Dear Roger:Living The Dream In The Red

I know some of my friends are seeing that title and giggling, that’s okay, I meant it in a slightly pervy way, (you know that I, of all people, would), and what I am talking about is working to make a living as an Indie author/single mom/disabled person/nobody with a few crazy friends who believe in you as your only support team. When I first got encouraged to put my work out there for people to look at and read, I was skeptical, after all, these days, you have to kinda already be somebody to get into any kind of entertainment business or you have to have a bunch of money and I have neither of those things in my court. Most months we dont even have enough money to pay all the bills on time, so I was worried about costs and actually getting the actual books put together, but I had time on my hands because when you dont have money, you dont go places or do things so I researched and got all the information and I started small with Drifts. It was my sacrificial lamb so to speak, and I figured if it got ripped to pieces, I would just pull it off the market and go back into my cave.

Drifts didn’t get ripped to pieces though, and as I write this, its hit over 450 sales on its own. That, I have been told, is kinda a huge freaking deal for an Indie author with no agent who self-published and is self-advertising with the aide of their friends on social media only. I was sent an article that said most books never sell over 99 copies in a year, and I have made that in a month. Now,I wish that meant I was getting rich and raking it in, but with most of those being e-sales or digital downloads of which I get a small percentage, I have yet to see a dime, in fact, I have seen nothing from the e-sale version as of yet and wont until 60 days after  I actually break $100 bucks and with that still quite a ways off, I am still very much in the red. My print books have been what have been amazingly making me the most money. People, especially those who are around my age, like to get something for their money, and I dont mind doing the leg work of actually walking my ass to the post office with my kids to mail out the books to all kinds of far-flung places, and once it was realized I am a hell of a lot cheaper than the big companies, people have been just ordering from me, I sign or inscribe the book and then mail it out to them, but still, in the red. Its crazy expensive to do all this stuff and even being smart about it,(which I wasnt in the beginning), it still takes awhile to get the books in, and then make sure I have everybody handled and then I have to wait for a day when its not pouring down rain like we should be watching for Noah to start rounding up critters, which is a bit of a thing in Portland, so I can walk to the post office with the kids since I still cant afford a car.

I published another book that I wrote over the course of a year and its very close to my heart and its very personal. There are a lot of things in it that are symbolic and there is a lot of gallows humor to go along with the Texas humor that comes with growing up back in East Texas in a time when things and people were different. That book has been great for reconnecting me to a lot of people that I would have never reconnected with, and it also helped force me to deal with a lot of things I would have never had the courage to face on my own. Its been a tricky path talking about that book. People want to know more about the characters and I really cant tell to much about some of them because it would spoil the story for the readers. There are a few people who know who is who and what is what and that’s all that matters, maybe after I am gone they will tell tales out of school and put those rumors to rest, but for now, im not going to talk about somethings, including Beau.  I will tell you that the monkey is real, if you have seen my videos or my summer avatar, thats him sitting on the counter next to me. Fergus was real. Those kids? Oh hell yeah, if you follow me on twitter of FB or any of those places, you know all about my little girl and her obsession with THAT BOY. #fml (yeah, im not too thrilled), but I guess it could be worse.

My daughter is my “manager”, she runs the show around my little writing world and tries to force me to get people to pay attention and buy my book, but with my Southern thing I have struggled with the whole insecurity thing and with waiting for the other shoe to drop. I was on the phone with Puerto Rico last night trying to track down cops to get a kid some help and speaking very bad Spanish in the process while she was harassing a fella who was one of the few I dedicated my pride and joy novel to. See, I had sent him and a couple of the other boys copies of the book as a way of saying,”Thanks” for inspiring me and saving me, and while I was glad to know they got them,(that alone gave me a near heart failure moment), she had been wanting to know if they LIKED it  because I had been mopey due to my reviews being low in number,(I thought), and she is a driven lil thing. Shes like a terrier with a bone and will worry it to death,(I am a prime example of that), so she had my computer because hers was dead, she was logged into her account as I paced in the kitchen speaking  my combination of “Bad Spanish” Arabic, and French, trying to not obsess over the fact someone else was on my computer, or that my Spanish was really bad and that I had been called crazy and probably a few other things as she and some of my friends harassed that poor boy like he was a cat cornered against a fence. When he said my book was “Cool” she shrieked. Jumped up, ran around the room like 3 or 4 times, rolled around on the floor and then hugged me and beat on my back until I coughed.   Honestly? I kinda felt like doing the same.

