most of you know, if you've spent any time trolling my blog, I write gay romance. And regular heterosexual (which we will shorten to het because it takes too long to type heterosexual) with that one menage thrown in for good measure. I started out writing het romance as Emjai Colbert but when I left Ellora's Cave I wanted a new name and a fresh start. (long story that I can't legally talk about) I wrote my first menage a trois and my up and coming new het football book Wicked Game. I adore football. I do. Sorry, off topic. After WG I wrote my first gay romance. And them my second and my third with two more in production.
Now I didn't just jump into this with the idea that it's easy. Gay romance is not easy and even trying not to there are still mistakes. I'm a straight female and really there are some things I wasn't privy to at the time. And there will be other stuff I'm not privy to in the future and I'm sure I'll get something wrong. But isn't that the same for any genre? The possibility of getting something wrong. Sure. Or just doing something other authors laugh and point at.
Yes other authors laugh and point. I believe it's childish but it happens. More so in gay.
So really I guess I'm in the mood to discuss why I switched to writing in the M/M genre and why I might not ever return to het. Again. Ad Nauseum. Okay not really. Did it done it enough.
I do,however, want to discuss taboos in romance. In gay romance in particular.
In regular one guy one girl romance we have a laundry list of no-nos. Rape. Or forced seduction as some call it. Big trope in the 80s now sort of frowned upon, sternly. We're not talking about rape as a topic, but as the first contact between our hero and heroine. We can write about rape all we want we just can't glorify it. KWIM? Infidelity...ooh, again in romance infidelity between the hero and heroine is, I'm not going to say strictly frowned upon, but who wants to read a book about a hero who runs around on the heroine after they've hooked up? Not very romantic. Makes him unsympathetic, untrustworthy, unworthy of the heroine's love and all that. And then the erotic no nos. No under age sex, even in flash back, you can mention it happened you can't write it word for word. No golden showers, no bestiality. No well there are some things that I had to look up and cringed when I saw the definition that I'm not going to talk about here...felching... coughs. dare ya. okay don't let's just say you don't want to know but if you do NSFW.
In gay, I think the field is a little wider open. I mean the gay community is different than the straight. They treat fidelity differently. Sex is most definitely different. Guys are tougher. Two guys having rough sex isn't as objectionable as in a m/f. Language. I use cruder language. I'm rougher on my guys than I ever would be on a woman. I've done really bad stuff to them...just ask Nathan (In From the Cold).
But what is taboo? I mean really taboo.
Porn? No, porn seems to be widely accepted as a career choice in gay romance.
Older guy and much younger guy, especially one who was under age but now isn't. Nope. In het romance that sort of hits the squick button. Okay except in historical when it was fine, but we still prefer our heroine end up with a guy close to her age not the disgusting old dude her dad promised her to at birth. May/December romance in gay is pretty popular. It seems to echo the culture. Though again, I notice most gay men tend to stick with in their age groups in real life.
Incest? Aha. Incest is certainly frowned upon right? Well, one would think incest would at least be taboo in gay...whew...okay big gulp here. Yes and no. Yes it's not something you see in the mainstream (can you call gay romance mainstream?). Incest is still looked at cross-eyed, but I know of one mainstream romance epub who does publish incest stories. Brotherly love. Usually twins. And all of the books I've found seem to be highly reviewed on Goodreads...okay if they were well written and sensitive, not if the writing was poor or the story was more for shock value. Brother love stories will probably continue and will probably grow in popularity. It's the logical next step after best friends for life, I guess.
And Daddy fetish. It's alive and kicking in kink romance. I'm not talking about role play between consenting unrelated adults. But step-father daughter stories. Usually after the death of the mother or divorce.
Step sibling stories have been in mainstream romance for years. Some of my favorite writers have done the one time step-brother/sister fall in love thing. And no one thinks a thing about it.
So by the same token step-dad/ former daughter romance should be fine right?
Have I written one? uh no.
I sort of have a problem with brother menage in which the brothers aren't gay for each other. Just go ahead and cross the damned line already. Menage is about getting kinky. If you are going to diddle the same girl at the same time it's already in the neighborhood of gay or bi or what the hell ever. Incesty.
