We almost reached 10% of goal

We have all heard, “Ask and you shall receive.”
There are financial hard times all artist can relate to. Those times can be when you have desire to attain a new skill, new aid (camera, paints, computer) to improve your craft and take your talent to the next level, but just can not afford to make it happen. We all know life throws us all curve balls and being able to purchase that class, instruction, camera, computer seems like an unattainable goals. I am writing today, because as a mom and creative person I have born a creative son. He wants so badly to go to a summer camp that is just above my means. I have started a fundraiser to attempt to raise the money needed to send him to that next level.

http://www.gofundme.com/7ukg8c

Your donation of only $1 or $2 can make the dreams of a boy come true!

Son wants to go to camp

 We have all heard, “Ask and you shall receive.”

There are financial hard times all artist can relate to. Those times can be when you have desire to attain a new skill, new aid (camera, paints, computer) to improve your craft and take your talent to the next level, but just can not afford to make it happen. We all know life throws us all curve balls and being able to purchase that class, instruction, camera, computer seems like an unattainable goals. I am writing today, because as a mom and creative person I have born a creative son. He wants so badly to go to a summer camp that is just above my means. I have started a fundraiser to attempt to raise the money needed to send him to that next level. 

http://www.gofundme.com/7ukg8c

You donation of only $1 or $2 can make the dreams of a grown boy come true.

Thanks,

Jennifer 

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Coming or Going??

The year is over, well almost over. Thank you!

The year was long, full of blessings, bitches, changes and illness and recovery. The entire year, I could not tell if I was coming or going from my goals. Hmm…

Well, 2013 was my year to stop blogging and start working a 40 hour a week job. A job which I learned so many things and grew from, but at the same time made me worry day by day if I was coming up in the world or going from the world of creativity.

The one constant in my life was doubt. I doubted everyday with intense worry. I wanted to know, if I was coming into the woman I wanted to be for my family, or was I going from my dreams.

The truth of the matter is the core to my change resonated with the change of duty station with my military spouse. “Don’t shake your head at me. I can see you.  You are reading this and thinking, another winey military wife.”

The truth is, I might just be all of that, but I am so much more. Let me start again. I moved to Oklahoma to find a great job opportunity. I left behind wonderful friends.  I have met wonderful and awful people though networking. I have found my value. Yes, in the real estate world, I am worth less than $2,000 anything over and my former newly found good friend threw me under the bus for. Yes, we are no longer friends. I could understand being thrown under a bus or sold out for a mere $10,000, but $2,000 she can take a walk.

Now, back to my coming or going theory. I moved, I got a job, lost friends,  made friends,  made enemies,  loved, got sick and yes, I was loved. Deep down inside, I was sad. I don’t mean the sad that I ruined a great pair of jeans or snagged a fantastic sweater. No, I was sad. I missed the fundamentals of blogging daily. I loved the patting sound of my finders across the keyboard of my laptop as I created stories. I enjoyed the characters, the humor, the sadness and reading the comments. What I missed was the community that I had found here in the blogosphere. I created this blog many years ago in hopes to meet an agent or publishers, but believe it or not I have met both. I had a wonderful year full of promises, but when it came to my craft. I fucked it all up. I did nothing. I worked vigilantly in my new job, but let my art sit by my waist side. The shame, the pity, the WTF feelings I carried day to day made it harder and harder to write as each new day came, so I did NOTHING.

What? You want to know about meeting the publisher and agent.  Ok. Ok.

Well, I met with the publisher, Steve from ICE CUBE Press. He was funny, intelligent and asked for my work. I have not heard anything at this time, but it was a great experience. I can only hope for the best.

Yes, I will tell you about the agents too. Yes, that is plural.

I met with one that I really thought would hate me. She was one of those beautiful model looking agents from one of those larger literary agencies in New York. I was nervous. I was sick at my stomach (which later I learned I was literally sick at my stomach). I sat down and she looked at me and said, “Are you going to start your pitch?”

I shook my head no. Then I began, “I don’t know why the fuck I am here. You see, I suck. I wrote something, but it truly sucks and maybe we can talk about something else.” That was when our conversation really took off and she gave me her contact information. You could then assume I ran home and sent out anything to her right away, but no…  I did NOTHING!

As for the other agent, well that will just have to be another blog in 2014.

I could go on about questioning how I wonder if was coming or going towards my life goals but that shit would have you drinking shots in no time. I could also tell you how I am going to jump out of my stupor and whip my own ass and take charge of my future, but that would be a lie. Instead, I am just going to make no promises and try to make sure that in 2014 I just stay true to myself and hope each day I am going towards my future.

 

Happy New Year’s to you all!

