My head is going to explode...

Seriously... so much going on, so much to do! I am absolutely overwhelmed by my life right now. Well, okay, not so much...but it's still so freaking exciting!

The whole book thing? Yeah, like KAPOW! I've had so many welcoming emails from my fellow Entranced authors (we call ourselves "Entrancies"!) and the entire staff - it's like going to a new school and finding yourself in the middle of the BEST group of people evah!!! 

My editor, the amazing Tiffany Johnson, is working on the first round of content edits for Book 1 of the PHASMS series. I can't wait to see how bad I suck - gulp. Hopefully not too bad, but we'll see. I'm also about 20% into book 2 of the series, and have the outline for book 3 completed as well. If all goes according to schedule, book 1 will be out March/April of 2014, book 2 around October of 2014 and book 3 in the spring of 2015. SO exciting!

I've completed my cover design questionnaire for the first book - that was a blast to fill out and think about. I doubt I'm the only author who has visions in their heads of what they want their covers to look like...and the Entranced artists do an amazing job! Stop by their website and see for yourself (click here).

I've also completed an "author" questionnaire, prepared a bio and started thinking about things like book tours and signing events and blog tours and cover reveals and media releases and OMG so many things I didn't even think about before!!! So excuse me if I'm a little spastic these days. 

Also huge on the "Things To Do" list were Author Photographs. You know, the little glimpse of me on the back cover or in the end notes??? The Man Behind The Curtain and I spent time last night in San Diego's Little Italy with the amazing Kate Mills of "Chasing Daylight" photography getting the pictures done. Kate is fantastic, with a beautiful portfolio and just a blast to work with. She has infectious energy and a personality that keeps you smiling until your cheeks hurt. Her eye for contrast, background, setting and light is UH-MAZ-ING! I can't wait to see how the pictures turn out. I may even post my favorites here and let you pick which one I use...that would be fun, wouldn't it? 

I'm also going out on Saturday with my friend CP to do more pics. These will be totally different - looking some industrial, gritty images. We hope to be shooting at a shipyard (what can I say - it's where it all started), some cool and extremely San Diego images and a cemetery. Yes - a cemetery. Why? Well, you'll just have to read my books and find out, right? 

Also coming up - I've joined the FANTASTIC Masquerade Crew to do book reviews - here's my bio and more information than you ever wanted to know (wink, wink)! This is a fun opportunity for me to help other authors and because I read SO MUCH and so widely, I'm a good fit for this fun group.

Wow - I know I'm missing some really big news, but that's all I can think of for now. Keep checking back, as the fun has just begun!!!

And this is how it happened...

Hello my lovelies! I am soooo sorry for neglecting you, but it's been a bit of a whirl the last week. In way of an apology, I thought I'd tell you how my AMAZING THREE BOOK DEAL with Entangled Publishing came about. It's actually quite surreal!

It all started with a little tweet, like so:

#pitmad At 22 Kelsi lost her husband & maybe her mind. Is the dark haired man frm her dreams real? Y dz he look like her new neighbor?
— Barbara Garren (@bak229) May 28, 2013

From this little tweet, I received a request for partial (the first three chapters). From the first three chapters, about two weeks later; I received a request for the full manuscript. Uhhhh...

Yes, I had a completed manuscript. I would never pitch an incomplete story. The problem was, my CP hadn't finished critiquing it and I hadn't completed any of the edits. And oh, by the way, my CP was on vacation in Key West for the week. Perfect timing! Also, I was away from my computer for the week. What WAS I thinking? THANK GOD I always email myself the latest version of whatever I'm working on as a means of back up.

I fired off the most recent copy to CP, she did a wicked good chop on it and I was able to get it to Entranced by Friday. Working off an Iphone is a blast, folks. Just saying.