What about daddy fetish in the gay romance genre? Is the step-dad former son theme acceptable there? I don't know I haven't seen any. Doesn't mean they aren't. May/December. I guess it would be fine.
And what if I said I was working on a book that crosses a line? But doesn't actually cross the line. What sort of career damage would that cause.
What if I wrote a story in which a young man in his teens fathers a child that isn't his child at all but he doesn't know this. What if this child as an adult finds himself in a relationship with the former lover of his "father". What if the adult child knows his mother lied. But the "father" doesn't. What if an inappropriate relationship with the "father" through their mutual lover develops. Menage? What if in the end no one in the relationship is related by blood?
Just what if? Where are the lines and what happens if they are crossed?
It seems to be acceptable for step siblings to pair off as adults but what if their parents never part? What if Greg and Marcia Brady had fallen in love? Where is the line in this situation?
In step father/ daughter books, why is it acceptable only if the mother is out of the picture? Didn't the man raise the girl at some point in her childhood? Doesn't this make this taboo? Same for step mother/son stories though I haven't seen too many of those. This scenario would be more likely since men divorce and marry women closer to their son's ages all the time.
Where is the line? Is there even a line anymore?
Other than pedophilia or rape is there a line?
Have I written a romance between father figure and son? No, but what if? Is it any different than a coach or a teacher or the actual step father if there is no blood tie and it's consensual? What if I wanted to explore this story?
What if?
That's how stories start. What if I did this what if I did that? What if?
What if?
You tell me.
Where is your squick button? Where do you as a reader draw the line?
What happens when a writer you love crosses that line? Do you throw the book against the wall? Do you follow him or her to the conclusion of the story? How do you deal with what makes you uncomfortable?
Discuss. I dare you!
Mercy
Oh and hot man just because you were kind enough to wade through my mental applesauce up there.
Now I didn't just jump into this with the idea that it's easy. Gay romance is not easy and even trying not to there are still mistakes. I'm a straight female and really there are some things I wasn't privy to at the time. And there will be other stuff I'm not privy to in the future and I'm sure I'll get something wrong. But isn't that the same for any genre? The possibility of getting something wrong. Sure. Or just doing something other authors laugh and point at.
Yes other authors laugh and point. I believe it's childish but it happens. More so in gay.
So really I guess I'm in the mood to discuss why I switched to writing in the M/M genre and why I might not ever return to het. Again. Ad Nauseum. Okay not really. Did it done it enough.
I do,however, want to discuss taboos in romance. In gay romance in particular.
In regular one guy one girl romance we have a laundry list of no-nos. Rape. Or forced seduction as some call it. Big trope in the 80s now sort of frowned upon, sternly. We're not talking about rape as a topic, but as the first contact between our hero and heroine. We can write about rape all we want we just can't glorify it. KWIM? Infidelity...ooh, again in romance infidelity between the hero and heroine is, I'm not going to say strictly frowned upon, but who wants to read a book about a hero who runs around on the heroine after they've hooked up? Not very romantic. Makes him unsympathetic, untrustworthy, unworthy of the heroine's love and all that. And then the erotic no nos. No under age sex, even in flash back, you can mention it happened you can't write it word for word. No golden showers, no bestiality. No well there are some things that I had to look up and cringed when I saw the definition that I'm not going to talk about here...felching... coughs. dare ya. okay don't let's just say you don't want to know but if you do NSFW.
In gay, I think the field is a little wider open. I mean the gay community is different than the straight. They treat fidelity differently. Sex is most definitely different. Guys are tougher. Two guys having rough sex isn't as objectionable as in a m/f. Language. I use cruder language. I'm rougher on my guys than I ever would be on a woman. I've done really bad stuff to them...just ask Nathan (In From the Cold).
But what is taboo? I mean really taboo.
Porn? No, porn seems to be widely accepted as a career choice in gay romance.
Older guy and much younger guy, especially one who was under age but now isn't. Nope. In het romance that sort of hits the squick button. Okay except in historical when it was fine, but we still prefer our heroine end up with a guy close to her age not the disgusting old dude her dad promised her to at birth. May/December romance in gay is pretty popular. It seems to echo the culture. Though again, I notice most gay men tend to stick with in their age groups in real life.
