I believe you can tell a lot about a person by the books they choose to display. We moved our massive bookcase and I had to rearrange what items I put back. I allowed Don his touch–massive stuffed trophy bass on the top! (I think they’re awesome.)
I’m not sure what the eclectic collection of books and items say about me–maybe that I’m truly twisted.
Y’all have a wonderful weekend!
Lately when I’m awakened, I have to look around the room to see where I am. If the room is dark, then it takes me more than a second. Am I going through a senior moment? No, I believe this is temporary brain damage from moving and never staying in one house more than three days. 
I thought the move a few boxes put them away then get more would work. Uh, no. It prolongs the agony of sore muscles, achy back, and two huge lawns to mow.
But, it will all be worth it in the end.
I learned the hard way a long time ago to never lend anything you can’t live without. My good friends have usually returned things without my asking. DISH NETWORK seems to thing that leaving me threatening messages about returning their equipment will entice me to return as a subscriber.
Say what? So, I called the number on the letter begging me to come back. The customer service operator, Evan–he sounded cute–was very nice, as was I. He apologized as he’d heard the recorded message, but he cautioned that sometimes people need a gentle reminder. Yeah, really?
I, being the person that I am, reminded dear Evan that DISH was the one who has FAILED to send me return labels, yada yada yada. How can I return their property without an address? Ah, Evan put in another request for them to send me a box to ship the receiver back.
“But I kept the original box!” For I seldom throw stuff away, therefore the dilemma of too much junk to sort through while moving.
“Great,” said Evan. I could tell he was really thinking WTF is she doing keeping a box by the tone in his voice.
So after getting the return address, cramming the stuff in the box (with proper padding because I have a ton of bubble wrap) I have sent the receiver, 2 remotes, telephone wire and cable connectors, plus a few extra that I had around the house just for good measure, back to the DISH NETWORK El Paso Drop Off Equipment Location.
Hope they have a really sharp knife. I am a pro at taping now.
I had a garage sale this weekend. ARGH. Rain visited Twisted Creek several times both days. As soon as I would get things covered up, the showers would stop. Sigh….And coming with the rain were mosquitos the size of small dogs. I have bug bites in places where I didn’t think possible.
.
But in the midst of this madness came blessings. My good friend, Christi, and her two beautiful daughters helped me set up on Saturday (remember it was supposed to rain buckets on Friday night–nary a drop then!) Her oldest daughter had made wonderful cookies and brownies, and when they left, she stashed some in my kitchen. These were lifesavers for me as I didn’t have a chance to eat a meal. Thank you, Miss B!
Sister Marilyn reminds me that I seldom meet a stranger, and that is true. Talking to people can be fun. What a blessing it was to meet a woman who must have been related to me in another life. She and her lovely dog, Ruby, swooped into the sale and a lightness came over me. Not easy since I’d been on my feet for 8 hours at that point. This Georgia Peach is a true Southern Lady. We shared stories, laughs and yes, a few tears.
As I sold my beloved treasures, some buyers were interested in the stories behind them. That made the parting so much easier. The slow time between lookers was filled with the sweet songs from mockingbirds and the coos from two huge ring-neck doves. Mother and Daddy were there, and that was the best blessing of all.
I have a gardener’s soul in a slug’s body.
I love flowers and fresh veggies. I just don’t have what it takes to produce them myself anymore. But it’s not my fault. Oklahoma weather is so schizophrenic. All those energetic people who got out and planted their gardens on time have spent the past week or two scrambling to protect them from the night-time freezes.
This, I told my husband, is why I don’t plant anything before May.
My seriously-developed sense of procrastination is why I don’t plant anything before June. Or July. (Seriously. I once planted my flowerbeds over the 4th of July holiday.) I planted the daylily above ten years ago and it’s stubborn enough to keep coming back. Ditto with my daffodils and irises.
Luckily, I’m no snob. I appreciate the beauty of wildflowers and “weeds” as much as the cultivated stuff. If I could just get them to cover our entire yard …
I wrote my first book by hand, then typed in on an electric typewriter. It took longer to do the typing than the writing. My best speed was maybe 25 words per minute with no mistakes, and mistakes weren’t that easy to fix.
Right now I’m doing the copy-edit of A Man to Hold On To, the second book in my Tallgrass series. The editor emailed it to me, and I’m doing it on the computer, then I’ll email it back to her. How far we’ve come.