Top 10 things you should never do at a writer’s conference

  1. Arrive late and ask, “Did they really start without me?”
  2. Walk up to the first person that smiles at you and hand them your business card and say, “Here’s my card. I’m a fabulous writer.”  Later you find out the man you handed the card to was a publisher.
  3. Walk up to the front of the room to get the instructions for getting online, so the guest speaker has to search for it. “Excuse me, can I please have my guide for starting this presentation?”
  4. Humming hymns, songs, lullabies in class. (This is not song writing 101!)
  5. Try to sell your unpublished novel to someone so you can buy a cup of coffee.
  6. Sit in the front of the class with your hearing aid on your lap and start yelling, “I can’t hear you! Speak up!”
  7. Sign up to pitch your script with the agent that says, “I don’t like women’s fiction. I don’t like women’s nonfiction. I don’t like women.”
  8. Tell the guy sitting by you, “I’m not just funny looking, I’m also a funny writer.”
  9. Listen to the creepy old guy who keeps asking you to put ice down your shirt.
  10. Tell the agent you are pitching your manuscript to, “This is normally my nap time. I’m just going to tell you the truth my novels sucks, it’s broken and stupid.”

Confession of a Naked Shoe Thief


I was a typical boring housewife. I worked as a teacher once for a small private preschool, but when the economy turned for the worse in 2008, enrolments dropped and I was let go. My husband felt that teaching was more work than good. I only earned minimum wage, so technically most of my check went towards my wardrobe of khakis and cotton shirts, lunch and gas money.  Jobless, I became a homemaker. I spent my days making organic homemade dinners, cleaning, going to the gym, organizing the home, and spending more time with my family.  Spending time with my family was great but that was the only spending I was doing. Not earning a paycheck anymore meant I was forced to stop spending except on essentials.

Now, two years later unemployed, when I should not be facing drama or stress I found I could no longer sleep. Insomnia sucks!  Typical Saturday night, my husband was fast asleep snoring, and my adolescent child laid tucked in bed with his dog and I was awake laying in bed. Bing! I rolled over to reach for my cell phone. It was a text message. I won the opportunity to test an iPad. Really? At 2am the telemarketers are texting me? WTB (What the Buck not What the F**k). You see, I gave up cussing years ago when my child started picking up words.

I decided to take a Lavender oil bath to put me to sleep.  Sitting in the tub with my eyes wide open I stared down at my cellulite rolls. The daily trips to the gym were not even putting a dent into the four inches around me. I heard my neighbor pull into his driveway. There was loud techno music, the slamming of car doors followed by laughter, lots of laughter. I stood up and gazed out the window watching the bachelor accompanied by two young women that could be models.  Water from my body was dripping on the floor, but I stood there peeking out the blinds thinking about those women in the small skirts with slender legs and small waist wearing beautiful shoes. The kind of shoes one would never wear to church, let alone to teach preschoolers or for housewives to run errands in.

Then one of the beautiful ladies tripped on the stairs leading into the neighbor’s house. She took off her shoes. Then she crawled to the edge of the patio to throw up. The man helped her up and carried her into his house. The shoes were abandoned, left on their sides on the cement steps. I looked around for a towel. Buck! It was laundry day the racks were empty. I looked for my robe but I had left it in the bedroom. My dirty pajamas were soaking with water on the floor where I had stood dripping. I felt my heart race and my loins awakening inside me. I wanted something for the first time in a long time. I wanted those shoes. I feared waking up my family, so if I were to go I would have to go naked. Time was against me. I tiptoed to the door.  I slipped out of the house and I cautiously hunched over with my naked obese body to snatch up those beautiful pink heels. My toes sank into cool thick grass.

Holding my breath, I made it to side of the patio. I reached up for the shoes. Without warning, the sprinklers went on. I jittered, but I withheld any screams.  I embraced the suede leather pink shoes against my sagging naked breast.  The soft leather felt soothing against my skin.  The cold droplets of water from the sprinkler encouraged me to run. I ran with pride clutching to those shoes as my buttocks flopped with each stride. For the first time in my life I felt liberated.  I smiled with joy as I reached my home with my bounty in hand.

Inside, I stood still drenching, but I slipped into those beautiful five-inch heels. My calves tightened, my legs lengthened, my stomach sucked in and buttocks sat perched as I walked around the living room naked in the stole pink leather shoes.  I felt sexy. Yes, I was still forty pounds overweight but the dining room mirror told a different story as I stood there in those fantastic heels. I looked delicious. I was hot and for once in a long time, I felt sexy! The insomnia I had awakened the naked shoe thief inside of me.

I am going to do something!

There it is. I have said it. I am going to do something about my dream. This week I am attending a Writing Conference. I am pumped up and ready to go, or not…

What will I wear? Professional, casual, trashy, or maybe as one of my characters

What will I say? Nothing, little, or lots of nervous chatter

What do I bring? Manuscripts, samples of my blog, a gift

If any of you have any recommendations, please let me know. I am now on pins and needles. I know many of you readers and writers have been, so please advise me. 