Incest? Aha. Incest is certainly frowned upon right? Well, one would think incest would at least be taboo in gay...whew...okay big gulp here. Yes and no. Yes it's not something you see in the mainstream (can you call gay romance mainstream?). Incest is still looked at cross-eyed, but I know of one mainstream romance epub who does publish incest stories. Brotherly love. Usually twins. And all of the books I've found seem to be highly reviewed on Goodreads...okay if they were well written and sensitive, not if the writing was poor or the story was more for shock value. Brother love stories will probably continue and will probably grow in popularity. It's the logical next step after best friends for life, I guess.
And Daddy fetish. It's alive and kicking in kink romance. I'm not talking about role play between consenting unrelated adults. But step-father daughter stories. Usually after the death of the mother or divorce.
Step sibling stories have been in mainstream romance for years. Some of my favorite writers have done the one time step-brother/sister fall in love thing. And no one thinks a thing about it.
So by the same token step-dad/ former daughter romance should be fine right?
Have I written one? uh no.
I sort of have a problem with brother menage in which the brothers aren't gay for each other. Just go ahead and cross the damned line already. Menage is about getting kinky. If you are going to diddle the same girl at the same time it's already in the neighborhood of gay or bi or what the hell ever. Incesty.
What about daddy fetish in the gay romance genre? Is the step-dad former son theme acceptable there? I don't know I haven't seen any. Doesn't mean they aren't. May/December. I guess it would be fine.
And what if I said I was working on a book that crosses a line? But doesn't actually cross the line. What sort of career damage would that cause.
What if I wrote a story in which a young man in his teens fathers a child that isn't his child at all but he doesn't know this. What if this child as an adult finds himself in a relationship with the former lover of his "father". What if the adult child knows his mother lied. But the "father" doesn't. What if an inappropriate relationship with the "father" through their mutual lover develops. Menage? What if in the end no one in the relationship is related by blood?
Just what if? Where are the lines and what happens if they are crossed?
It seems to be acceptable for step siblings to pair off as adults but what if their parents never part? What if Greg and Marcia Brady had fallen in love? Where is the line in this situation?
In step father/ daughter books, why is it acceptable only if the mother is out of the picture? Didn't the man raise the girl at some point in her childhood? Doesn't this make this taboo? Same for step mother/son stories though I haven't seen too many of those. This scenario would be more likely since men divorce and marry women closer to their son's ages all the time.
Where is the line? Is there even a line anymore?
Other than pedophilia or rape is there a line?
Have I written a romance between father figure and son? No, but what if? Is it any different than a coach or a teacher or the actual step father if there is no blood tie and it's consensual? What if I wanted to explore this story?
What if?
That's how stories start. What if I did this what if I did that? What if?
What if?
You tell me.
Where is your squick button? Where do you as a reader draw the line?
What happens when a writer you love crosses that line? Do you throw the book against the wall? Do you follow him or her to the conclusion of the story? How do you deal with what makes you uncomfortable?
Discuss. I dare you!
Mercy
Oh and hot man just because you were kind enough to wade through my mental applesauce up there.
It's 3 AM I should be....
not waiting for my kids to get home from the movies. I am, just like every one else. I would have loved to have gone with them to the midnight showing of Harry Potter but when I bought tickets I was under the impression the hub unit would be working tonight and I am so not taking the little princess. She won't even sit still for a kids movie yet. Harry Potter is not for her.
Teens two and three are old enough to manage it without adult supervision. They rounded up a posse. I believe of all girls and my son and went on their merry little way. I never got to stay out until 3 when I was a teen. Heck I don't stay out until 3 as an adult. I have no life.
Whinging won't change that. i still love that word. whinging. I got it from Harry Potter.
so that we are all on the same page. I adore Harry Potter. I found the books when my oldest was in the third grade. I think right after book three came out and the craze was only starting. I wanted to see why a kids book was causing such fuss. And oh my goody god. Love love love. The books. The movies. The kids who grew up before our very eyes. Along with mine. Of everything there is my family minus the one who wasn't born then, we share this. All of us. We fought over who was first to read. I always won. By virtue of being the fastest reader. And the discoverer and the one who went out and bought the books and...well, because I am queen and what I say goes.