Back in the day, I’d print off the day’s work as I went, since storage systems weren’t as reliable as they are now. When the book was done, I printed a copy of it to mail to my editor. She line-edited it and sent a copy back to me. I made the changes requested and returned it. I got another copy with the copy-edit and another with the page proofs. By the time we finished one book completely, we’d gone through about 3000 pages of paper and gallons of ink, plus overnight shipping charges back and forth. Once I signed with an agent, that added another copy to the mix.
Now we can go through an entire book without printing a single page. How cool is that?
Anyone who regurally travels I-35 between Dallas and Hillsboro has passed by this store. I have said that ‘one day’ I would stop to take a picture of it. Yesterday was the day. I always think of my good friend, Jackie Kramer.
This is for you, my fellow Trekker.
When we lived in Jacksonville, NC, it sadly wasn’t uncommon to see fathers dragging their little ones through Walmart at all hours of the day and night and losing their tempers all too easily, berating their kids for being kids. After a trip to Walmart, my friend Sandy, who is Texas born and bred, said, “Just once, I’d like to be Arnold Schwarzenegger or Steven Seagal so I could tap that father on the shoulder and say, ‘Hey, step outside with me. I’m gonna kick your ass.’”
I think of that every time I see someone being verbally abusive in public. It would feel so good to know that you could stand up for someone too small and young to stand up for himself — to know that at least this time, the bully’s going to get bullied. Of course, I can’t transform into an action hero, and even if I could, I’d wind up in jail.
But man, there are times when I want to say, “I’m gonna kick your ass.” Then do it.
Every heroine I write has something in common with me. No, I don’t kick ass like Selena McCaffrey. I haven’t risked prison to kidnap my nieces and nephew like Emilie Bishop. I’ve never been on the run for my life like Miri Duncan. But we all share the same values, the same interests, etc. We could all be great friends.
Macy Howard, in my current book, Copper Lake Confidential, has inherited a grand fortune — not the thing we have in common. (Though if anyone’s looking for an heir, I’m available.) We’re both Southern girls, and we both had the good fortune to be at-home moms.
Where we’re really alike is that we both have anxiety disorder. Panic attacks. Macy’s is more dramatic: she discovered her husband was a serial killer, became a widow, and suffered a miscarriage all in a short time. Severe depression put her in a psychiatric hospital, but the depression’s gone. The anxiety isn’t.
Mine is duller. I had my first panic attack in college, on my way to class for a major exam. I was prepared; I knew the material thoroughly, but some part of my brain apparently didn’t agree. Ten minutes, it was gone, I took up a makeup exam and scored high.
Nothing for eight years, then they crept back out from under their ugly dark rocks. I was run off the road in rush-hour traffic in San Diego, totaling my car and my confidence. It was months before I could drive on the freeway again.
This time it was thirteen years before they returned. Frantic activity helped me maintain some measure of control, but after a relentlessly miserable month, I admitted defeat and talked to my doctor. The medication took time, but within a few weeks I was better. In fact, I started feeling so good that I quit the meds.
I learned my lesson.
Of my eighty or so heroines, Macy is the first to have anxiety attacks. A lot of the time, when hearing an author talk about various experiences, people will say, “Oh, you should write about that.” Yeah, you think, I’ve been there, done that, can do it justice. Sometimes, though, you can be too familiar with a subject. Sometimes it’s not cathartic or empathetic; it’s just hard.
That said, I’m glad I wrote Macy’s story. I’m glad her medication works as well for her as it does for me. I’m glad she’s got her happily-ever-after with Stephen.
And I’m still available if anyone needs to pass on a few million dollars.
I’ve never liked my knees. For years they have caused me nothing but pain and the intense desire to cover them up. So I was quite delighted to find them an asset while painting Don’s office. He painted the walls with a roller but to cover the Pepto pink at the top of the twelve-foot ceiling, I had to use a ladder–a tall ladder.
It is not fun to paint using a tiny brush and lots of stretching is involved. Apparently, I have just enough length between foot and knee to wedge between rungs. Not a pretty visual picture I admit. It took two coats of the expensive color + primer paint to cover that pink, and two coats of white to cover my boo-boos.
Sometimes, you’ve got to work with what you’ve got. Fat knees and all.
 | Rhenna Morgan on Hero’s First Review |
 | Marilyn on Hero’s First Review |
 | BOB on Hero’s First Review |
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 | Meg on Throwaways |