So, then the waiting begins, and it's like:

Sometimes you wait days. Sometimes you wait weeks. Sometimes, even, you have to wait months. Publishers, agents and others receive TONS of submissions. They try to give an honest evaluation to each of them. If you're lucky, you get something more than a form rejection. And you spend the time waiting for a reply like this:

And if you're really lucky, I mean Really, REALLY lucky, you get something like this:

Hello Barbara,

> 

>We thoroughly enjoyed PHASMS, and I am pleased to be able to offer you a contract for publication. Please take a look over the attached contract; be sure to read the addendum on the very last page. If you find the terms acceptable, sign the document and return it to me. I look forward to hearing from you.

> 

> Best,

> Managing Editor 

> Entranced Publishing 

And it comes to you three weeks after you submitted, while your at work, and you stare at the email. You read it again. You walk around your desk, reading it again. You clean your glasses, because you couldn't have read it correctly. You read it again. And then? Well, then you go all fangirl, bouncing around, biting your knuckles, trying not to scream. And you call your author friend, because you know she's the only person you can talk to who knows how you feel.

And she peels you off the ceiling, calms your ass down, tells you to breathe, lends you a mental shoulder to lean on and suggests you call the Man Behind The Curtain, because he really should be the next person to know.

And you call him. You call your Mom. You call your children. You call your CP and your best friend and your dentist and your hairdresser. You call every phone number you know or have with you, and when you get the pizza place down the street from you by accident, you tell them too, because hey! This is worth celebrating! Sort of like:

You celebrate the shit out of it! You drink Tequila (which you swore off of years ago when your father and God got you out of jail after too much of the stuff) and you drink beer and you dance on the patio and the Man Behind The Curtain puts you to bed where, thankfully, you sleep it all off and wake up hangover free.

You party the next day, because there are people to celebrate with that weren't available the day before, but you're a little smarter this time and you don't get drunk and you still can't sleep at night because you still can't believe it's real.

And then the publisher starts sending you documents to read and Cover Design Questionnaires and asks you for your bio and you get an email from your editor and see the timeline for getting the book ready for publication, all while your working on the second book, because you signed a THREE BOOK DEAL, and sometime while you're working on editing book two you'll have to write book three and it hits you. It really hits you.

You're no longer a writer. You are now an AUTHOR. And this is what happens next:

The names were changed in the writing of this blog to protect the innocent. No animals were harmed during production. Livers, however, were excluded from protection.

There may be a slight delay in the writing of this post...

Man, I soooo want to tell you all the news that I got yesterday. But I can't. At least, not yet.

No - I'm not pregnant.

No - I did not win the lottery. Well - I sort of did, but not Powerball or anything like that.

No - I have not been sober the last 24 hours.

Yes - I will tell you what the BFD is - hopefully tomorrow after "a very important phone con."

Yes, I do feel all -

And when I told The Man Behind The Curtain, he was all -

And of course, I had to tell my CP, CP, and my other friends, and we were all - 

And when you find out, you are so going to be - 

But until then, I've got to be - 

So - make sure you check back tomorrow  - I think I'll be able to say something then. 

Until then, here's your Saturday Morning Tooonz!

The Thing That Scares You!

So - this is a little something different! Make sure you read ALL THE WAY thru for some amazing blogs and prizes! YES! Prizes! 

In SPIRAL, Nessa confronts her fears about getting close to Aron by reminding herself of her father's motto: "Always do the thing that scares you." 

It's probably a saying all of us could use from time to time, and in the spirit of Mila's new book, "SPIRAL," I've joined some friends to write about the thing I did that scared me. 

Um, this is sort of hard. I've done a lot of things that have scared the sweet be-jesus out of me, but I was too dumb, stubborn busy to notice. But the last one - ahhh. That was both well calculated and absolutely terrifying.