Summers spent trying to keep people from spoiling whole books. And seeing who could come up with the most creative fictional spoiler. Me again. Crying over Dobbie. I cried harder at the death of that annoying little elf than I did for Dumbledore. I cried for George or was it Fred. And for Aragog. I cried for Aragog. And the careless way Hedwig was taken from us.
Ten or so years ago I dragged my then youngest kid age six kicking a screaming to the first movie. She became and instant fan. My oldest was ten. The middle seven. This time we didn't see it as a family and that makes me sad. My oldest has moved out. The newest member is too young. I wish we could have ended the series as we began it. I wish I wasn't sitting here crying because of some stupid movie.
I wish everyone peace and love and laughter and if you haven't gone yet go. If you have never watched you should. And definitely if you have seen the movies but never read the books. you should. Go to the library get them. Love them.
Love,
Mercy
Teens two and three are old enough to manage it without adult supervision. They rounded up a posse. I believe of all girls and my son and went on their merry little way. I never got to stay out until 3 when I was a teen. Heck I don't stay out until 3 as an adult. I have no life.
Whinging won't change that. i still love that word. whinging. I got it from Harry Potter.
so that we are all on the same page. I adore Harry Potter. I found the books when my oldest was in the third grade. I think right after book three came out and the craze was only starting. I wanted to see why a kids book was causing such fuss. And oh my goody god. Love love love. The books. The movies. The kids who grew up before our very eyes. Along with mine. Of everything there is my family minus the one who wasn't born then, we share this. All of us. We fought over who was first to read. I always won. By virtue of being the fastest reader. And the discoverer and the one who went out and bought the books and...well, because I am queen and what I say goes.
Summers spent trying to keep people from spoiling whole books. And seeing who could come up with the most creative fictional spoiler. Me again. Crying over Dobbie. I cried harder at the death of that annoying little elf than I did for Dumbledore. I cried for George or was it Fred. And for Aragog. I cried for Aragog. And the careless way Hedwig was taken from us.
Ten or so years ago I dragged my then youngest kid age six kicking a screaming to the first movie. She became and instant fan. My oldest was ten. The middle seven. This time we didn't see it as a family and that makes me sad. My oldest has moved out. The newest member is too young. I wish we could have ended the series as we began it. I wish I wasn't sitting here crying because of some stupid movie.
I wish everyone peace and love and laughter and if you haven't gone yet go. If you have never watched you should. And definitely if you have seen the movies but never read the books. you should. Go to the library get them. Love them.
Love,
Mercy
Writers and other crazy people
I refer to myself as crazy quite often. I was recently told I shouldn't demean myself in that way. But it's true. I really do consider myself to be crazy. Not insane. Don't confuse the two. I mean seriously who would torture themselves the way I am. It's self inflicted torture to an extent and maybe a touch of insanity thrown in. I don't hear voices. I do, however, see people that I don't know having fully formed lives inside my head. I see them in that odd dreamlike way. Not really corporeal people or even a movie like image. Just an image. And they don't use real words but I know what they are saying. I let them use me as a vessel to tell their story. Sometimes I can't or don't for some reason tell the story fast enough and they desert me leaving me stranded. I'm there now. I was away from writing in the middle of a story too long and my characters deserted me. There are no images in my head there are no characters telling me what to write or how to do anything at all right now.
I should feel normal. I should feel relief that the driving force behind my crazy is quiet. But no I feel lost and abandoned and crazier if that makes any sense.
It doesn't make sense to me. Normal people aren't burdened with voices who tell them what to do. Normal people get up in the morning and go to work. They meet people and have lunch and drive home to be with their family. Eat, toss around a football or a Frisbee or drink a beer or wine with the neighbors. I'm that crazy woman who sits in a corner in her bedroom with a laptop and a few reference books for company. This is what I do. This is who I am. I'm not happy when I am not doing this. I write. I wring suffering out of other people who aren't real. I plan death and plot heinous acts and I write long drawn out sex scenes.
There is something seriously wrong with me. Medication might help but probably not. It's crazy. It's so far off normal that, well, honestly I've never known normal so I couldn't begin to imagine how far off normal I really am.
So yes I am crazy. But I'm not insane. I know the images aren't real. I've never considered doing in real life some of the more unnatural acts I've written about. I do not talk back...okay, I have, I have talked back, in public. Just stood there one day and told Nathan and Quinn to shut the fuck up. I was in the grocery store. I wasn't alone in the aisle and I don't have one of those blue tooth headsets. So yep. The line is blurred. I talk back.