I’ve got quite a few reviews now, and another book about to come out in the next couple of weeks. I don’t know if I’m ever going to make a profit at this, but its a blast to connect with people and see the reactions to my writing , and honestly, I have enjoyed getting all the artists and photographers connected and working together and we are building a little network of people who are trying to keep the memory of something that was amazing, alive.  Its not easy and we may never get rich and famous doing it, but we are united by the 100th Monkey effect and that is rich in many, many ways.

Dear Roger: Leashing In The Control Freak

I have finally gotten some help with editing my writing. Yeah, yeah,  I know! I should have done it a long time ago, but when you are a highly distrustful, highly critical of your OWN self who takes every little mistake pointed out as an arrow directly to the heart, its very hard to do, but a weird thing has happened lately! i have actually been able to work with a couple of people who have been able to help me control my comma habit, and who have been able to point out and help me correct the things my terrible eyes miss on my 500 paranoid rereads, and I haven't gone off the deep end. I have taken the assistance, managed to remember to thank them and I have used it.
I think because they aren't sarcastic and mean, grabbing the back of my neck and smashing my nose to the paper while they yell at me about all the "Stupid mistakes" I have made, really helps. They are really pretty nice about it.
Remembering what has made me such a glitchy, insecure, over the top, unable to deal with compliments or criticism kind of person, has become a lot easier since a person who grew up with me came back into my life. He was 7 years younger than me, the baby of the small group of kids that eventually ran the meadows and East Texas swamplands that I wrote about in my book. He has been great for reminding me of things I had forgotten, or perhaps blocked out due to necessity. We both survived many of the same things and I had wondered about him often over the years and hoped he was well. I am beyond ecstatic to have him back in my life.
Giving up a little control and letting people help me has been difficult, I am not used to getting help with things or accepting help, and I am damn sure not used to having so many people being behind me and supporting me! Its been amazing and terrifying.
My own family has not been so supportive. My West Texas cousins have been, God bless them, I would truly feel like an orphan if not for them, and I will be forever grateful for their reminders that they are there and behind me in my writing, because I am essentially dead to the rest of my family.
When I call to talk to my sis now, I can tell she is uncomfortable and she gets off the phone quickly if my parents show up. My parents are not supportive of my writing at all, and even though I put quite clearly on the book the disclaimers that its fiction and even did a vblog talking about that, they are pissed off and done with me. I've always been the black sheep and I guess this just kinda relegated me to "black sheep with rabies" status, from what I have been told, they have even blocked my FB page from appearing on their computers anymore.
Its not easy being a parent, I know. My son and I are going through that whole,"You need to sort out your priorities! No! you need to stay out of my life!" stage of teenagerdom and its been rough. My muse took a runner on me during the battles and I haven't been writing while I deal with a son who essentially flunked his sophomore year of high school due to his guitar habit. Not because hes on drugs or running with a gang or any crap like that, but because he would rather sit and pick on his guitar until his fingers bleed than do schoolwork. All the work he did, he got "A's" on, because hes extremely intelligent, but hes just unwilling to do the stuff he has to do. I would threaten to sell his guitars, but I really think he would do something dire to me. You don't mess with his, "ladies". While we have been battling and arguing about his seeming lack of understanding of how the world works, (including the fact that his mom can shut off his Iphone at the drop of a hat), I have tried to make sure that he knows I still love him even when he is being hurtful and mean,and using all the cruel things he learned at the feet of his step-father to hurt me. I've heard it all, seen it all, and lived with it all, and I expect it all. I expect him to trash me and tell me how bad I am doing as a parent. I know that his life has not been idyllic or perfect, but I do the best with what I have and I really don't put a lot on him compared to what I grew up with, but its all part of the process I guess. I think its making me more prepared for the whole having my writing out for public perusal and criticism thing, because I am my own toughest critic. I burned most of my art and photography because I didn't feel it was up to standards that should be seen or that was worth wasting peoples time on, so having my writing out there where people can pick it apart and point out every little mistake and missed editing error is just the ultimate in masochistic indulgences for me.
Sending it to people who I respect and admire was the toughest step and I forced myself to do it. I agonized over it and that was what almost caused me to pull everything down and go into hiding all over again, but I did it and when I got word they actually got it? It was akin to standing on the edge of the Grand Canyon and either waiting for someone to tell me the view was pretty cool, or to give me a hard kick in the ass over the edge. Neither has happened, so that feeling of fear lingers. The resounding positive support from long-time friends and associates has been amazing and has gone a long ways towards drowning out the vitriol that is coming from my family.I never expected it. rebuilding an ego is a hard thing, and while I am kinda cocky about a few things, showing mine and what goes on in my head has never been one of them.
My books and stories and poetry are like my children, I love them with all my heart, and I nurtured them and worked hard to make them right, and I want others to love them as much as I do. Hearing that some at least care, that has meant the world and is going a long ways towards fixing many things that have been wrong with me for a long time. Who knew?

