Do You Know a Writer?

This started out as a #Thursday13 but I ran out of points. 

Things you should know if you are acquainted with a writer. 

1. It's not that I'm anti-social. It's just that I'm currently writing at least three books in my head. It's hard to mentally outline and talk at the same time.

2. I'm not staring at your ear because I'm a stalker with a weird fetish. You just did something that gave me an idea for my WIP.

3. I'm not talking to myself. I'm PLOTTING.

4. You mangled the spelling of that word and yes, it will eat at me FOR HOURS.

5. Please don't reference any mainstream, highly successful novels unless you know for sure that they are free of typos and weak writing. And make sure there are no adverbs in it. Otherwise, you'll set off a literary hissy fit of epic proportions.

6. James Patterson is the Antichrist. Don't ask me why. Because I'll tell you. Ad nauseum.

7. IT IS NOT A F***ING HOBBY!

8. Yes, I'm neurotic. I'm a writer, duh.

(Yes, this is borrowed.)

1. It's not that I'm anti-social. It's just that I'm currently writing at least three books in my head. It's hard to mentally outline and talk at the same time.

2. I'm not staring at your ear because I'm a stalker with a weird fetish. You just did something that gave me an idea for my WIP.

3. I'm not talking to myself. I'm PLOTTING.

4. You mangled the spelling of that word and yes, it will eat at me FOR HOURS.

5. Please don't reference any mainstream, highly successful novels unless you know for sure that they are free of typos and weak writing. And make sure there are no adverbs in it. Otherwise, you'll set off a literary hissy fit of epic proportions.

6. James Patterson is the Antichrist. Don't ask me why. Because I'll tell you. Ad nauseum.

7. IT IS NOT A F***ING HOBBY!

8. Yes, I'm neurotic. I'm a writer, duh. When have you ever met a sane writer?

9. Meet my delicate artist ego. Stroke it. Praise it. It will purr for you. Then it will cry. Then it will accuse you of being disingenuous. Then it will tell you to go to hell. Then it will beg you to like it. Then it will be aloof. Then it will curl itself into the fetal position and suck its thumb until you stroke it again.

10. Don't ask where I get my story ideas. How the crap should I know? It's not like I have a storage locker....

9. Meet my delicate artist ego. Stroke it. Praise it. It will purr for you. Then it will cry. Then it will accuse you of being disingenuous. Then it will tell you to go to hell. Then it will beg you to like it. Then it will be aloof. Then it will curl itself into the fetal position and suck its thumb until you stroke it again.

10. Don't ask where I get my story ideas. How the crap should I know? It's not like I have a storage locker....

 

 

Watering The Grass - A Father's Day Reflection

After a long, hot day of work my dad enjoyed sitting on the front porch, smoking his pipe and watering the lawn. On hot evenings, he'd let my friends and I run through the stream of the hose to cool off. You see, growing up in the 70's, we found fun in everything we did.

As I grew older, I would simply sit next to my "old man" and chat about life. He wasn't one to be be forthcoming and share, but if I asked him questions he would open up. I love listening to tales of his childhood and would hand on every word when he told stories of his time in the South Pacific during WWII. The man was always calm and cool but had a mischievous streak which I see in my sons today.

Dad was called upon in 1994, to be a good Marine and guard the pearly gates of Heaven when I was only 27.

While sitting on the steps on my deck, watering my grass, I think back to a simpler time when I sat next to my dad. Closing my eyes, I smell the damp grass and pipe smoke.

Happy Father's Day in Heaven to Uncle Jack (r) and Dad (l).

Summer Book Recommendation

Pippa Grant is one of my favorite authors and have read everything she's written. I found one of my old banners from when Real Fake Love was released. It's summertime and baseball is in full swing. If you haven't read this one yet, you definitely should. This romcom is a must for summer reading.

BLURB

If people have polar opposites, Luca Rossi is mine.

His butt is in the baseball hall of fame. Mine’s comfortably seated in the hall of lame.

When he’s not snagging fly balls out in center field, he’s modeling in shampoo commercials. I once jammed my own finger while stirring cookie dough, and sometimes I forget shampoo is a thing.

He’s a total cynic when it comes to love.

I make a living writing love stories.

But after my latest broken engagement (no, I don’t want to talk about how many times that’s happened), it’s clear he’s exactly the man I need.

If anyone can teach me to be the opposite of me, it’s him.

The first thing I want him to teach me?

How to not fall in love.

And as luck would have it, he’s in desperate need of a fake girlfriend to get a meddling grandmother off his back.

We couldn’t be more perfect together, because the last thing Luca Rossi will ever be is the next man to leave me at the altar.

Or will he?

 

Real Fake Love is a line drive straight to the heart featuring a grumpy athlete, a jilted bride, a fake relationship, and the world’s laziest cat. It stands alone and comes complete with sibling rivalry, the world’s most awkward shower scene, and a sweetly satisfying happily ever after.

PURCHASE LINKS!

 

US: https://amzn.to/34IbeSI

UK: https://amzn.to/2YI3pbM

CA: https://amzn.to/2QLF3tH

AU: https://amzn.to/3gC9FZ4 

 

Free in Kindle Unlimited!

#HappyPlace

Sometimes while sitting on the back deck my thoughts travel to my parents. (Dad passed in 2994, Mom in 2016.) Today, my mom's presence is missed. 

Mom's favorite things were books, birds and flowers. Her Happy Place was sitting outside reading a Harlequin romance with birds chirping nearby. During summer vacation at the cottage, after chores were done, flowerpots watered and birdfeeders filled, you'd find her under a tree, in a lawn chair at the edge of the lake. At home, she'd be on the porch or in our screened-on garage she turned into a summer room. 

Looking around, she would have loved my deck as much as she enjoyed my front porch. 

I guess my Happy Place is much like Mom's. 

What is your Happy Place?