I'm still not having gay sex or tying people up in my garage. Mostly because I don't have a garage. Or a basement. But there is a field behind my house and I know how to use a shovel.....
Have I mentioned Nathan and Quinn are talking to me again? I finished the sequel to In From the Cold in May but I'm waiting to self-publish it for now. Instead of fresh characters whose rights I own telling me to write, my skater boys Tay and Christy for instance, Nate and Quinn aren't satisfied. Quinn wants more. He's a selfish little bastard. Scared my skater boys right off.
Yeah, no. Crazy writer chick. That's me. And I'm sort of proud of it.
Mercy
I should feel normal. I should feel relief that the driving force behind my crazy is quiet. But no I feel lost and abandoned and crazier if that makes any sense.
It doesn't make sense to me. Normal people aren't burdened with voices who tell them what to do. Normal people get up in the morning and go to work. They meet people and have lunch and drive home to be with their family. Eat, toss around a football or a Frisbee or drink a beer or wine with the neighbors. I'm that crazy woman who sits in a corner in her bedroom with a laptop and a few reference books for company. This is what I do. This is who I am. I'm not happy when I am not doing this. I write. I wring suffering out of other people who aren't real. I plan death and plot heinous acts and I write long drawn out sex scenes.
There is something seriously wrong with me. Medication might help but probably not. It's crazy. It's so far off normal that, well, honestly I've never known normal so I couldn't begin to imagine how far off normal I really am.
So yes I am crazy. But I'm not insane. I know the images aren't real. I've never considered doing in real life some of the more unnatural acts I've written about. I do not talk back...okay, I have, I have talked back, in public. Just stood there one day and told Nathan and Quinn to shut the fuck up. I was in the grocery store. I wasn't alone in the aisle and I don't have one of those blue tooth headsets. So yep. The line is blurred. I talk back.
I'm still not having gay sex or tying people up in my garage. Mostly because I don't have a garage. Or a basement. But there is a field behind my house and I know how to use a shovel.....
Have I mentioned Nathan and Quinn are talking to me again? I finished the sequel to In From the Cold in May but I'm waiting to self-publish it for now. Instead of fresh characters whose rights I own telling me to write, my skater boys Tay and Christy for instance, Nate and Quinn aren't satisfied. Quinn wants more. He's a selfish little bastard. Scared my skater boys right off.
Yeah, no. Crazy writer chick. That's me. And I'm sort of proud of it.
Mercy
MIA send out the blood hounds
ugh that's it just ugh. Yesterday was one of those days. You know those days. The ones when you put on a face and pretend everything is fine and you are a sane functioning member of a family. I had one of those days yesterday. And from past experience those days never end well.
That saying fake it til you make it does not apply to this situation. You can't fake it when you have kids. They smell weakness and even if they don't mean to they wait until you are at your weakest to go for blood. Yesterday was that day.
So that we are clear. I talk a lot about my kids and I'm pretty sure by now you all believe they are horrible little monsters of some form or another. They're not. They are actually great kids. Incredibly intelligent, beautiful, smart mouthed kids who behave like kids trapped in a boring summer with little to do and a crazy mother and workaholic father. I do my best to keep them occupied. Trips to the library. Movie rentals. Game playing. Chores. Yesterday we drove to Florida just to see something different. I'm sure if you have kids you understand how hard it is to keep them occupied every day for nearly three months. It's a full time job by itself. My husband works 50 plus hours a week on a revolving schedule. Sometimes the kids don't see him for a couple of days at a time. So really it's just me. I've been a single mom for all 20 years we've had kids. Just me.
When I work I work days while they are in school and then it's just me and the kids most nights. I'm not working right now, outside the house anyway. So it's all me. And it wears me down. I'm the mom the dad the grandparents the teacher the cook the chauffeur the task master the slave driver the punisher the fixer of boo boos the mean person who forces Lima beans and spinach down their gullets the one who denies ice cream or cake for breakfast the one who sends them to bed at ten o'clock to keep from killing them. The DH goes to work.
