Snapping Patti Gators

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Today I was trying to get work done. It seems like whenever I sit down to do work…well that is when everyone wants my attention. Normally it does not bother me…I multitask and get everything I can done. Today however it had me snapping. I have since apologized to those who I was cranky with. But it got me thinking.

Why was I so quick to snap?

Well, I have publishing deadlines approaching. I am also getting ready for a trip out of town. (A rare treat as my Mom is coming to get me and my daughter for a mini Vacation to her place.) Then I have invited friends over for a fourth of July cookout…And so I have to plan for that…I am rearranging my house and cleaning as I go. My dishwasher broke and I have to prepare for the installation crew with the new one. Summer is almost here and I have yet to spend any time in my art studio…My legs have been achy…People, in general, have been irritating me more than usual…

Yeah, that is all my excuses. Well, I could probably come up with a few more. But I don’t make a habit of Lying…Even to myself. So I had to face the real reason why Patti has been cranky today. I really did not want to do anything other than sit at my computer and work on the projects I wanted to work on. I wanted to be alone, crank up my music, and work on making books exist. Either by formatting or by writing or editing. I really did not care. I wanted to forget that people exist because then I would be able to forget the cruelty we people do to each other. I would be able to forget the idea that peaceful existence is a dream…a hope that is too often dashed.

I could forget that this world is so awful that eighteen-year-olds want to kill and die.

I could forget that there are so many people who cannot seem to accept the mere safe existence of people who are different. That people feel the need to hate. To fear. And often what humans hate and fear – They kill.

I could for at least a short time forget that women’s rights are at this very moment about to be thrown back in time to the 1950s.

I could for a few minutes just enjoy what I am doing and not worry about my children in this world. This world is where hate and fear are more prevalent than love and kindness.

I could forget that there are those who would have me locked away because I am different. There are those who would speak over me…simply because what I say is nothing that they want to hear.

So when I feel like my voice is being stolen I GET LOUD.

So since I am aware that I am Snappy because I wanted to hide – GUESS WHAT?!

Consider this your Warning. I am about to get VOCAL. I Am about to get loud. I have been more or less leaving my opinions off of my social media. I tame myself because I feel like that is not going to help my books sell.

But I will no longer bite my tongue just to watch it bleed. My opinions are a part of me.

The Randomness Faery Bit me

So I know I missed last week…and here it is Sunday…and time to schedule my posts. I again don’t wanna. I feel like a child throwing a tantrum. I usually enjoy the blog. I enjoy the stuff I do for writing and for publishing. Still, I spent yesterday getting caught up on work I had put off. I wrote a poem, took out 2 bags of trash, did 2 loads of dishes, put up the finishing touches on 2 anthologies, and set the basics up for preorder for Death becomes her (Serena’s Poetry book). I still need to put the files together to finish that one. I only put the front cover as a placeholder – I need to format it properly and make the rear cover. So I sit down to work and I find myself ready to revolt.

I have lots of chores to do. The chicken needs to get its cage cleaned out. (We have 2 chickens and 2 ducks. One of the chickens was brought in during the winter due to illness and we have not got it back in the outside coop yet.) I need to clear my kitchen around my dishwasher – It is about to be replaced. I just got done eating and now have more dishes to do. I have writing to do. I have dusting and straightening that really needs to be done… So yeah I have things I need to do. I am sure there is laundry. Yet, I find myself rebelling at the idea of doing a single freaking thing. It is not just the blog.

This week is already setting itself up to be a busy one. I have promised to visit a friend. My new dishwasher is supposed to be installed. My little brother turns 40 on the 28th. (I have to harass him online on his birthday. it’s like required….lol) I have general housework that though it is not much will take me triple the time it would take anyone else. And I still have to shower, cook, and eat during that time.

And I still don’t wanna set up my blog. I think that I am going to try and do stories of my life again. Simply because it sounds fun. It means that my blog will update randomly this week. Y’all are so patient when I do that. I just really appreciate it.

