I kind of have a love/hate relationship with twitter.

My husband works for a company that only does twitter stuff, so it pays our bills.  =LOVE

Tons of agents/editors/writers use it obsessively and they actually tweet you back.  =LOVE

I can only speak in 144 characters.  =HATE

There are ten million tweets I miss every time I stop watching like a hawk.  =HATE

I could go on, but I won’t.  Aren’t you glad?  I know the topic has been done to death, and lots of people have valid reasons for hating facebook but it just seems like such a useful platform to reach out, share content, and actually *say* stuff rather than toss out little quips like candy at a parade.

This doesn’t mean I don’t get uber excited when an author I admire or an agent I covet replies to me but for some weird reason I am irritated the whole time I am using the platform.  Anyone else feel that way?


As far as the work goes, I am still plodding along.  I have taken the last like 4 or 5 days off because of tooth pain.  I finally had all the root canals done yesterday thanks to the grace of a friend with an empty amex card and I am having the caps put on tomorrow morning.  Hopefully once that is done I can concentrate again.  I was making good progress.


And You Wonder….

Why I never get anything done.

So first of all, just disregard the oxygen tubes and machine I cart around.  Totally forget about the bag of pills, the order of bedrest, the spine fusing together, the two shunts I had put in my head over Christmas, the hearing aides,  the chemotherapy scars, and the crackling noise I make when I move.  Just put those aside.

Then go ahead and stop thinking of my middle son with the life and mood altering autoimmune disease who swallows 18 pills a day plus a monthly treatment to live.  Don’t worry about his bipolar like mood swings where he wants to die, or manic OCD episodes where he can’t stop repeating the same noise over and over until it feels right because of the autoimmune encephalitis.  The Tourette’s and narcolepsy?  Nah, just pretend they don’t exist.

My husband, also with OCD and my teenage cheerleader daughter who has a seizure disorder and anemia?  Shhhhhhhh, darling.

Those things are my day to day life.  I’ve gotten them down to a frenetic rhythm that 51% of the time I can handle, but this last punch was too much.

After a full plate of personal pan poopy that I got through eating yesterday my six year old, Jack, comes running in our bedroom to tell us when he went potty the toilet was full of red water but he flushed it.  What?! I told him I couldn’t know for sure unless he tried to potty again, so he did, and BLOOD poured out.  Oh my god, my poor baby.  I had so many intestinal blockages growing up I can’t even count, but I thought this burden had passed over my children.  Not so, I guess.

I rushed him to the emergency room and they did bloodwork, but they barely parted his cheeks to ascertain there was in fact, blood coming from his bum and then watched us for hours.  Since without the aide of a toilet, not much came out and his bloodwork was ok they sent us on our way with the advice to see a pediatric gastro doc the next day.  They failed to also tell us to catch a unicorn or find the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.  Those three things don’t exist, bee tee dubs.

Problem was, they didn’t have a rectal scope on hand and didn’t want to do a DRE ( digital rectal exam) on a 6 year old.  UURRRGGLLLBRRRGGGLLL

So I didn’t get to write yesterday, or today, or the foreseeable future until this is handled because all I can think about is my baby and how it’s all my fault for passing on bad genes.

So yeah…  even if you discount all the regular life things my little family handles on the daily that yours would fall apart attempting, yesterday was enough to bring even us to our knees.  Steve and I slept last night holding hands like Jack and Rose post Titanic, except we aren’t stupid and knew there was enough room for BOTH OF US DAMMIT on the door.


On a brighter note, I sold a short story today for a decent paycheck but it came at a time that it’s hard to celebrate, so celebrate for me, K?

The Miracle of Saint James Garfield

So it’s no secret that sometimes my little family struggles.
I have a double handful of difficult medical stuff wrong with me that necessitates lots of doctors and hospitals and expensive medications. Gabe our middle son has a horrifying autoimmune disease that causes brain swelling, mood swings, personality changes, pain, etc and is also really expensive to treat.

