Well WordPress prompts ….

For me and my blog, the majority of these really stink…I found that I find some interesting prompts on Tumblr occasionally though. Do you have a place for writing prompts?

Perfection Goblins

So I was going through a manuscript today…previously published. I am oddly confident in what I publish. I am aware that every book – even the ones published by the big publishers – often still have typos and other minor issues. There was only 2 minor typos. I was quite impressed. Now that being said…I wonder how many times I have missed errors. I employ a multiple eyes on a project policy. This means that the anthologies that Fae corps publishing puts together are edited by myself, and then I ask the authors to go through and let me know any mistakes I missed. Especially from their own story. I ask for them to read the whole thing and point out anything missed in the entire anthology. Because in the end I want to publish something that each author is proud of.

The perfectionist in me though edits it, then runs it through grammarly, then triple checks for anything that I may have missed. I feel like I have to be better because I am a small press. I am embarrassed by any mistakes that come with publishing. So, I try to get it right the first time.

I took a writing class and I was extremely embarrassed by the way it was done. There was a hot seat session. I handed, for my turn, an unedited version of a work in progress. The person who was running the class proceeded to tear into what was wrong. I hope that no one has to deal with that. I had not adjusted the layout and had things that I knew needed fixed because I wanted to see what the teacher would do. She made such a big deal about the minor things that I felt like I was doing awful. It was something that could have made me walk away from writing. I was irritated by the way I was feeling. Instead, I decided that I would learn to do it better. I would never send my work out to be edited without it being edited by me first.

When you judge people you have no idea what you are doing to them. You could end up being the reason why they give up. Or you could be the reason why they knuckle down and improve. The only person who can possibly know what they are going to do is the one you are judging.

okay, I am done random rambling. What do you feel like has to be perfect? why?

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.

More childhood mishaps…I mean stories

Photo by NordHorizon on Pexels.com

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.

Birthday month

So… My grandma used to call catalogs wish books. And a little wishing never hurt. Amazon is an online version of those wish books… So I made a birthday wishlist! 😂 My birthday is Friday the 13th. And I am celebrating y’all.

Book covers and ambitious ideas

Ok. April is likely to be a very busy time. National poetry month usually sees me posting poetry posts on here daily as I do the P. A. D. Challenge. I also plan on doing a daily prompt for the Fae corps Blog. It is also going to be when we are starting a call for submissions on two different anthologies. Fae Dreams… Poetry, art, and short stories with a theme of goals, plans, and dreams. (We recieved one too many submissions for Through the Sunshine and offered a guaranteed spot in this to the author). And Nightmare Whispers, a group of horror stories. This one is a tribute to where we started.

I am working on editing the stories submitted for Through the Sunshine, and compilation of Birchwood Grove Gazette. We are doing the basic edits… Then we give the author time to do their own edits. After we recieve the polished story we finalize the formatting of the final anthology. We have to get it all ready by the middle of May for release in June.

My partner and I discussed delaying Fae Dreams. We may still. I have to see how things go. I don’t know yet how ambitious we are going to be. We have ideas for a thriller themed anthology as well, though the title and cover have not been forthcoming from our muses so far.

I am proud to claim that the above covers are my creations. I think that I am really getting better at this. Keep an eye on the Fae Corps Blog, as that is where any official announcement will be. This is mostly me doing mental meandering.

Quicksilver poetry

Something new I am thinking about. Sometimes I want to jam. Just free verse because I have too much on my mind. It will likely be rambling and not the cleanest verse. But… It will be a good look into who I am behind the edited and clean verse I usually post. This will also not necessarily be the way that the poetry ends in the books. This section will not be scheduled. It will be a whim. And I make no promise of quality….

Negativity Disguised

So, I am about to rant. I am going to keep it civil… But I thought that meme funny and slightly appropriate. As you know, my new publishing company is doing a release event this week. Well yesterday was Serena’s day to post and bedtime loomed at 3pm as usual. So I was blessed when one of the other authors offered to do a live teaser reading for Serena.

Her reading actually caused ugly happy tears. Her video was full of comfortable homey behavior, very much of the southern charm that her writing is filled with. And somehow our event attracted a troll. This person, and I cannot be certain of their gender so I will be using they/them to refer to them, chose to complain about the sweet rambling on the video.

Yes, they have the right to their opinions. We are trying to sell books, and not everyone is going to want the book that these writers have put their heart and soul into. However, they do not have the right to be rude about it.

I have no problem with expression of opinions. I have a problem with the ones who are just rude in how they express said opinion. This caused the authors in the anthology to do something amazing. In a very professional manner, they came forward to defend one of our own. They did not confront the troll. They tried to reason with the commentor. We ended up deleting that comment tree, because we felt that the negative energy involved was not appropriate for the event.

People… You want to give constructive criticism or feedback? Fine. Be discreet. Be kind. You have no idea what the person is going through. You can be a light or a toxin, the choice really is yours!

Try This Thursday

Ok I really have been trying not to resort to this sort of thing. But I am stumped for what to post. So I am open to your questions. I will answer any questions except for the nasty stuff. Keep out of my pants and I will answer you. (Though the less than specific I may still answer). C’mon hit me with those questions you have.

Writing Friday

Writing. Crap. What do I say? Do I sit here and try to explain that, at least for me, writing is something akin to breathing? That there’s never been a time when I didn’t need to put words together? And then I would have to tell you just how it feels to read what I wrote and think that I am not cut out for this. How many people who I know personally who are brilliant at this whole writing gig. Still… I would have to mention that the idea of stopping is actually painful. It has been how I was able to see the answers to life, since before I ever realized that there was a question.

Usually, I try to use the Friday post to give tips, and help with the whole writing and publishing thing. And I think that is great to keep the blog going… But today I was thinking about the reason why I write. Yeah… I could probably claim that I was trying to add beauty. But I don’t generally lie. My art is more how I do beauty. Abstract and pencil drawings to encourage happiness in the eye of the beholder. My children’s books are a way of connecting with my daughter, as they have thus far been stories I told her, or wrote for her. Serena’s stuff is stories that I want to read. But if I am honest with myself… My main writing is my poetry.

My poetry will never be hallmark stuff. My poetry is raw emotion and survival. I have lived a survivors life. My poetry is how I have been able to express myself even when my voice was stolen. I could write my story… Even though I was being told I lied. I could write it and it was accepted because it was poetry. It was written in a way that meant I was non-threatening to those who were part of hurting me. And it was written off as just an angsty teen writing depressing poetry… For don’t we all have that stage?

After I was free, and I was no longer needing verse to speak my truth, well it was still the easiest way to speak my pain. To spread my views. It was habit. I may never be able to sit along with the likes of Poe or Dickenson… But my words will remain. I will be there when another lost soul seeks to know that they are not alone.