In case y’all are wanting to look at what I did yesterday….Here are the Links to
Seeking Stories
Grandmother’s Wisdom
Death Becomes Her

And if you missed them the two most recent books by me –
Gathering Teardrops
Pip and Friends

In Fae Corps News –

I am also in discussion to possibly reprint an author that I have worked with on anthologies before. He is considering Fae Corps for the book that he had out. His publisher went under and I am hoping that I get to play with this wonderful book.

Raz is still hard at work on his second book – he missed the deadline because he is trying to put together the best story possible.

Our winter anthology (Darkness Screams) deadline is August 1st and the call just went live.

Seeking stories releases on June 1st. Grandmother’s Wisdom releases on June 1st.

Grandmother’s Wisdom is the first Charity anthology we are doing. 50% of the Author royalties – In other words half of what we receive for it…will be donated to No Kid Hungry. We felt like this fit the purpose of the anthology. It was meant to be a remembrance of our grandmothers. There are some really wonderful memories in that one.

Seeking Stories is a collection of adventure stories of all sorts. From the slight horror stylings to the futuristic. It has an all-star list of writers, poets, and artists.

Death Becomes her releases on June 18th. It is dark poetry from Serena Mossgraves. Quite a few of them are about death, In one form or another.

Okay, I feel like that is all…OH! and I dyed my hair Purple again. Yeah, that is all now.

Tuesday Tunes

A day for me to discuss music

Lyrics:

Mama, I found someone
Like you said would come along
He’s a sight and so unlike
Any man I’ve known

I was afraid to let him in
‘Cause I’m not the trustin’ kind
But now I’m convinced that he’s heaven sent
And must be out of his mind

Mama, he’s crazy, crazy over me
And in my life is where he says
He always wants to be

I’ve never been so in love
He beats all I’ve ever seen
And mama, he’s crazy, he’s crazy over me

And mama, you’ve always said
You better look before you leap
But maybe so, but here I go
Lettin’ my heart lead me

He thinks I hung the moon and stars
I think he’s a livin’ dream
Well, there are men, but ones like him
Are few and far between

Mama, he’s crazy, crazy over me
And in my life is where he says
He always wants to be

I’ve never been so in love
He beats all I’ve ever seen
Mama, he’s crazy, he’s crazy over me
Oh mama, he’s crazy, he’s crazy over me

My Two Cents – With Naomi Judd’s passing, it just seems appropriate to post my favorite Judds song. I grew up with country music as the music I was allowed to listen to. Mama didn’t like Rock or pop or R&B. so I was a teenager before I had access to the spectrum of music. I really don’t listen to the country music as much now- mostly because I tend to get new music from my daughter and she doesn’t like country. The music of my youth is still loved however, and I honestly loved the Judds.

Each life is a book

This week I have been sharing some of the stories of my book. A lifetime of stories lived. Some of the stories I have lived will never be shared – for various reasons…some because they are not my story to tell(I am a mother after all) Some because the trauma prevents. So many lives are books stuck on dusty shelves. Never shared for various reasons. I need to share my stories. As a survivor of childhood sex abuse I felt like my voice was taken from me. For me, telling my stories is empowering. For others it is not. I would never try to force the telling of a life.

However, I also want to be clear. I am always willing to hear the story of the lives you have lived. I devour books like the dragon I am…and if you choose to present me with more to read I will revel in it.

Thank you for allowing me to share the stories this week. For me, it is the best form of immortality. I when I am gone will remain due to the book written by my words.

A good day in perspective

Today was a good day. Not because I got much done, or even because I got anything amazing to happen. I had a good mental health day. I cannot tell you how rare that is.

I treasure the days of feeling like I am enough. Today I am enough. I hope that you are feeling it as well.

Poetry

Radios, rednecks, and the results

My dad was a plumber. The majority of his friends were blue collar – construction workers, bikers, and truckers. We had cb radios in the house and in every vehicle. My mom met her second husband on the cb. It was a central part of our lives.

That radio has been featured in a couple of stories over the years. Once when I was 10 or 11 Daddy had a bunch of friends over. I was bored and trying to find trouble as all kids do. I snuck into one of the cars and got on the cb. My handle – the name you use on the cb – was/is Sasssy Suzy.