So, let me start off by saying I have NOT had the best of luck with men. Or maybe I should say I've had too much luck with men. I've sort of been married too much. Yeah. Me and Liz. *sigh*

However - when I met The Man Behind The Curtain, things changed. He was wonderful, amazing, generous, kind, supportive. Yeah, all that and a hunk. We met at work, and my work meant I travelled a lot. Like, for months on end. The first three years we were together, I was gone more than I was home. I went to Texas (three times), Connecticut (twice), San Diego (four times), Philadelphia (seven times), Miami (twice) and Jacksonville (three times). I travelled A LOT. 

Then, I moved into a new position at work and I was home. A LOT. I even worked from home two days a week. Of course, when I did go in to the office, I worked way too many hours. He would call me at 6 p.m. (having been there since 6 a.m.) and tell me to turn off the computer and come home. And he'd have dinner waiting. 

I know, right? What a guy! 

And I left him again. 

And that's what I did that scared me.

We were really, really happy. We'd been together longer than any two of my previous marriages combined. It was all sooooo good. And I was offered a job all the way across the country. Like, move from right coast to left coast across the country. 

I had made a point of telling The Man Behind The Curtain that I was going back to California someday. My entire family was there, including my son who had just left the military. And the job was in San Diego. SAN DIEGO!!! 

It was an amazing opportunity; I was being given the chance to be the Quality Manager at a major shipyard. I was being given the chance to be the FIRST woman Quality Manager of a shipyard that anyone had ever known. Me! Little Ol' Me! But there was a catch (isn't there always): My company was sending me six months on temp assignment, and if it didn't work out, they would "find something for me to work on." This meant no relocation expenses and no guarantees. Pretty scary, right? 

No, that was not the scariest part. 

See, The Man Behind The Curtain was all for me taking the chance. He was all about me taking advantage of this opportunity, even though there was no safety net. And folks, we didn't exactly have any other kind of safety net, financial or otherwise. And he told me (prepare to mist) that he had his career, it was my turn. Really. He said that.

So, we loaded up the Honda  and drove across the country. We enjoyed the drive. We enjoyed spending time together. We enjoyed the three days in California together before he had to fly back. To our house. Our dog. Our friends. His job - which had no possibility of transferring. 

And the hardest thing? The thing that scared me the most? Leaving him at the airport for his flight back to Virginia. See, that was the point, the exact moment in time when I realized I was leaving the one thing I never wanted to leave: Him. 

I was good at leaving. I was a professional, actually. Like the main character in my first novel, I was the one who always left when things got too difficult, too complicated or too painful. But this time, this time I didn't want to leave. I didn't want to run away and end things. And I was terrified that I had just screwed up the best thing that had ever happened to me. I was so scared and so upset, I had to pull over on the side of the freeway and bang my hands on the steering wheel and cry. Really cry. I don't cry, folks. But I did then. 

It was awful. The job was more challenging than I ever imagined. I was working crazy mad hours, not sleeping well, not eating well, not taking care of myself. But everyday, at the same time, I would get these amazing phone calls, and I would be reminded that I could do this. I could live three-thousand miles away from the only person I ever really wanted in my life. I could do the job no one else wanted and I could make a difference in a company that almost shut down because of Quality and I could come out the other end a better person. Because he believed in me. And in us. 

And now, seven years later, here we are. We made it. I made it, because I took a chance on the thing that scared me the most - commitment. Commitment to him, no matter how far apart we were. Commitment to his belief in me. Commitment to being the person he saw in me. 

And you know what's really cool? I mean, besides the fact that he still cooks dinner and is still a hunk? He believes in my writing, in this whole "book" thing I'm trying to do. He even shushes me and sends me up to the computer to write. And you know what? I'm not scared anymore!

Here's more about Mila's amazing new book, "SPIRAL"

Nessa Cavanaugh, psychology student, knows how to stay on an even keel. Despite the urging of her mother and her academic advisor to get a life and have some fun, “all work and no play” sums up her plan to survive her grueling internship year at a children's hospital. She doesn't want to end up like her father, whose constant ups and downs broke her family, and avoiding unnecessary emotional entanglements is a must.