I'm tired. And that caught up with me yesterday. We went out we did family things. We saw alligators in the bay. Came home to a crock pot roast fragrancing the house. It was a good day. But it wasn't. The longer we were away the twitchier I became. The longer I was trapped in a mini-van with a five year old who must be the center of attention my attention at all times the worse the twitches became. In the van is when the mommies start. You know those. Mommy, mommy, mommy, moooommmmiiiieee! Constant barrage of mommies until you wish you'd never heard the word before or ever will again. All kids go through this, I think, I hope other kids do this because if not then it's just mine and that scares me. She will grow out of it. Eventually. For some reason though it's worse with this one. Maybe because she is eleven years younger than kid number three. Maybe because I haven't worked in her entire life. Maybe because she is nuts. I don't know. But yesterday she smelled my weakness and she went for blood.
I'm tired. I have a couple of medical issues that do not help. I felt horrible yesterday but I got up I put on the face and I went out with my family. At eight I couldn't take it anymore. I crashed. Crashed, in a grand display of pique and slammed some doors. The husband was forced to be the center of attention for two hours. I bought a book and I closed myself in my writer cave and I read. Until five thirty this morning. And then I slept.
Today is better. Today is good. The big kids have managed to feed everyone twice now. There have been no major melt downs and yesterday's dishes are done. And I slept. I feel better. I can make it a couple more weeks now. Three until band camp starts five until school starts. I will survive this summer. I might not finish Just Like Flying but I will survive and that's all I can do.
So don't send out the blood hounds. Save them for the end of the month when I remember how much I loathe band camp. I loathe it and I forget every damned year just how much. I console myself with the thought that after this band camp there is only one more. But then I remember that the little one still has everything to go through. Kindergarten to Senior year.
Did I say today was a good day?
Later Gators,
Mercy
That saying fake it til you make it does not apply to this situation. You can't fake it when you have kids. They smell weakness and even if they don't mean to they wait until you are at your weakest to go for blood. Yesterday was that day.
So that we are clear. I talk a lot about my kids and I'm pretty sure by now you all believe they are horrible little monsters of some form or another. They're not. They are actually great kids. Incredibly intelligent, beautiful, smart mouthed kids who behave like kids trapped in a boring summer with little to do and a crazy mother and workaholic father. I do my best to keep them occupied. Trips to the library. Movie rentals. Game playing. Chores. Yesterday we drove to Florida just to see something different. I'm sure if you have kids you understand how hard it is to keep them occupied every day for nearly three months. It's a full time job by itself. My husband works 50 plus hours a week on a revolving schedule. Sometimes the kids don't see him for a couple of days at a time. So really it's just me. I've been a single mom for all 20 years we've had kids. Just me.
When I work I work days while they are in school and then it's just me and the kids most nights. I'm not working right now, outside the house anyway. So it's all me. And it wears me down. I'm the mom the dad the grandparents the teacher the cook the chauffeur the task master the slave driver the punisher the fixer of boo boos the mean person who forces Lima beans and spinach down their gullets the one who denies ice cream or cake for breakfast the one who sends them to bed at ten o'clock to keep from killing them. The DH goes to work.
I'm tired. And that caught up with me yesterday. We went out we did family things. We saw alligators in the bay. Came home to a crock pot roast fragrancing the house. It was a good day. But it wasn't. The longer we were away the twitchier I became. The longer I was trapped in a mini-van with a five year old who must be the center of attention my attention at all times the worse the twitches became. In the van is when the mommies start. You know those. Mommy, mommy, mommy, moooommmmiiiieee! Constant barrage of mommies until you wish you'd never heard the word before or ever will again. All kids go through this, I think, I hope other kids do this because if not then it's just mine and that scares me. She will grow out of it. Eventually. For some reason though it's worse with this one. Maybe because she is eleven years younger than kid number three. Maybe because I haven't worked in her entire life. Maybe because she is nuts. I don't know. But yesterday she smelled my weakness and she went for blood.
I'm tired. I have a couple of medical issues that do not help. I felt horrible yesterday but I got up I put on the face and I went out with my family. At eight I couldn't take it anymore. I crashed. Crashed, in a grand display of pique and slammed some doors. The husband was forced to be the center of attention for two hours. I bought a book and I closed myself in my writer cave and I read. Until five thirty this morning. And then I slept.