Dear Roger: Testes! Testes! What the Bulge?!

Yes, I totally stole that from a friend of mine who was battling with setting up his outgoing voice mail back in the the day. Unfortunately, it was working and it was working and recording everything he was saying as his outgoing message, so when he gave up in frustration and left his office for the evening, everyone who called into the sheriffs department to reach the public information officer afterwards for a day or so, got that particular greeting of “Testes! Testes! Does this fucking thing work?” Back then, it was laughed at and he was assisted with correcting the technology issue, nowadays it would me a major media event and he would probably be accused of a hate crime against testes or of being a man using technology.

Speaking of men using technology…what to say? A picture that left fangirls (and boys) of all ages around the world giggling their asses off and saying a very Takei influenced “Oh MY!” popped up (oh yes, humor very much intented, that too), including my small daughter! I was sitting here postulating on the possible Joel Grey “Cabaret ” influence and the meaning of the cane and all of the Red, when I noticed my my young daughter had tweeted that boy. I looked over at her, not even realizing she had typed anything and she still had a very odd look on her face. “I don’t understand.” That was the first thing she said to me. She was blushing and had a very odd smile, so I reached over and closed the picture on her desktop and said,”Daughter, I am quite sure you are not the only person in the world he does that to, go play with your monkeys and read your books, we will have this discussion in a few more years.”

After she left the room, still wearing her slightly stunned, confused, little smile, that picture was discussed and batted around on the interwebz for hours as the endless possibilities and meanings of all things that could possibly be rambling though that boys mind were contemplated, none of which, at least in the discussions I was privy to were fit topics for an 8 y/o and most werent fit topics for the under 21 , sober crowd. He is the master at inspiring such fun and it was a fun evening full of laughter and wild speculation about all kinds of things, that grown ups tend to talk about when they get the time to get a moment without the trials of life on top of them. My evening was made so much better by the inclusion of an old friend that I have known for most of my life, he was one of the first gay people I ever knew and he was how I KNEW it was not a choice, that it was the way a person was born, because I knew from the time he was 3 years old and wanted to be a Solid Gold Dancer that he was different. He survived a lot of things with me, knows a lot of my secrets of my childhood and we share a lot of common pain. He may not be my blood brother, but he is my brother and he is my chosen family and I am glad to have him in my life again. He brightened my world coming back into it and the fact he appreciates looking at some of the same fellas? Hell! I know we will have much to talk about and catch up over.

By the way, Wordpress still confuses the hell out of me.

Dear Roger: Reading Aloud After Dark

So, in the midst of moving my blog over to Wordpress  http://jenniferdscroggins.wordpress.com and trying to get things sorted out for exploring new ways to promote my writing, it was suggested that I read aloud from my book to give folks a bit of an idea what the story is like a little further on in.
My kids laughed their butts off over the chapter I read because they remember it as it  happened.
The chapter I read from is from the second part of the book and its after the characters have grown and have kids of their own and set out to return where to where things started in Texas.
A few people have commented that they would love to see my little book brought to life in other ways, and while I don't have the resources for that at the moment, my little girl is creative as all get out and who knows what she will be capable of some day, and eventually it will be hers anyway, so if she wants to, or if she wants to just let it quietly vanish into the family history,one never knows what the future holds.