Come Christmas time we were doing ok, but there was nothing extra for much extra but we were going to be together and ok. Que 3 back surgeries and then catching the flu on a cross-country car trip the week before major double shunt placement surgery RIGHT BEFORE Christmas…. Oh my double JEEZ as my 6 year old would say.

I was overwhelmed and sad…. feeling sorry for myself and my ever stressed husband and looking at a pile of bills higher than the stack of money available. It is a story so many people know intimately. Then came Jenny.

The Bloggess is a site which most of you are familiar with, and whom I have followed for a long time. Right before Christmas she started a chain of giving that in the end probably topped over 100k in just a few weeks. People were talking about their families, and I posted a list of coats and little things for my family that I just didn’t have the budget for and we were going to visit Michigan.

Kind strangers from all over the globe bought coats and hats and things for me that I hadn’t even asked for. It was a Christmas Miracle. The outpouring of love and kindness was something I have never seen before and doubt I will again… nothing could possibly equal it. Yes, there were a few greedy scammers, but for the most part there was just a tidal wave of love.

The mascot of The Bloggess army is Saint James Garfield. A humanely taxidermied boars head and most anonymous giving was done in his name, and once Christmas had come to a close so many of us had bonded over the shared miracle we formed our own group called Saint James Garfield in his honor.

What started with simple giving has turned into, for me at least, a life changing experience. Beyond coats and Christmas, the women that stuck together and formed the group several months ago have become my family.

We are a ragtag bunch. Some professionals with huge hearts, some living hand to mouth with kind souls. We cover the globe and somehow have banded together into a tribe stronger than any family I have ever seen or been a part of. We care for each others needs… if you can’t pay a bill a collection is taken up to help you as much as we can. If you have a store we buy from it first… Need advice? 20 people are jumping to help you find an answer….. It is brilliant and wonderful and warm and perfect.

Personally I hardly have any family left, and my husband has equally little. Certainly no one we interact daily with. The SJG tribe has become not only my second family, but they have enveloped my husband and kids as well and I will be eternally grateful for the change I was given to get to know them.

Thank you Jenny ( and Saint James Garfield ) for the Christmas Miracle, and for the family you led me to.

It’s Been A While

I’ve been sick, my son was diagnosed with a rare neuro condition, my husband was almost, we moved across the country for a job, and my husband got laid off…    all in 3 months.


I am understandably a little off my game.  Or a lot.  Whichever you prefer.


I’m currently debating different methods of getting myself motivated for writing again.  So stay tuned.  I just have to get out of this damn hospital.




In Memory of Elizabeth Cameron

My heart was broken right before Thanksgiving when my Grandma, who practically raised me, and who cared for my children for years finally went on to her reward.

So much of who I am is wrapped up in the things that she taught me with so much patience throughout my life.   She was the real deal.  Strong, faithful, a good cook, a handyman, a tailor, a carpenter, a farmer, a wife, and so on.  She could make a huge breakfast ( always biscuits and gravy) then go out and weed a garden, measure a cut some cabinets for a house they were working on, fix lunch, rock a baby to sleep, go birth a calf, and then cook dinner again, all while keeping all of the rest of us together.   I’ve never known someone so capable.

I was adopted, and a lot of my new family unfortunately didn’t think adopting a baby was such a good decision for my parents.  I don’t know what their hangup was, but I was always the one asked to take the family picture at gatherings because I wasn’t a blood relative, or somesuch nonsense.  I hold no grudges, but not much love either for those people.  However, regardless of my genes, to my Grandma I was always her darlin’ ( that is, until my daughter came along,😀 ).

I was fortunate enough to live next to her all my growing up years, and some after.  She taught me how to cook, and how to sew.  She taught me how to be tough, and by example she taught me what kind of a woman I wanted to be.  My biggest fears were always disappointing her and my mother.

When it became evident that I was not made out of the same tough stuff that they both were, that my bones and my insides were fragile in a way they couldn’t understand, they still loved me and pushed me to my limits.   When I couldn’t keep up, she always picked up my slack.  She was there for the birth of all my babies, and she cared for them when I went back to work.

