Free!!

I have 3 publications on Amazon.

Present Tense is 99 cents today. Check it out. I can’t always offer these on sale, but it is right now, so go grab it.

My game play manual is FREE!!! right now, so check that out! Updo Salon & Spa It’s cheap at $2.99, otherwise. It’s a whole night of fun with your galfriends! Fun to just read, you don’t even have to throw the party, but you’ll want to.

Then I have my newest pub, House Full of Hope, a play. 99 cents today as well! Thanks for checking me out OR just joining me in celebrating my New Addition. LOL Bad joke, I know.

Writing a book or blog article or play is very much like giving birth. There is immediate joy after the delivery and you forget how bad you felt in labor. But even in the tears, even in the pain, there is joy to be found and pleasure to be experienced.

Forgive me if I’m the mom who is making you look at all the cute pictures of my new spawn! LOL I’m just so excited to offer low prices (or FREE) on my babies!

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Present to Myself

Last year, for my birthday, I decided that I wanted to upgrade my WordPress blog. It’s a gift to myself because this blog, and writing in general, has been the single most beneficial thing to my mental health that I have ever done.

It’s cheaper than a therapist.

I’m reaching out in a community of thoughtful people and plumbing the depths of honesty and reality. Exploring my creativity and ability to learn anything over 40. I’m a self-taught writer and in love with words. Mine and other people’s. I never knew that until here. This.

I always hated reading. I loved certain books, but reading was difficult for me. I would usually lose my place when I read, start thinking of other things (Did I just read an entire paragraph and think about dogs at the same time? What did I just read? I just read this same paragraph 5 times and I still didn’t retain it.) and never finish the 3 chapters of History that are due tomorrow.

But I love seeing the insides of people’s brains here on WordPress. Some of you are flat-out word Picassos. Thank you. Wish I had more time to read now.

So now, every year around my birthday, I’m reminded of the gift I gave myself when I renew my subscription. A lifetime of thoughts and memories written down like a book of love. Realizations that I have forgotten with day-to-day living. Measurement of how far I’ve come. And a reminder that I have a group of people who care what the inside of my brain looks like. ❤

Happy early birthday to me. 🙂

Sideways

This is a repost. Still like it.


There was a tentative crab
Crawling out to sun.
Dodging surf,
Sideways and unsure.

I could barely see
Against the sea,
But once I found him,
I couldn’t lose his shiny-gray body.

My head half-buried in the sand.
Body unmoved. Just my eyes.
And the light felt silvery as the sun was falling.
And my skin felt brown and warm in the silver.

GrayCrab skittered about, back and forth,
Picking up dark blades and sea offerings.
But then, he disappeared
As quickly as the shore.

Down his hole,
Back to his underground palace
Filled with treasure, shells, spells,
Beach snail friends, and wonderful tales.

See you later.

Poets

Poets are a greedy breed
Wanting payment for the words we bleed

Doesn’t have to be money though
Could be any form of honey slow

I am a cheap literary device
Lost in a fool’s paradise

It doesn’t take much to suffice
A few choice words would certainly be nice

Like and share and clap and tweet
Whistle and smile and snaps are sweet

I could live high on likes alone
Chew forever on those juicy bones

Slake my fervent fever thirst
Say my poem left you submersed

Just sitting there with your eyes glistening
With open heart, still and listening

Payment enough for this amateur litterateur
Litter my Press with delusions of grandeur

Ocean of Poems

I went wading through
Some poems last night
Knee-deep in poetry
Is a bit of all right

I stood for a while
In the middle of creation
Sat, lapping up rap
Deep in meditation

I’m not averse to being immersed in verse
Ruminating in rhymes is a blessed curse
Seussifying incessantly isn’t so much worse
Words submerge in this subversive’s universe

Snag my net
Throw me my pen
Hold your breath
I’ll begin again and then

The waves of expression flow o’er me
I flail in their overwhelm
It’s not a boat you float upon
Tethered to the weathered, flying helm

You dive down, risk the drown
Wrestle in swells, quill ’til it quells
Gasp for breath on the shore beyond death
Thankful for absent bells’ knells

Poetry’s not something to navigate
You have to swim with the fishes
You have to get wet, not just whet, but ret
Then wring out the sweat-filled wishes

Don’t be afraid of the creatures that crawl
Among and along imagination
It’s only thoughts and ideas after all
Not an underwater psychotic’s vacation

Sputter your products onto the shifting sand
Swirl them around with your trembling hand
When you have the shaky strength to stand
You’ll grasp and understand this languid liquid land

I will linger in this language until the end of time
Reeling in this important feeling
Sharing with the rest of the world
My brain’s ability for healing

10-word poems

I saw a prompt today on Facebook in a writing group. 10-word poems. Feel free to leave one in the comments!