I don't know how much longer I will post here. I'm a creature of habit and it often takes me awhile to get used to something new, if I ever do, so bear with me if I show up sporadically in both places, and if you haven't checked out my authors page on Facebook,(https://www.facebook.com/JenniferDScroggins) please do, I will be posting news about up coming new books and other things related to my writing as well as trying to link together all the Indie Artists and writers out there in our little world so we can pool our resources and help each other along, because that is what its all about, giving everyone a hand up and spreading the "Effect".

Ballad of a Ladyman: Hipster Hanky Codes

Ballad of a Ladyman: Hipster Hanky Codes     Im just gonna drop this here for everyone to read...Im loving it. Either/Or, whatever persuasion you ascribe to, when you see things that make you go,"Hmm?!"  Its nice to know you aren't the only one. So me an my black bandanna will just wander on off to sit and speculate and giggle.

Dear Roger: Guerrilla Parenting?

Sitting around this morning teasing a poor boy that is about to become a daddy for the first time about all the things he has to look forward to with a youngster underfoot, I have been reminiscing about all the things I experienced with my pack of young-uns and I have to wonder, how the hell I am sane at all, and if I am?
Kids do all kinds of things that your reaction to, while you are in the moment, really say a lot about you as a person and as a parent.  When I was a rookie at this whole situation, I used to want everything to be perfect. I wanted my eldest son to always be dressed like a little Lord Fauntleroy and I was always worried about what he ate and how he slept and if his poops were normal and all that great stuff. I didn't even have him snipped because I didn't have a pecker so I didn't know if it mattered or not and I couldn't bear the thought of one little ouchie ever happening to him ever! I carried him around in my arms so long that I swear the child probably thought he hadn't been born yet we were so attached.
I was insanely protective, didn't even cut his hair until he was nearly 2 and his little pink curls were getting him called 'Girly" by all my friends. Ahh yes, my "Friends", the ones who would do things like slip him sips of soda and other junk food when I wasn't looking or who found it highly amusing to teach him bad words like, "Asshole" and other such pleasantries. They especially found it amusing to teach him to use it to address strangers.
Kids are like that, they will pick up on the most inappropriate, foul word that you wish they had never heard and the will fixate on it and then, when you least expect it or want to even admit YOU know what it is, they will trot it out in public or around polite society and expose you for the true deviant that you are. Lately, my middle son, who has Downs Syndrome, has been obsessed with the phrases "Boner" and "Gay Sex" . He is in middle school. He comes home with the most charming things that he has been put up to by the lovely boys, (and girls) of the middle school world and he likes to share them with the world at large. The lady who runs the market we shop at on a regular basis now knows that, in addition to his mustache, he has pubes and that he finds her "Beautiful."  I wouldn't allow his older brother to kill him in the store, but his sister came pretty close. She shrieked in horror and said in a very loud and shrill voice, which carried all the way to the BACK of the store and down the sidewalk a bit,"CONNER!! WE DON'T SAY PUBES IN PUBLIC!"
I cant even pretend they aren't mine anymore. I cant outrun them. You will find as your kids get older, you are just too damn worn out to escape them. That has to be part of their grand scheme. They exhaust you by being so cute when they are babies that you lay there listening to them breathe and catering to their every sigh and whimper, and then when they are toddlers you cater to them to keep the temper tantrums down to a minimum so you don't get stared at like the rolling dog fight in the middle of a circus that you will feel like, and then when they are tweens, you start to realize that things are not what they seem, but by then, its too late! You are stuck! You are exhausted, often broke, and starved for sleep, sanity and decent, non-processed food and you cannot escape and you really wont want to anymore.
