My guest blogger today needs no introduction. Wait. *strokes beard* I wonder if you could tell who it is just from her/his writing? I’d be willing to bet money you could! His/her writing is that magical. She/He makes you laugh. He/She makes you think. But more than anything, he/she makes you want to be a better writer. I’ll reveal the author at the end, but don’t even consider cheating. See if you can figure it out beforehand. I double dog dare you! Take it away, mystery blogger….
43 Random Thoughts, And I Might Be A Visionary.
I took my kids to the movies today. Luckily, we scored seats in the very back row, which means mommy can play on her phone….until my 10yo got all preachy about it and made me get off because he was afraid we’d get kicked out. I find that goody-two-shoes behavior ironic when he’s the one who did this magical project in school, which his father and I saw for the first time displayed ON THE WALL at open house this past Thursday. It’s titled (I shit you negative) “How To Be A Pain In The Bum”
Warped Reflections
The Past needs to stay there, they say.
Romanticized memories, made so by glass-half-full optimism and naivety. Or was it self-preservation? I suppose it was.
Is.
Blips from long ago, like jagged stone, tumbled and molded by the river of life. Transformed into smooth, round rocks that glow burnt orange and mustard yellow under the shimmery surface. I’m mesmerized by their simplicity. Content.
I take one out of the water to inspect it further. See it for what it really is.
It’s ugly, jagged stone.
I recoil and throw it back in the water where it can beautiful again. Clean. Harmless.
After the stone breaks the surface, ripples continue as far as I can see. This gives me clarity.
I understand now why the past is still here.
Ripples.
I don’t blame her. But I do.
I hate her. But I don’t.
I resent her. Yet I try to have perspective.
I lean over the bank to see my reflection.
But too often, it’s hers that stares back at me.
The horror.
The beauty.
Do you find silver-linings in things that don’t deserve them? Do parts of your past still ripple into the present? Have you ever seen yourself in someone you don’t like? Share your thoughts, I’d love to hear them.
9 Signs You Might Be A MILF
I’m sure you all know Marcia of Menopausal Mother, right? I thought so. I mean, who doesn’t?? You’ve probably asked yourself, when is she going to put all her crazy-hilarious stories together in a book? I’m thrilled to announce that she did! Just for us!
COMING SOON: July 2014!
Will be available in eBook and print!
Dying to know more?
Can’t wait to see the cover and blurb?
THIS IS YOUR LUCKY DAY!
The Stranger
TAMARA’S IN THE HOUSE!!!
I couldn’t be more thrilled to have the intensely-creative writer/poet, Tamara Woods, over to play today. I just got her book of poetry, The Shaping Of An “Angry” Black Woman, and am blown away by its complexity. I think you, dear readers-o-mine, will approve of the subject she’s chosen to share with you here, AND the best part is revealed through video because she freakin’ rocks like that! Without further ado, here’s a little taste of Tamara.
When I was growing up, I tried to picture who my perfect man would be. Talk, dark and handsome? A culinary wizard who also paints and likes to watch football? A cross between Jordan Knight, Christian Slater (circa Pump Up the Volume mixed with a bit of Heathers) and Johnny Depp (circa Benny and Joon)?
As I grew older, I realized I’m attracted to the misfit toys. This extends to friendships as well as lovers. I want the ones who are a little left of center. Not necessarily fixer uppers, because I don’t think they’re broken. I think they’re different, which makes them special. If I wanted normal, I’d turn on my dryer and have a seat. (This is going to a weird place. Let’s bring it on back.)
I’m also drawn to mystery. The unknown. If he’s got a brain like a puzzle, then I’m going to try to figure him out. What is his motivation? My current boyfriend, or as I like to call him, The Mathemagician is a man of few words. But when he speaks, I’m either laughing or learning-a heady combination for me. Going into year four, I’m still wondering where he comes up with this stuff. Utterly fascinating.
Back in my foot loose and slutty freed days, my roving eye would unerringly find that stranger across the crowded bar who wasn’t talking to anyone. He’s the one I’m going to sidle up to and give the sexy eye.–Though I’m not really good at being sexy, so it would more likely me doing a parody of the sexy eye, which looks like I’m having a twitchy fit. I rely on humor to bring the boys to the yard. They have to get their own milkshakes. I’m not Betty fucking Crocker.–
Anyway, what was I saying?
Oh yes, mystery. Intrigue. The guy who is smoldering in a corner, not really speaking. He clearly has something on his mind. And I want that something to be me.
Here’s a poem about meeting that perfect stranger.
Tamara Woods was raised (fairly happily) in West Virginia, where she began writing poetry at the age of 12. Her first poetry collection is available at http://amzn.to/1kti3r0. She has previous experience as a newspaper journalist, an event organizer, volunteer with AmeriCorps and VISTA, in addition to work with people with disabilities. She has used her writing background to capture emotions and moments in time for anthologies such as Empirical Magazine, her blog PenPaperPad and writing articles as a full-time freelance writer. She is a hillbilly hermit in Honolulu living with her Mathemagician.
You Know You Want It
I bet you woke up this morning and thought, damn – I really want to know more about Beth’s writing process (humor me, okay?). This interview was originally published three years ago, exactly one year before I published my first novel, although I couldn’t have known that at the time. It was part of a series on a blog that no longer exists, but I decided to keep it because a) I like it and I crack myself up, and b) it’s cool to catch a glimpse from when I was first starting out as a new writer, broaching the intimidating world of Indie authoring and all that entails. So here’s a backstage pass into my writerly world, which frankly hasn’t changed an iota since I published Order of Seven. *waves you through the secret door* Come on back. Help yourself to a drink while you peruse my inner workings. Don’t touch the oils…that’s for later. If you behave yourself. *wink-wink*
Something Witchy This Way Comes
Before you lies my very sophisticated intro to author
*Katie Cross*
OMG I love this girl like chocolate, you have no idea! I found her book blog forever ago and immediately knew I’d found my long-lost sister. Fortunately, she was tolerant of my stalker behavior, and we’ve been buds ever since.
Katie was brave lovely enough to answer a few questions about her novel, Miss Mabel’s School For Girls. Don’t worry, the interview is silly and sweet, like Katie. And short. Not Katie, the interview. Actually I don’t know her height. This is taking a weird turn. Like Katie. She’s weird in the absolute best of ways, which is why I love her. Have I made that clear? LURVE.
I’ll Show You My Room If You Show Me Yours
A few things that blew my mind this week
I read a post on Jennie Saia’s blog last night that excited me. The Room Of My Heart, as inspired by her friend, which has inspired others to make their own. You basically envision and design the room of your heart, so you always have a stress-free, safe place to be whenever you need it. Here is mine, and I would LOVE if you created your own and told me about it.
*Just For Fun*
Over the years, I’ve developed strong likes and dislikes.
Some may even call them irrational. You decide:
Ten things I LOVE
-followed by-
Ten things I HATE
At Least I Was Wearing A Bra
I’m over at Menopausal Mother’s blog today talking about one of the most embarrassing things I’ve ever done.
Ever had one of those misunderstandings? Like when someone says, “I ate a lot of cheeses” and you respond, “You ate Jesus?”
Yeah. Multiply that times a thousand. I don’t even know where to begin, or how to justify my logic at the time…I…uh…
Well, just read for yourself here. *hides face*
Beth Teliho 