All I ever wanted was everything.
Turns out,
It’s you.


Warm room.
Foggy windows.
Red cheeks.
Big sweater.
Tired.
Loved.


Children playing with Christmas toys.
Knee-deep in shredded wrapping joys.

(Is knee-deep one word?? LOL)


Ten-word poems are tricky
When you don’t fully understand hyphens.


Please leave me a 10-word poem!! 😀 It’s fun. Write something today!

manna

i prayed that God put in my mind those things that he wants me to write about and every morning, like manna, the words are waiting to find me or be found.

it is my job to gather. sometimes, i don’t have enough hours in the day or a basket big enough for his providence. my hands, fingers, pens, keys, screens, pages runneth over.

thoughts float down like sweet sticky buns from heaven. proficiency and abundance are divine.

My past DOES define me.

I hear the buzz phrase, “Your past does not define you.” Even I thought this sounded like a good mantra. At first. I might have even said it a few times. But, my past DOES define me. For better or worse.

Running from your past is like that old saying, “Going nowhere in a hurry.” You can’t forward your future until you address the past.

I grew up poor. Near a small town, in the country on 20 acres, graduated from a class of 65 people.

Maybe not poor. Maybe just so far in debt that I had to choose between difficult things. And, I didn’t wear name brand clothes. My mom made most of my clothes by hand. That, at least, put me in a different category.

Other category pushers:
My father was emotionally and physically (infrequently) abusive. I was overweight (of course). Often teased. Often at the bottom of some chaotic, emotional barrel of feelings. Struggling to have a voice of any kind in a farm community full of rednecks and intellectual infants. I was (am) a girl/woman (not always a plus).

These things define me. They are my etymological birth. The source of all my words. I can write today because of what happened or didn’t happen in the past. I thank God for my past.

My whole youth can be summed up as the jump ball for the tip off of my adulthood/writing career. A frantic scrambling to find my voice in the elbows and sweaty armpits of rural America.

Now, I am free-throwing and making it swish from the top of the key. Thank God I had to scramble.


I lost my voice, the strength of it anyway, a coupla years ago when I had my thyroid removed. They cut through muscles and nerves to get through to the organ. It can effect your vocal cords. I was hoarse and genteel for months. Totally unlike me.

From a young age, I have been identified as the loud laugher, talker, whiner, live-r. When others tittered, I guffawed. When others whispered, I announced. When others went about their feelings in a shy, reserved way, I emoted all over the place.

So. To be made relatively mute for months on end? THAT was a struggle.

I joined a local community theatre production, even when my voice wasn’t fully healed, to exercise the shit out of said vocal cords. I struggled again, this time for my literal voice.

I honestly thought my voice was ruined. I had no volume and no ability to inflect. But it came. My voice emerged. I rebuilt my annoying, distinctive, loud, full-flavored signature.

But that’s what I was doing all those years ago. Fighting for air, time, attention, my voice. I certainly found it by exercising my mind. Flexing my writing muscles. Clearing my thoughts. Coughing up all the bad stuff to get to the sweet, well-trained music of good writing.

If you met me in person, you might think, she’s pretty tame, dull, quiet, shy. But that’s just the surface. That’s just the public wall that’s been graffiti’d by others. There’s a garden behind those gates. A well-tended garden kept by me. Plunking away at the keyboard, digging out rows, mining for richness, turning up the past. Seeds of words flowering into thoughts, emotions and ideas–volumes of deep-rooted life. This is my courtyard. The sign says WELCOME.

You have to push past that gate. Be patient enough to know me.

Welcome to my past. It defines me. All that you read here is real, honest, beautiful. Though some starts out as dirt, hurt and manure.