Then she (literally) runs into Dr. Aron Lindstrom in the middle of her disastrous first day on the job. The attraction is instant—and terrifying. Nessa knows she should stay away—especially when she finds out he has a reputation for being a player—but Aron is brilliant, intense, and as sexy as they come. When he challenges her to take a chance on him, her plans to stay focused on work start to crumble.

But what begins as passion takes on a dangerous edge, becoming an emotional roller coaster that’s frighteningly familiar. As things spiral out of control, Nessa must decide whether she should hold on for the ride or run … even if it means leaving her heart behind.

Now - check out the other bloggers revelations of things they were a'scared of, as well as a chance to win a $50 gift card, copies of Mila's new book and some sweet swag!!!

a Rafflecopter giveaway

And the angels sang....

I like to think of myself as a reasonably technically competent person. I'm the one every one calls when the TV/computer/stereo etc. doesn't work.

I'm the one that knows how to wire the entertainment system when we move, to synch the iPad, iPhone, iPod and computer so all the information is available on ALL the devices.

I'm the one that actually reads the directions provided, then annotates the errors, typos, poor choice of grammar and punctuation.

The person who patiently stands behind you at the vending machine and shows you how to unstick your candy bar or actually gets it to accept the one-dollar bill that was printed when Kennedy was in office.

I'm that person. Or at least, I thought I was. Then along came AT&T.

Now, normally, I wouldn't go all angry and spiteful on a specific corporation that has actually provided something in the neighborhood of six years of excellent service. But this week? Yeah, I'm taking them DOWWWWWN!

It started about two weeks ago when The Man Behind The Curtain noticed the phone wasn't working. We had no dial tone, and when you pushed the little talky-talk button, all you got was static. So we moved the base station. We switched the phones. We plugged in the ancient Princess phone we kept for emergencies (why? Hell, I don't know - isn't that what cell phones are for?). But I digress. 

And you know how much I love saying that: "I digress."

The stupid effing phone still didn't work. I called the friendly, helpful people at AT&T. You know, the ones so eager to practice their English while they work for dog-slobber half way around the globe? And no, I do not mind in the least when someone wants to practice their English with me and I'm actually quite happy that we have provided them employment and entertainment. 

What I do not like is that every other sentence is an abject apology for their inability to depart from their script and actually listen when you tell them "Yes, I made sure everything was plugged in correctly. Yes, I made sure the phone was charged. Yes, I tried a regular, wired telephone." They are abso-freaking-lutely unable to jump past those three lines in the little book they read from and refuse to acknowledge the fact that you do, indeed, have one or two brain cells still working and have followed the same steps BEFORE you called them, and the FUCKING PHONE STILL DOESN'T WORK.

There, I feel better now. But not much. 

So, after 12 minutes on hold waiting before the person in the foreign country that shall not be named answered, and another 10 minutes convincing them you really did do all the things they asked you to do and the phone still doesn't work, they put in a service call.

Yes - you are lucky. You get to take another day off work so you can wait around for the service technician to come to your house and do all the things you just did yourself. And they will be there between sunrise and sunset, but most likely just when you decide to actually brush your teeth, or your hair, or your face or what ever is furriest on that day. And when he shows up, of course he looks like this:

And you suddenly realize you have not only neglected to shave your legs, pluck your eyebrows and actually wipe the drool of your chin, but you are wearing your saggy bra, droopy drawers and yesterday's makeup. Ayup, cuz that's how it always is. 

The cute service guy wanders through your house that you MEANT to dust last weekend, the laundry you MEANT to put in the hamper last night and the bed you MEANT to mess up with him, and tells you he can't find anything wrong. He checks the box where the cables lead into the house and tells you he found a stray wire and your thinking you'd like to show him a thing or two about stray wires, then he smiles sweetly, says call him if you have additional problems and he'll come back. 