 

Thanks!

:(

:)

Whisper

Whisper lived in the countryside of Oklahoma with her mother. On Sunday afternoon she was helping her mother on the farm. Then her mother called out to her. “Whisper, clean the spider webs off the house.”

“I thought you were going to spray them?”

“I should of, but I forgot.”

Whisper took the broom and swept under the window and door trims around the house. She noticed a very large daddy long leg spider. She didn’t scream, because she knew he would not hurt her. When she finished she went into the house. Her mother was now making dinner. “Whisper, I need you to sweep up the leaves on the porch. Every time the door opens the leaves come in. That Sooner wind.”

“I thought you were going to fix the screen door.”

“Well, I should of, but I forgot.”

“Fine, I got it.”

Whisper went back outside. A huge wind gust came. She turned her back against it. The wind was so forceful that rubber band on her braid came off. When the wind slowed down Whisper’s long red curly hair was in her face. She was so distracted by her hairs flying about she didn’t notice the small black spider that landed on her red locks. When she finished sweeping she went back inside to eat dinner.

“Thanks for doing that. Those leaves are such a mess.”

“It’s fall. They’re supposed to be everywhere. You should of just fixed the screen door.”

“I’ll get to it soon enough. You need to do your homework.”

“I wanted to shower first.”

“Well, you don’t want to be a procrastinator like me.”

Whisper didn’t say anything. She finished her dinner and then went to her bedroom to do her homework. She was sitting at her desk when her head started to itch. She scratched it. She finished her algebra. Her head was starting to hurt, so she rest in bed. Her mother came in the room to check on her. “I thought you were going to take a shower?”

“Yeah, my head hurts. Can you look at it?”

“Later, go shower.”

Whisper took a shower and then went to bed. By now the small black widow spider was safely resting under her pillow from when she had lay down before. Not knowing about the spider Whisper went to sleep for the night. In the morning her scalp warm to the touch. “Mom, look at my head. It really hurts.”

“Ok, ok” She looked closely at her scalp and sure enough she noticed the two small red humps. “I think you got bitten by a mosquito. You’ll be ok.”

“What if I’m not?”

“If it’s not better tomorrow, I’ll call the doctor.”

Whisper went to school. All day she had a throbbing pain on her head. When she came home she did not do her chores and went to sleep instead. Her mother came home. She was upset. “Whisper you need to do your chores.”

“I don’t feel good.”

“You said that this morning. I told you I’ll call the doctor tomorrow.”

Whisper did get up and finish her chores. Then she went to bed without eating. In the morning her head was warm to the touch. Now instead of two bumps she had three. “Mom, I’m really sick. I can’t go to school. Look at my head.”

“I told you I will call the doctor today. Go to school. I’ll get to it.”

Whisper went to school. Her teacher could tell she was ill so she sent her to lie down in the principal’s office. The secretary called her mother, but Whisper’s mother never called back. Whisper went home and lay down in bed. This time her head, neck and back was hurting. She fell asleep in aching pain. When her mother got home she saw her. “Whisper, you look terrible. Are you ok?”

“No” She was too weak to talk or open her eyes.

“I was so busy at work I forgot to call the doctor.” Her mother noticed the bumps on her neck and back, but thought it was more mosquito bites. “I promise tomorrow I’ll call the doctor.”

“Ok mom, love you.” Whisper went to sleep and never woke again.

Sick by Flu Toots

“Whatcha doing?”
“I’m sick.”
“You don’t look sick. Why are you playing video games?”
“Because I’m sick!”
“Why do you think you’re sick?”
“I went to the movies and someone farted on me. One of those bad flu toots. They just kept floating into my face one after another.”
“Gross! That didn’t happen.”
“Yes! Yes it did. I sat for two hours behind three sick tooters.”
“Why did you sit there? Why didn’t you just get up and move?”
“My parents made me. They paid for the movie and they made me stay. I had to put my dad’s coat over my head and look out the sleeve. I was about to vomit.”
“You’re sick.”
“I told you.”
“No, you are sick and in a real sick way.”
“I know!”

Is it really the end of print publishing?

           If you said yes, why every time I step in the local bookstore it looks like the Post Office during Christmas? I am not talking about the amount of people in line for a coffee or the stray shoppers licking the corners of magazines. Every time I step in the bookstore, I am shelling out over $40 dollars on books and magazines along with the other readers lined up at the cash registers. 

              I am a reader and writer. I blog online and have a dream of being published. The problem is my job is real estate and my hobby / pipe dream is writing. I would like to say I am a good writer. I have even had publishers tell me my work is great. The real problem is that publishers are not willing to take risk on new or unheard or writers. I am not just speaking for myself, but many good, funny and great writers are producing stories online free in the blogosphere in hopes of being published only to receive the same response, “We are currently only representing known authors or celebrities.”