Once they are teens, you are totally screwed. I look over at my teen shaped lump that is laying on my couch, (even though he KNOWS I hate it when he sleeps on the couch because he sweats and funks it up), and I wonder, what happened to the little baby with the cute pink curls? Nowadays, he finds it funny to do things like blame his farts in public on me or his sister, and he burps so loud that people turn and stare, but hes looking at ME all scandalized like I did it instead. There are days I cant do a thing to please him, even though I try, and then days when I try to piss him off, that I seem to make him the happiest? Hes a guy now and he makes no sense to me.
Having kids is a crash course in the biological sciences and honestly, bio-hazards. I have had to clean things up and deal with things that have left me wondering just how in the hell its possible for me to ever want to eat food ever again. Children seem to believe that parents clothes are repository's for boogers and drool until they are well into their young adult years, and if you have a favorite t-shirt or what not, HIDE IT! they will find it and they will either paint it with barf, poop, pee or boogers or sharpie in some hideous manner and it wont even be salvageable or Hipster cool. Walls and your favorite art work also become favorite places to stash boogers for later consumption ,(I guess), I have had to gingerly scrape boogers off all kinds of surfaces in my house and I can only assume the child was trying to contribute to the overall theme?
They seem to believe that underwear is disposable and cheap for some reason and that actually pissing in the commode is only a suggestion, especially if they are boys, but when MOM gives them a lesson on aiming, that tends to correct that via traumatic mental scarring.
When you give them toys, forget about the instructions and the rules and the suggestions on how to play with it. Give them the box, get down on the floor with them and go nuts. They don't care about the rules. Kids aren't tiny little psychologists or focus groups, they are kids. Mine usually threw the toy in the commode, stuffed the cat in the box and had a blast beating on the wrapping as we chased each other around with it.
Be noisy and sing weird and inappropriate songs with them. We sang, and still sing "Keep Awake" all the damn time. Yes, people look at me funny for it. Yes, I have ended up in TWO principals offices for it,(so far), Yes! Its probably NOT intended for kids,(there is really no telling with that boy), but you know what? My kids LOVE that song. They KNOW it by heart, every single word to it and we can be walking down the sidewalk in the cold, miserable, Portland rain and my daughter will start singing it and the next thing you know we are ALL singing and laughing, (Even Stubby) and that is something.
Every kid and every family is different and they are all weird and embarrassing in their own way and kids thrive on doing things that make you want to cringe and hide, but some basic guidelines for survival are; keep the ADULT toys in a locked cabinet with the key either hidden or on your person at all times, always clear your cache and log off from your "Special" web sites, know that your friends are going to teach your kids words that you don't want them to say and know that they are going to say them in front of people to embarrass  you, blame your parents or your significant other or just pretend the person who heard it is hallucinating and crazy. Everything is surmountable, don't sweat the small stuff. Laugh at it. Material goods are just that, material goods. The only thing that matters in this life is your kid and what you mean to them and they to you. Love them and laugh with them they will remember that and love you for it.

