I'm Just Me...

Once upo n a time there was a turkey,  one that I'd pick out with mom , The turkey was moist and delicious, but whose name was n o t said to be 'Tom.' Every Thanksgiving she'd say it, that it was time to go and  fillet it. Before that, Tom ran around every beginning, of Fall , trying to keep his head. He knew Turkey lover's abounded, w ith great dismay, he knew he'd be dead . He felt lying on a table, on a platter surrounded by fil ling, was a most unsuccessful outcome , for a turk ey accustomed  to thrilling. His hens he did lay, on bright chilly days, They'd cluck and they'd buck, and roll in the hay and afterwards, he woul d run away, The hens did lay his eggs, and then have to beg,  to have him come sit on the nest, so they could have a rest. Tom did what he did, and what he did was the best, but after T hanksgiving, he was just like the rest. He fed us our meal, and then his car cass to lay, as we turned ou r attention t

  Okay. I know I've been absent for a few weeks, but , as with everyone else, life is busy, as usual. I won't bore you with al l th e tasks which begged for attention, and all the issues that have cropped up, but there is one very special task I've been tending to, which to me, is one of the most important of all, and that's my 'works in progress'! Yes. I said, " works ." I'm not going to share the title of these two books just yet . I'm not ready to fully unveil or disclose them at this time, but I'll tell you a bit about each, and, to the one which is a h umorous m emoir, I've given an acronym. And that is, 'TTITC ' . I know you don't understand what it stands for, and for now, that's okay, but I have no doubt that when the title is shared, you will enjoy it!   Let me start with the book that ha s the farthest t o go, and is taking the back burner temporarily, solely for the purpose of all o wing me time t

  "Mmmmm, that feels so good. Do it again."   "You mean like this?" I asked.   "Mmmm, yes," he groaned.   I ran my hand over his skin. It felt silky and slippery, and yielded ever so slightly as I pressed gently down on his body. I was sweating with anticipation, desire. I wanted to touch him again, and again, and yet, there were times when I felt as though I had to pause. I needed time to think. I needed time to process what I was feeling, and I took it.   "Don't stop. Please?" He begged. "I need it. I need your hand to caress me. I can't do this on my own. Please baby, touch me again like you did before?"    I saw his eyes were blinking, waiting with anticipation for me to stroke him again. I reached out my hand, and paused briefly over him, then brought my fingers to his skin once again.   Another groan emitted from him, deep and throaty. He was ready. Ready for me to bring him to a climax, ready for me to finish. His

"I'm running scared today!" Tail tucked between my legs, (pretty picture that is) and whimpering, as I run the other way. Running into an empty place with nothing but my self-doubt intact. Of course THAT would remain intact! Why wouldn't it? The negative always outweighs the positive, or at least seems to momentarily. I don't mind telling you, "I'm scared shitless!"  Doubt: Do I have what it takes to be a writer?  Doubt: Do I have the chops to be a writer?  Doubt: Do I have the talent to be a writer?  Doubt: Do I have the stamina to get through an entire novel?  Doubt: Do I have the courage to bulldoze (edit) my story?  Doubt: Can I bring my story together?  Doubt: What if everybody hates it?  Doubt: What if I hate it when it's finished?  Doubt: What about my characters? Are they real? Lovable? Hate-able? Detestable ?  Doubt: Can I tie up all the story lines?  Doubt: Is my plot good enough, thick enough, entertaining enough

It's definitely Fall outside. Autumn has finally come, and I'm fricking freezing! Ever since I moved into my new home last May, I've been enjoying my writing time on the deck. It's been nice having been able to say, "I've done most of my writing throughout the Summer months, outside, on the deck, while listening to the sounds of nature!" Everyday, I'd finish my chores, and then head outside to assume my chair on the wooden floor of my 'outside' office. It's been a joy to me, listening to the birdsong, and the children laughing while at play, and watching the animals scurry busily about their day, the breeze blowing across my sun-kissed warm skin, and a glass of homemade Iced Tea, or Lemonade sitting on the glass table by my side. Like I said, "nice!" I've said it before, and I'll say it again, I get my best ideas for writing while outside! But lately, the days have turned colder, and I've tried to stay outside, endur

Okay, so here it comes.. Ready? Are you sure? "If you're sure," I say in my sing-song voice...  "Just remember, you asked me! Don't blame me if you don't like what you hear!" I.. have.. a.. 'sick folder'! "What'sat?" I hear you ask. I say again, "I have a sick folder!"  "What'sat mean?" You ask me. It means.. I have a 'sick folder' buried deep inside of me, and the only time it comes creeping out, showing its sickening little smile, and sickening little thoughts, is when I'm writing!!! "Ewww!" I hear you saying. "Agree. Totally. And please don't shoot the messenger!" Here's what I mean, what I want you to know... A few days ago, I finished the ending to Chapter 6 of my debut novel!  "Yay!" I hear you cheer. "Agree!"  Well, I think I tweeted about writing the end of Chapter 6, and I know I sent a text to a close writer friend

Dang! It's been a busy week! I've barely had time to put six sentences together, let alone write six paragraphs, or six pages, or six chapters of anything! Yes, yes, that's an overstatement. I wrote a little. But not nearly enough to satisfy me. And I'm upset with myself for not finding more time. But, this was a difficult week with the loss of a dear family member, and every day tasks that I've let pile up on my shoulders, because, last week I made the time to write and ignored some other things, and what not. I'm certain, you will agree with me when I say, life is just, busy. And everyone is dealing with nearly the same issues. Work demands, household demands, time to spend with family, and friends, and taking care of little furry ones, running errands, paying bills, correspondence, and taking a few minutes for personal grooming... Lol. You get my point, yes? But, what time does that leave for writing?  Well to be honest, it got me to thinking!  "Uh-o