And you know you want to go rip the whole damn box off the outside of the house so that you CAN call him back, just like you know instead of sending HIM, they'll send:

Besides, the phone actually works for about 3.2 seconds, and you don't notice it until a few day's later when you actually need it to call about a bunch of crap you took ANOTHER day off work to take care of. So you call AT&T again, and you are in such a great mood when you do it. Like:

You spend 12 minutes on hold waiting before the person in the foreign country that shall not be named answered, and another 10 minutes convincing them you really did do all the things they asked you to do and the phone still doesn't work, they put in a service call. 

Why yes, I did cut and paste that from above - thank you for asking.

And you go through another round of scripts. You move cables around and wiggle wires and the FUCKING PHONE STILL DOESN'T WORK. 

And the guy in the foreign country decides, from 16 gazillion miles away, that you need a new modem. Brilliant. 

The new modem comes the next day. You turn off the computer. You turn off the cable boxes. You turn off the phone. You unplug the wireless router, the computer, the UPS battery device, the cable, the phone line and the data line from the back of the old modem. You plug in the new UPS battery device, the cable, the phone line and the data line into the back of the new modem. You plug in the wireless router and the computer. You comment to the dog how nice it is that all the cables and wires are properly labelled by the cute AT&T technician who was at your house six years ago installing everything, which was also the last time you neglected to shave your legs, pluck your eyebrows and actually wipe the drool of your chin, while wearing your saggy bra, droopy drawers and yesterday's makeup.

And you wait for the angels to sing. And you wait. And....nothing. Abso-fucking-lutely nothing. So, you recheck the cables, like the instructions said, you press the little power button down for 15 seconds like the instructions said. You wait another 15 minutes like the instructions said. 

Nothing. You check the cables again, you press the little power button down for 15 seconds again. You wait another 15 minutes. 

Nothing. You are naive enough to try this process a third time, because maybe you really didn't hear the plug go "snick" when you stuck it in the socket and maybe you didn't hold the power button down long enough or wait the FULL 15 minutes. 

Nothing. You call AT&T. You spend 12 minutes on hold waiting before the person in the foreign country that shall not be named answered, and another 10 minutes convincing them you really did do all the things they asked you to do and the phone still doesn't work, and they finally decide you need "Escalated Service." No, what I need is Escalated Alcohol Levels in my blood stream, but not before I get the FUCKING PHONE fixed.

They transfer you to a very nice gentleman who is actually in the same country as you and speaks excellent English and apparently capable of leaping tall buildings in a single bound while soothing you like a mama bunny soothes her little bunlettes and he asks you, calmly, to try switching the "data" and "phone" cables. 

You know, the ones marked "data" and "phone" by the cute AT&T technician who was at your house six years ago installing everything, which was also the last time you neglected to shave your legs, pluck your eyebrows and actually wipe the drool of your chin, while wearing your saggy bra, droopy drawers and yesterday's makeup.

And the phone works. Cuz the cables were mislabeled. And the angels said "Un-Hunh."

Because I woke up feeling good...

It's Father's Day -

I miss my dad. He's been gone 21 years now and I still miss him; in those small parts of me that I don't have to feel or use everyday.

But that's okay, because I know he's never really gone, as long as I think of him.

And I woke up feeling really good this morning - after the sinus head-ache went away and I had three cups of coffee in me.

And The Man Behind The Curtain took The Terrorist on a walk, letting me sit around longer in my nightgown and play on the computer.

I wished him a happy Father's Day, too. Even though he's not the father of my child, he's a great father to all three of our kids, a terrific Papa to our twin grand-babies and, of course, to our kid-with-fur (aka The Terrorist).

My friend, Mark, over at markkoopmans.blogspot.com did a nice Father's Day tribute that everyone should see. Mark's a great dad as well - you can tell by the way he writes about it.

So, here's to Sundays Feeling Good, Father's Day and Fathers-at-large, and to my Dad. Cuz I love him. And Michael B ain't too bad either!

Careful what you wish for...

This whole week has been screwy.