Today is better. Today is good. The big kids have managed to feed everyone twice now. There have been no major melt downs and yesterday's dishes are done. And I slept. I feel better. I can make it a couple more weeks now. Three until band camp starts five until school starts. I will survive this summer. I might not finish Just Like Flying but I will survive and that's all I can do.
So don't send out the blood hounds. Save them for the end of the month when I remember how much I loathe band camp. I loathe it and I forget every damned year just how much. I console myself with the thought that after this band camp there is only one more. But then I remember that the little one still has everything to go through. Kindergarten to Senior year.
Did I say today was a good day?
Later Gators,
Mercy
A Tuesday Blog
Blog!
There I blogged. Are you happy?
No?
Well, I still have no ideas.
I'm writing a book that was supposed to be a short story. A smexy man sex book just to lighten things up. I've been a little too deep lately. Exploring demons and stuff like that. I mean seriously, I just wrote a follow up to In From the Cold. It was supposed to be Drew's story and Natalie, Nathan's sister. But when do things go as they are supposed to in my head. It was supposed to be a stand alone novel in which Quinn and Nathan were secondary characters a few years down the road. We were supposed to have glimpses of their lives through Natalie. How Quinn's life had changed after coming out on the national stage. How Nathan coped after what I did to him (can't say can't spoil my own book, you have to go read it to know what I did to him). But no it became a continuation of their story with Natalie as a secondary character and Drew, well, Drew came back for a reason. Three and a half years after his life became irrevocably entwined with Quinn and Nathan's lives. It isn't a stand alone and it isn't a happy little follow up and it hurt to write it.
And then there was Lace. It wasn't nearly as deep, for the most part it is almost light and breezy compared to the Cold books. But Caleb has secrets and his past is incredibly painful. His present isn't much better. Darcy liked to wallow too, but he at least had no demons to exercise, okay, he does but nothing like Caleb's.
So yeah, I planned to write a nice little fuck story with lots of sex and some boys bonding and finding their happy ever after and they threw me for a loop. They went and developed back stories, and personalities and demons. Oh, there's still sex, lots of it. I'm at 30 thousand words and they can't keep their hands off each other. Hell they haven't even left the hotel yet. And I plan to take them on a road trip home. To face their demons head on. So yeah, if I'm at 30k plus words and it's just getting started then this one is going to be a doozy. More than 60k probably closer to novel plus length. I haven't written a 75k plus word book in years. If Tomorrow Never Comes is the last long novel I wrote and that was eight years ago. Pfft. Oh boy. Wait that really was eight years ago. Lord help.
Okay so, yeah. Knee deep in it is an understatement. Chin deep is more like it if I'm going to finish this book by the end of July. I should have finished it three weeks ago. I should have fought them harder when they decided to go barreling toward the deep dark recesses of their psyches. I should have my head examined.
So, I guess I managed to pull something out of my brain after all. I know ya'll just come here because you think I'm the man porn fairy and you suffer my rants. Hope you like the man porn selection, I've got skater punks and angst on the brain.
Mercy
There I blogged. Are you happy?
No?
Well, I still have no ideas.
I'm writing a book that was supposed to be a short story. A smexy man sex book just to lighten things up. I've been a little too deep lately. Exploring demons and stuff like that. I mean seriously, I just wrote a follow up to In From the Cold. It was supposed to be Drew's story and Natalie, Nathan's sister. But when do things go as they are supposed to in my head. It was supposed to be a stand alone novel in which Quinn and Nathan were secondary characters a few years down the road. We were supposed to have glimpses of their lives through Natalie. How Quinn's life had changed after coming out on the national stage. How Nathan coped after what I did to him (can't say can't spoil my own book, you have to go read it to know what I did to him). But no it became a continuation of their story with Natalie as a secondary character and Drew, well, Drew came back for a reason. Three and a half years after his life became irrevocably entwined with Quinn and Nathan's lives. It isn't a stand alone and it isn't a happy little follow up and it hurt to write it.
And then there was Lace. It wasn't nearly as deep, for the most part it is almost light and breezy compared to the Cold books. But Caleb has secrets and his past is incredibly painful. His present isn't much better. Darcy liked to wallow too, but he at least had no demons to exercise, okay, he does but nothing like Caleb's.