One of the guys who was visiting heard me on the cb flirting with anyone who would talk to me. He proceeded to get on and inform the audience of my age. The radio went silent.

The first time I met my Pop – mom’s second husband – he was talking to me on the cb. He called me honey and I was sure that he was thinking that I was Mama. He chuckled and said that he knew who he was talking to cause he was outside and mama was with him. Man…I miss him.

Remember my handle? The first year I was dating Joe, we were messing around on the cb. Joe has been a trucker for most of our lives together. I started flirting as I was prone to do on the cb. I still remember the response. Some dude I didn’t know came back announcing that he knew Sassy Suzy and she had an ass the size of a 747. I don’t think my backside is or was ever quite so large. It did offend me enough to stop the flirting and caused Joe fits of laughter.

That cb was a feature of so many other stories. Too many for a single blog post. I may tell a few more tomorrow.

Story of humor and headache

A quarter of a century ago I lived in the garage behind my current home. The house belonged to the grandmother of my boyfriend. We have been dating since we were 21. I moved into the garage with him after only knowing him for a week. It never occurred to me that I was being impulsive.

That door covers a smaller door into the small space that was our home. His grandmother put a bathroom on the back porch of the house – where the laundry room is now. We had a fridge and a gas stove. We slept on a couch against the back wall of the garage.

We would play D&d and hang out and live our lives in that garage. One night the boys got me laughing. I threw my head back in laughter. The garage is made of porcelain brick. I cracked one with my head when I threw my head back laughing. (nice little concussion)

Now that garage is behind my home. sometimes the little changes are huge.

More childhood mishaps…I mean stories

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I have a huge family. My parents were each from families of five children. So there were lots of cousins. My grandmother wanted my brother and me to know our cousins. So every summer for a few years – I believe it was like five but the memories are so infused into my childhood that I am not sure, she would drive us out to my aunt’s farm to visit. Mom has three sisters and a brother.

Her brother was into cosplay before cosplay was cool. He did his costumes without a pattern. I used to have pictures of him in his spiderman costume with Stan Lee. He was one of my childhood heroes. Mostly because of how creative he was. I had a lot of childhood heroes that I could look up to. Still, he lived close so he was not involved in our trips.

One of the sisters was Navy. She lived in Florida and still does. She did not choose to have children till later in life. My cousins on that front are amazing, but closer in age to my son. So they were not around when we were doing these trips.

The trips, and the cousins, were based in Michigan. A gorgeous small community near the Canadian border…Boyne City. My one aunt had a farm and though I don’t know what the other aunt did, she lived nearby. The farmer had two boys, one close to me in age and one closer to my little brother. The other aunt had a boy and a girl. The boy is elder than I, I am not sure by how much, and her daughter was my age. We stayed at the farm when we went. I remember drinking milk straight from the cow and riding ponies. I remember my cousin telling me dirty jokes in the barn. I remember all of us kids playing in the coal shute – it looked like a black sandbox. Then we were all thrown in the bath together because we were covered in coal dust. The summers there were amazing.

Now this story is about one of those trips. We lived somewhere between Virginia and Maryland. Grandma lived in Alexandria. She lived in basically the same place my whole childhood. That is why I often claimed her place was home. She had a station wagon…much like the one pictured on the top of the post. The trip between home and my aunt’s farm was a long one. We would drive up and back. On that particular trip, we were somewhere in Ohio on the way to the farm. Grandma was having trouble with the car, and she never did…but it was not acting right.

I remember her deciding to get off at an exit that was coming up. She took the exit ramp, and it was one of those that turned around and went in a circle. She was going slow, because it was an exit ramp, and thank goodness she was. I remember her cursing…mind you when I say she rarely did. The next thing I saw looking out the window was the passenger side rear axle and wheel rolling away ahead of us down the exit.

She somehow managed to get us pulled off of the ramp into the grass. This was way before cell phones…and she had two little children with her. My brother was a toddler. I am seven years older than he, and we stopped those trips around the time I turned eleven or twelve. I am not sure but I believe that this was on the last one. If it was I really can’t blame grandma. We walked to the nearest place where grandma could call for help.