Not in a "slightly off kilter, can't get my feet on the ground" way, but in a "what the fuck did I think I was doing?" way. Add auditory hallucinations and you've got screwy.

It didn't start out that way. In fact, it started out pretty normal. Like, June Cleaver normal. You know, kind of a mash-up of Brady Bunch, Gilmore Girls, It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia? Because that's how my life rolls, most of the time.

Work was normal. My minions attempted to tell me how well they were managing and I conveyed my usual faith in their abilities.

My husband was overworked, overstressed and overly horny, and I employed my always hugely supportive tactics to help him relax.

And I continued on in my normal, professional and efficient way ...

So, what's so screwy about that? Well let me tell you: I got another request for a full manuscript. At 5 o'clock in the morning. I know, what the hell am I doing up at 5 a.m.? Honey, if I have to explain my normal biorhythms to you, you ain't been readin' my blog enough!

Anyway - so, there I am, reading this request, freaking out because I only pitched it on a whim and totally didn't expect to get a request for a full (there's a serious life lesson there, folks!) and my CP is off partying her brain to slush while I've got a manuscript to polish. 

No, I don't blame CP - well, except for not taking me with her, but that's another story. 

I've got six loads of laundry to do, toilets to clean, a dog to walk, victuals to procure and oh, by the way, I'm hearing random buzzing sounds throughout the house. 

Like, bee buzzing sounds. 

Have I told you I'm allergic to bee's? As in, "free trip to the hospital" allergic? 

And before you ask, hell no, I do not have one of those cute little Epi-pens because in 52 years of living I've only been stupid enough to get stung once. Hence the awareness of the allergic reaction. Yeah - makes me look all: 

So - yeah, it's a weird fuckin' week. And I'm sitting here, trying to ignore the buzzing sound, trying to polish my manuscript before I submit it, wondering how long I can delay sending it in and, oh yeah - I'm outa scotch. 

Fuck. It's going to be a bitch of a weekend. 

Late breaking news: The Man Behind The Curtain has returned from slaying dragons, bearing bottles of scotch and rum. My attitude (and the buzzing in my head) has melted away. 

The Muse slept in...

Yup. She's running late. She's doing it on purpose, you know? She's mad at me. Having her little temper tantrum, dropping vowels and double dipping into the punctuation bin.

I don't know why she's acting like this. Is it my fault I have two books in revision? Is it my fault I went away for the weekend with The Man Behind The Curtain and left her at home? Is it my fault she got into the printer toner, sucked up all the good ink and was left with the hangover from hell?

I mean, come on, she's all pouty and sick and she missed the trash can and now I'm stuck cleaning up her mess? Where's the loyalty and respect in that? She acts like I can throw down a new storyline every time she wants to get some action.

She's all ...

It doesn't work like that. She may be all hot and lathered, but I need a little more foreplay - a touch of romance even. I can't just jump on the keyboard and start pounding away at her any, uh. Where was I?

Oh, yeah - the keyboard. Typing away at her ideas whenever she feels like dropping them off. It's like a teenager returning with loads of dirty laundry at the end of the college term.

IT'S NOT MY PROBLEM.

And she's such a bitch about it too. She gets all up in my temporal lobes, filling my nights with weird dreams, then she busts down the door to the occipitals and mashes in a bunch of equally weird visions and hallucinations.

Helloooo? Try driving much while images flash by like a slide show on crack?

I would tie her up and lock her in the closet but she'd like that. Bondage: it's her thing.

So, instead I try and dash a few notes down here and there. Story ideas, character sketches, scenes from bars and diners and beds that... Well - I'm just glad no one else has access to my computer.

It could be worse. I could have my CP's muse. She's been sending her images of Zombie sex and a fat China man who can't - uh - perform.

You, know, in comparison, my muse isn't too bad after all. Maybe I'll take her out for a short story this weekend, just so she feels appreciated.

Freedom...