She had her first stroke painting an antique bed bubblegum pink outside for my daughter.  I remember looking at the bottoms of her feet, covered in pink paint sticking out from under the sheet in her ICU bed.  I walked out of the last few hours of my college internship to be with her there, and never regretted it.

She had several more strokes, heart attacks, clots, and then ultimately kidney failure.  The ending of her life was long and painful for everyone involved, but it just reaffirmed that she was something rare, and I guess the world was as unready to lose her as we were.

Now that she’s gone, my mother and I, who were closer to her than anyone but her husband feel left adrift.  Floating out in the ether with no tether to anything solid.  She was our solid thing, she was our rock.

I don’t grieve her, because she lives on in everything I am.  Through my kids, and through every interaction I have with the world. However I am still finding my way, trying to figure out how to go on without her.

She was a practical woman, one who never understood my writing, and who would have been just as proud of me if I had dropped out of  school.  In fact, she suggested it several times when my UIL competitions interfered with family reunions or something.  That being said, she was always the first person to brag on my blue ribbons, and listen avidly to whatever story was rattling about in my head.

I hope up there in Heaven she knows that down here I’m still trying.  Still working, and waiting for the time when we get to see each other again, so I can tell her more stories.

Everything is Better With Christmas Decorations..

Except my writing. lol

I don’t even think some tinsel could save me now.


So, I am behind.  Soooo far behind.  I haven’t written much more than about 15 new ideas in the last month.  To be fair, I have had two surgeries, DVT, and an average blood pressure of 65/40 during that time, but I digress.  I just haven’t had the wherewithall ( love that word) to write much.

However, I have realized something about life.

Take my family for instance, we go about life, living in our home, going about our day, not really discerning one week from the next.  No one remembers what they wore last week, or cares what color the curtains are.  However, when we dress it up a little, bring in a tree, sparkly lights, and a few presents, every day in our normally boring house is suddenly memorable.

Watching a 3 year old lay in the floor and stare at lights is amazing, fixing hair for a 5th grade Christmas concert is exciting, watching the pile of circulars your 8 year old is hording and making notes on is hilarious.  We make time for each other, and more importantly, we make memories with each other.


So…. maybe my manuscript is being neglected, but it’s not going anywhere. My family is constantly growing up, and I think  that I can live with myself if I don’t get 1000 words a day because I was sitting and shaking packages with the kids or taking a nap under the glow of Christmas lights.


Be good to yourself, and may all your writerly wishes come true.

Merry Christmas,


Back in the Saddle Again — with Halloween Candy !

So I am off to a slightly slower start on the whole getting back in the saddle thing than I intended, but all is good.

I actually just got the “the only person stopping you is you” speech from my husband about an hour ago (ouch, right?) so I am blogging and then reviewing so I can get back down to business tomorrow.

Last week I got all excited about writing, before I realized that both older kids were invited to Halloween parties several nights of the week, along with a family night at school, the halloween party/parade at school, and then the block party Sunday and then school off Monday BEFORE actual Halloween.  Sheesh!

It was like the whole world was lining up against me ( in costume, I might add) and standing in between my and my computer.

So after a day of self-pity, rest, and halloween candy I am ready to jump in with both feet ( or at least the left one, which is my good foot anyway).


I did take the time to read some at night.  I finished The Death Cure by James Dashner.  It was the last book in the Maze Runner trilogy.  I really loved the first book in the series, and the second was interesting too.  However, by the end of this third book I was kind of tired of the character soup and the same ( I won’t spoil it for you) old problem OVER and OVER again.  I also had a real problem with how the MC dismissed his original love interest, and it left me with such a bad taste in my mouth, I think it ruined the whole book for me.

Now, if you are like me, and you love series books, by all means, don’t let me keep you from reading it.  To me, even a mediocre ending to a series is better than authors who write the first couple novels and then peter out and don’t sell or never finish the thought.  The Death Cure had some good action, and you got to find out what happens in the end, which is really why we all read stories, isn’t it?


Ok, enough procrastinating!  Off to write!

Yo, DJ, pump this par-tay!