            I think the publishers are getting it wrong. What if publishers were like homebuilders? What if a customer could go into the local bookstore and select a book with a genre just for them? Today, I noticed a woman in the bookstore that was totally stumped looking for a book. Finally, the woman with the blank stare on her face looked over at me. She asked me what book I was getting. I told her. Then she asked for suggestions. I gave her a few and she thanked me. If this woman were shopping in any other business there would be a customer service person helping her with a ready product or offering her the option to build her own. Maybe in the publishing business the bookstore cannot build a book for the customer in the store, but maybe the publishers need to start watching the blogosphere, take surveys or watch patterns of behaviors online. The truth is this woman was sick and tired of having celebrity biographies and diet books thrown in her face. She wanted an intelligent, thought provoking book. Many of print publications books and periodicals are mainstreamed and full of advertisements pushing products.

           Granted, there are still lots of great books and editorials being published. I just feel the publishing world is not taking the risks to create a profit. The first goal of any CEO of print publication should be to wrap the products in plastics. Stop allowing customers to read your products for free.  Monthly, I purchase an international magazine that cost three times of the local brands. I pay that because I like the editorials, actually I love them. I do not mind that it is wrapped in plastic preventing me from previewing it. My own teenage son purchased a computer magazine from the United Kingdom, because it had more products reviews.  It also included an indepth look at concept technologies as opposed to the American magazine full of advertisements. The American magazine was about the view of one computer giant compared to all the competitors while the other magazine gave an unbiased look at all technologies available. 

            Over all, this article is my firsthand experience of the products I see publishing world placing in my local bookstore. I have to hope that maybe someone in the American publishing world will seriously consider this article, push the envelope, and create great editorials and literature. Take risks. Stop feeding the readers with advertisements. Take chances on new writers. Print facts. Take aim at silenced topics. There is more to publishing than advertising.  There are new artist like the Fitzgeralds and Hemingways alive today writing free articles in the blogosphere. Give more writers (and me included) smaller publishing contracts. Get more books on those shelves where you have placed those homogenous celebrity books. Readers want to read. Writers want to write.

The affair

“Danny…” The woman pauses to cry.

“Julie, what are you doing” You shouldn’t be calling me.”

“I needed to. I need to talk.”

“To me?”

“I trust you. I have no one else. There is only you.” She cries out loud. “Please, just listen to me. You’ve always been my best friend.”

“I know, but our friendship is secret and Keith is here. You know how he feels about you. It’s eight in morning.”

“Danny, put me on speaker phone. I don’t care if he can hear my problems. I just need your advice.”

“Go ahead,” Danny put the phone on speaker phone and places it on the kitchen counter.

“I caught him.”

“What? Nooo!”

“Danny, who’s that on speaker?”

“It’s Julie. She’s upset.”

“Go figure” Keith mumbles as he pours himself a cup of coffee.

“Jules, what happened? Are you sure he really did it?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Did you walk in on him?”

“No, it was nothing like that. I came home last night and found another woman’s shirt in the guest room. It was blue, ripped and smothered in perfume. It was laying flat on the spare bed.”

“Have you asked the maid?”

“Danny, I’m poor. I don’t have a maid.”

“Sorry, I forgot. That shirt could belong to anyone. Just because you found a shirt does not mean he’s cheating on you. Could it be a friend’s?”

“No, the shirt was a short sleeve blue cotton shirt with poloyster side panels. It was worn. The tag was faded and the front was ripped. That shirt was too cheap for any of my friends to wear.”

“Did you confront him?”

“Yes, he was already sleeping in bed. He blew me off. Then this morning he turned it all around on me. He said I had to keep my mouth shut or I would just humiliate myself, again.”

“Again? What does he mean by that?”

“He was referring to my ex. The infamous male slut I was married to.”

“Oh my…”

Julie begins to cry again. “Danny, will someone ever want to be with just me?”
“Of course you will, but give him some time to tell you the truth. You guys have been together for six years now, and you’ve been through a lot. This will pass. Just don’t jump without knowing the truth.”

“What if I don’t want to know the truth? M ex left me feeling ashamed and like I was less of a woman. Then there was that boyfriend I had in college that couldn’t keep his pants on. I was the laughing stock of the campus. Then you left me.”

“Julie, I’m gay. I was always gay. I loved you. I still do, but you can never give me what Keith can.”
“I know. I love you and respect your choice with Keith. At least you were always honest with me. We were never exclusive. That’s why I’m calling your instead on anyone else. I can trust you.”

“Julie, you are loved. You might feel dark and unloved right now, but you are not alone. You will find that one that only needs your love. You might have already had, but until you give him a chance to explain you are not going to feel better. Don’t walk away from him based on a cheap blue shirt. Your relationship deserves more than being torn apart from a ripped shirt.”