So yeah, I planned to write a nice little fuck story with lots of sex and some boys bonding and finding their happy ever after and they threw me for a loop. They went and developed back stories, and personalities and demons. Oh, there's still sex, lots of it. I'm at 30 thousand words and they can't keep their hands off each other. Hell they haven't even left the hotel yet. And I plan to take them on a road trip home. To face their demons head on. So yeah, if I'm at 30k plus words and it's just getting started then this one is going to be a doozy. More than 60k probably closer to novel plus length. I haven't written a 75k plus word book in years. If Tomorrow Never Comes is the last long novel I wrote and that was eight years ago. Pfft. Oh boy. Wait that really was eight years ago. Lord help.
Okay so, yeah. Knee deep in it is an understatement. Chin deep is more like it if I'm going to finish this book by the end of July. I should have finished it three weeks ago. I should have fought them harder when they decided to go barreling toward the deep dark recesses of their psyches. I should have my head examined.
Mercy
Clueless in 'Bama
I have no ideas for the blog right now. I am knee deep in kids, kids, kids and more kids. My whole world is revolving around kids. School vacation ruins summer for me. I swear.
The drama in my life right now, and I am not kidding, is that they replaced Marina on Fresh Beat Band. She's apparently getting married and being Menudoed out. DO NOT LIKE.
See. See.
It's hopeless. Until band camp starts in three weeks this is my world. Kids wake up. Kids bicker. Kids eat. Kids bicker. Kids watch TV. Kids bicker. Kids help around the house. Kids bicker. Kids eat. bicker. eat bicker. Mario Brothers, Lego Star Wars....pew pew pew. Go outside. It's Hoooottttt ouutttsideee. Are we going anywhere? Where do you want to go? We don't know. It's too hot to go to the park. I'm about to spend a couple thousand dollars for school so we are limiting things like movies to special trips. No one likes the mall (yeah hard to believe). Their swimming pool friend is going to her dad's for July. Bicker.
Oooh can I just run the hell away until October?
I just banned Avatar: The Last Airbender. BANNED it forever and ever and a day. Why? Because they have watched it all the way through three times SINCE school got out. Can't stand it ever again. I'm about to ban Phineas and Ferb for the same reason. And iCarly, which I hate. I mean seriously that show is deranged. The sex innuendo the dysfunctional or complete lack of adult anything in this show. That Sam beats on Freddie and he likes it. And Spenser just needs to be locked up until he grows a brain. Horrible horrible show. (Yeah I know I just don't get it, I'm old, there's nothing wrong with it) Don't make me hunt for clips. I will.
Save me from summer.
Or just give me some blog ideas so I can stop griping about my kids. If I turn up on a missing poster you will know why?
save me,
Mercy
The drama in my life right now, and I am not kidding, is that they replaced Marina on Fresh Beat Band. She's apparently getting married and being Menudoed out. DO NOT LIKE.
See. See.
It's hopeless. Until band camp starts in three weeks this is my world. Kids wake up. Kids bicker. Kids eat. Kids bicker. Kids watch TV. Kids bicker. Kids help around the house. Kids bicker. Kids eat. bicker. eat bicker. Mario Brothers, Lego Star Wars....pew pew pew. Go outside. It's Hoooottttt ouutttsideee. Are we going anywhere? Where do you want to go? We don't know. It's too hot to go to the park. I'm about to spend a couple thousand dollars for school so we are limiting things like movies to special trips. No one likes the mall (yeah hard to believe). Their swimming pool friend is going to her dad's for July. Bicker.
Oooh can I just run the hell away until October?
I just banned Avatar: The Last Airbender. BANNED it forever and ever and a day. Why? Because they have watched it all the way through three times SINCE school got out. Can't stand it ever again. I'm about to ban Phineas and Ferb for the same reason. And iCarly, which I hate. I mean seriously that show is deranged. The sex innuendo the dysfunctional or complete lack of adult anything in this show. That Sam beats on Freddie and he likes it. And Spenser just needs to be locked up until he grows a brain. Horrible horrible show. (Yeah I know I just don't get it, I'm old, there's nothing wrong with it) Don't make me hunt for clips. I will.
Save me from summer.
Or just give me some blog ideas so I can stop griping about my kids. If I turn up on a missing poster you will know why?
save me,
Mercy
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)