There's a certain sort of freedom that comes from a long holiday weekend. A loosening of the intellectual and civil mind. A relaxing of the norms and standards with which we live our day-to-day lives. A celebration of nowhere to go, no schedule to keep and no social obligations beyond being a good neighbor, a civil partner and a reliable friend.

I find this freedom especially rewarding on days such as today. It's the day before I leave with The Man Behind The Curtain (TMBTC) and The Terrorist on our annual migration to The Lake. We always take an extra day before and after this holiday. Extra time to buy the groceries, get the camper ready, pack the clothes and dream about what we won't be doing while we are up there.

We won't be answering phones or email because there is no phone or email service.

We won't be preparing healthy, fully balanced meals because our appetites rage more in the carnivore and junk food range.

We won't be worrying about our cholesterol or our waist lines because we will be hiking and playing games and strolling about talking to our camping neighbors and we always come back weighting less than when we went.

I won't be writing, because TMBTC prohibits it. I will be reading, because books are always allowed, every where, every time. I will be talking smack over games of cards or Ringer, kicking back, drinking prodigious amounts of adult beverages, running several miles each day along the lake shore while he walks The Terrorist and thinks about fishing.

Usually that's all he does: thinks about it. Even if he loads up his tackle box and rod, he doesn't really fish. He's too much like me; more interested in soaking up the clean mountain air, enjoying the sunshine, the birds, the wildlife and the friendly folks around us. We've been going up there for six years and he has yet to actually "fish." But he can if he wants to, because he too has the freedom to do whatever he wants.

And we earned it.

It's Memorial Day, and we've both earned it.

It's our day.

Our fathers and grandfathers day. Even our kids' day. We've all served our country. We've all sacrificed time and memories and holidays and our health and even, some of us, our lives to ensure that every one of us has this freedom - this choice to do or not do.

So here's to us, and to you. Here's to those who did and did not come home. Here's to those we are still serving as we ensure our Navy has safe ships that operate on time, every time. Here's to those who struggle to face the freedoms and the memories that come with them, to remember what this day is about and for, and to be grateful that we are free, and can take an extra couple of days off and go to the lake. And drink. And talk smack.

Oh yeah. There will be much smack-talking as our twelve year running Gin-rummy game takes on another year.

Happy Memorial Day - remember those who gave it to you and be safe out there!

How's about a little "30 Seconds To Mars" to get things started? Hell yeah!

Saturday - Because I want to...

Yes - I am nuts. Certifiable. Splendiferously. Commitably. I am a totally OCD, schizophrenic mad woman who love, Love, LOVES her life. So sue me. Not that I'm worth anything, but still...

Today is just one of those days that makes me want to do everything, at once, and dance while I'm doing it. Can't help it - it's just that nice a day. A real 'getting my money out of living in San Diego' kind of day. It goes something like this:

Get to sleep in with out the Terrorist jumping on my bladder because his bladder is full.

Stumble downstairs and The Man Behind The Curtain greets me with a cheerful, warm smile and a mug of fresh, strong, delicious coffee.

The sun is shining, a soft breeze is blowing in from the coast and it's about 68 degrees. Perfect.

And it looked like this:

Enjoy two cups of coffee on the deck, Terrorist curled in my lap, then lace up the sneakers and head out for a walk/jog.

Knee feels great for the first time in a year. No more 'ground glass' ache, even on the down hill. Having quit smoking after the nasty cold earlier this month, lungs feel pretty damn good too. The Man Behind The Curtain takes the Terrorist's leash from me and says "go, run. I know you want to." And I do. So I did.

And it looked like this:

Finish a walk/jog combo of about 2 1/2 miles and still feel great. Hop in the car and go get groceries. MMMM! Seedless watermelon, 2 for $3...fresh cherries, peaches and apricots, a pound of strawberries for $1, assortment of decadent cheeses, Korean ribs for the Bar-B-Q. My mouth is watering already.