She was good at handling emergencies. Obviously, we survived, but I remember it being a huge thing. I remember the fear when we saw the axle and the wheel rolling away. Yes, It was worse because it wasn’t just the wheel. Somehow just the wheel would have been comedic. This felt like we were in real danger because it was more than the wheel.

So many of my memories from childhood are based around trauma, mostly because that is what cemented the memories into my brain. This one is both different and not. Though the fear was there… I knew I was safe. This one has all of the wonderful memories of the trips attached. The cousins that I got to visit and know because of them. Two of those cousins are gone now. The little farm boy who told me dirty jokes lost his life on a snowmobile. The daughter of my aunt passed away as well – due to more natural causes. So all I have left of those cousins are the memories of summers spent in childhood. If you can, let your cousins know you love them. I am lucky enough to still have the cousins on my dad’s side.

Well, this was not supposed to be a dark story. I was trying to tell it for the fun oh my goodness type tale it used to be. Now I am melancholy at the loss of the cousins. So I will leave the blog well enough alone, maybe tomorrow I will go back to posting the normal stuff. It depends on how I feel in the morning.

Stories from childhood

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To start this story I need to explain something. I lived in a two-bedroom trailer with often ten or more people. We did not have running water. We lived a mile back in the woods. There were always animals…dogs, birds, cats…But this story focuses on one cat. The cat that left a lifetime mark on me. B.c. which was short for bad cat. He wasn’t bad. He was amazing. I did not have a bedroom. Mom and Pop had one, and my two stepbrothers had the other. My little brother and I slept on couches in the living room. There was another couch that whoever was staying over slept on. And we had a weird guy in a tent outside for most of my preteen years. Sometimes somebody in a camper outside as well. The people who slept on that couch had a few things in common. Usually, they were male. Often they were seen as trustworthy. They were not always.

We moved in there when I was eleven. I however have had an adult-shaped body since I was 8-9. Many of the men would try to make sure I knew that they wanted more from me than I was willing to give. Well BC was my defender. Those that crossed lines with me would often find that they woke to cat poop on their chests. He did not do it with everyone…and I did not control him. But it felt like He was always taking care of me.

Now anyone who has a cat will tell you that they bring you presents. BC was no exception. I often received dead mice. bird or lizard carcasses. I got very used to just using a paper towel and throwing them away.

I started ninth grade late…it was October when I started school that year because I had my son on the first of September. I was fourteen. So I had a lot of kids who picked on me. I was just as weird in high school as I am now, if not more so. And I had a kid. It was no secret. So one of the freshmen during my sophomore year thought that he could make a name for himself by pranking me. He just choose a poor prank considering my life. He saw a dead mouse laying outside the cafeteria. I had a bad habit of leaving my stuff at the table when I went through the line for breakfast. It wasn’t like I owned anything worth stealing. My purse at the time would have had my nail polish, an electric blue or black color, my wallet which was always empty, my hairbrush, a pen and notepad, and maybe some chapstick. On the rare occasion I would have my prized possession, a mini-cassette recorder my grandmother had bought me. So I would dump that and my backpack on the table and go get in line for my free breakfast.

The boy chose to put the mouse corpse in my purse. I discovered it in first-period Biology class when I went looking for my pen. I just calmly did what I always did with such things, believing it to be a gift from BC. I used a paper towel and disposed of it. The boy had expected a scream. I didn’t. So he approached, apologized, and became a friend. It was decided that I would be called Mouse due to the incident, and it stuck…I am still mouse at 47, the nickname was assigned when I was 15.

Bc left that winter. He never came back. I am aware that cats will go find someplace to die. But we never found him or his body…and I believe in the fae. So I can tell myself that the fae stole him because he was too smart for the human world. And I can enjoy the memories of the cat that got into so much mischief that it became his name.

I am not sure if I will do the proper posts tomorrow or another of my stories from childhood…I will have to decide then. Thank you for your patience with my whims.