Back from the store, The Man Behind The Curtain says "go, write. I know you want to." And I do. So I did.

He puts the groceries away. He starts the ribs for this evening. He cuts up the watermelon and cleans the strawberries. He brings me a plate of fruit and cheese. He says "keep writing. I know you want to." And I do. So I am.

And it's only 11:30 in the morning.

Honestly - does it get any more fucking perfect than this?

And it looks ...

OMG, I Fucking Love This!

Okay, I had to offer this up to all of you. I love reading Kelly's posts at http://dysfunctionallyfun.blogspot.com/. I found her via the April A to Z Challange and have been checking back ever since.

Today, she linked to http://www.flyingplatypi.com/2013/05/i-dont-care-how-much-floral-print-girl.html by Valerie Nunez (sorry about not inserting the little linky things - I'm writing this at work and don't have all the cool bloggity bells and whistles. Fucking cheap ass government). I read it and literally choked on my coffee - no shit. I had to get a roll of paper towels to clean off my keyboard.

See, my husband HATES Taylor Swift. Now, you've probably read my discussion about using the word "hate" and are aware I rarely succumb to it's tidal pull. So, while The Man Behind The Curtain harbors deep, abiding malice towards her person, I merely experience momentary periods of intense discomfort and the urge to puncture my ear drums. That's not hate - that's just annoyance.

So when I read this - I knew I had to share it. I knew I had to broadcast it to the world. Go - read. Laugh your ass off. I did. And I feel better - really. And I will now proceed to burn every floral print article of clothing in my wardrobe. TTFN!

Z?

Z. Zero. Zenith. Zen. Interesting, three words with related concepts.

Zero: denoting the absence of magnitude or quantity. A state of total absence or neutrality.

Zenith: a culminating point, the highest point reached or reachable.

Zen: neither the absence nor the culmination of achievement. Zen is transcendent of measure and evaluation.

Here, at the end of the A to Z Blog Challenge, I have found a sort of Zen. I am no longer at the beginning, but I am not at the end, either. I have not reached the heights of the blogosphere, nor have I fallen into the pit of disdain.

I am, actually, in a pleasant place where I have followers, friends and visitors stopping by frequently enough to satisfy my ego (and yes, we all have one), but not so frequently as to be difficult to keep up with. I'm still able to personally address each comment and answer emails or tweets from my faithful few, without being so overwhelmed that I run from all social media with my hands in the air. It's a pleasant place to be.

The A to Z has been all that it's name implies: a challenge. I was truly surprised by the difficulty of blogging every day, to a specific subject, even though the only guidelines are the alphabet. I under appreciated the time and commitment it would take to prepare and post each and every day. And I wanted each post to matter. To amuse, enlighten, enrich and enable any and all who stopped by to read it. I wanted you to know the thought that went into each post. I fear, unfortunately, there were a few days when I let you down, but I also believe, overall you were pleased with what you found.

My little blog went from three dedicated followers to eighteen. From a little under two-hundred hits to well over a thousand. From a few desultory, self-indulgent posts to over thirty (hopefully) well written anecdotes.


I have found friends and followers around the globe, in places I never expected: South Africa, Spain, Ireland and Malaysia for a few.

 And the posts with the most hits and comments? See for yourself:
Posts

Entry	Pageviews
Whiskey... (For Steve - can we do Norfolk again?) Apr 25, 2013,	45
Quality in Writing Apr 19, 2013,	31
Unpublished does not mean Unread Apr 23, 2013,	26
Nihilism and the Boston Marathon...My A to Z post ... Apr 15, 2013,	23
Surprising success and an early "S" post Apr 21, 2013,	22

So, yes; it's been a Zen like experience. One I hope to repeat and grow better at. I hope you'll stick around for the ride. I really do. Because I like hearing from you, I like meeting you, and I really, really like writing for you.

Warmly, 

Barbara and "The Man Behind the Curtain"
(No, I am not married to Mike Ditka or any of his relations!)