Dear Roger: How To Be The Perfect Parent

When you find out you are going to be a parent, lots of people tend to offer you lots of advice about things from the ridiculous to the sublime. They will tell you to enjoy your last few days of sleep and sanity before your kid arrives,(that's actually pretty good advice), and they will tell you what to feed it, how to dress it, where to put it to bed and how to carry it, talk to it, and all kinds of crap.
They will judge you on what you eat and drink, how you act or look and all the crap you did before you found out you were going to be a parent, as well as all the stuff you do while you are waiting, (even if you follow all the rules to the letter), as the old saying goes,"You cant please everyone."
I am a firm believer that having a kid is a bit like a crap shoot. You can do everything right, be healthy, live healthy and still get a kid with an issue, or you can be a walking disaster of stress who drank the first few weeks you were pregnant because you HAD NO CLUE! you were knocked up, live like you are a refugee because you are hiding from a psycho, and you can have a totally healthy, textbook example of a perfect child born.
I've been a parent for over 20 years and im still learning new stuff everyday and saying things, doing things and dealing with crap that leaves me mind-boggled on a daily basis. Luckily, the flushing of weird/important stuff down the commode has mostly subsided, but we still keep a plunger and a snake in the bathroom because you NEVER FREAKING KNOW!
I have learned a few things over the years but I don't consider myself an expert by any means at all. My kids are kinda weird at times, a bit contrary and they have moments of sheer cussedness that make me forget I speak English.
I have learned that when a kid has a lovie/stuffy that they carry around and talk to and cling to like its the most important thing in the world, you always rescue it and you don't give it away. You respect that shit and you don't make fun of it. Everything has its time and its reason and if you don't make a huge deal of it, most of the time it will pass or settle out the way it needs to settle. Pick your battles and don't make the lovie one of them, you will lose.
Your kid isn't like everybody else s kid and they all do stuff at different times in different ways and it tends to work best for them. Your kid is also not you, so don't expect them to be,(this one has kicked my ass quite regularly and been the hardest thing for me to deal with), especially with my eldest two.
Your kid is not a poodle, you dont have to pimp and preen and groom to impress with them at the kid park like you do with your pooch at the dog park. Your kid will be happy naked with binky and snot in their hair, but polite society expects at least a diaper. This has also been a hard one for me and all of my sons still resent me for the sweater vests and penny loafers of their smaller days.
Talk to your kid. Not baby talk, though that is okay in small doses and if you are a dude it will totally win you points with women and get you all kinds of cred, but talk to them as they grow to. Also remember that your kids are LISTENING to you and WATCHING you all the damn time. You don't get a pass on any fuckery any more once you have kids. I get my nose rubbed in the fact almost daily that my daughter once saw me drink a beer and smoke a cigarette. "Thats really BAD mom! You could DIE and leave me an ORPHAN!"  Yeah...not cool. My cussing also gets thrown in my face almost daily. I cuss, I admit it. Im a freaking ex-cop! Im supposed to cuss! But I am strict on my kids about it and my eldest son is the strictest on the little kids.
My youngest daughter loves to sing a few songs and a couple of them have cuss words in them, including "Dinosaur" by the Mechanical People. We even remind her, "Stevie, don't forget to Graupner edit", but she usually does and then shes in time out for 10 minutes usually muttering on her way,"Dang it! Ben!"
Your kids listen and you are their first and most important and influential teacher. If you are racist and homophobic or just plain ignorant, you are going to make life hard for your kids while they grow out of it, I know, believe me, I KNOW.
The most vitally important thing that you need to absolutely know and have to be a parent though is this; you have to be ALL IN. You have to have complete and total, UNCONDITIONAL LOVE for your kid NO MATTER WHAT. If they are cute and perfect born to a life of privilege and joy, or damaged, homely, born in a ghetto, if you are all in and love that child with all your heart and soul and they KNOW that, then that child is golden. Never let them feel doubt for that for one minute, even if they test you and do things that break your damn heart and make you crazy, always, always, always tell them and let them know you love them and that you are there for them, because if you aren't, who will be? The difference between the broken and damaged people in the world and those who fly above it all, is that those who fly were loved.
If you are about to become a parent, you are already flying so its your turn to pass those wings on.

Dear Roger: This Wasn't Included The Mom Handbook

Today was a weird day around here, my eldest son had spent the night over at his buddies house again so I was home alone with the three youngest once again. My little girl got up early and took off to church as she usually does on Sunday, and then I was home with my two boys, who often miss out on church because there isn't room in the friends vehicle for them or Stubby just refuses to go because hes afraid I might have a spare moment to myself to find my sanity.
Anyway, the little boys slept in til fairly late and I rambled around the house cleaning and doing my regular stuff til they began to stir. I had everything put to rights and was looking forward to just relaxing away the afternoon and finishing up editing a few chapters of a story and maybe writing some more on a Serial Killer/Stalker story I have been researching for a few months.
Stubby and Sticky came wandering out at the same time, all bleary eyed and grubby boxer shorts hanging off their butts, scratching inappropriate places and whining about wanting things we didn't have in the house for breakfast.I told them to go wash their hands and faces and then have some breakfast while I went to make sure they had shut off their things in their room and left no evidence of anyone messing with or even looking at their big brothers stuff.
The room wasn't too bad, just socks on the floor along with blankets and a few books, but the bathroom...that was where it all went pear shaped.
I know those boys were potty trained when they first stayed with their father in Arizona, I know it because I trained them. I potty trained everyone when they were 18 months to close to 4 years old for Sticky,(Downs took him a little longer), I even taught them the,"Sink the Cheerios" technique of peeing. I had to teach them that because I am a neat freak and having boys who peed all over like elderly cats with bad attitudes would not be a good thing for my sanity. Sticky actually house broke before he potty trained. It took me forever to get him to stop peeing off the front porch and I was afraid he was going to keep getting in trouble at school for peeing on the playground. His father thought it was fine, after all, his main reason for us living so far out in the country was that he wanted a house he could pee off the back porch of without the neighbors calling the cops...charming fellow.
Anyway, my bathroom looked like they had gone in there and turned into wee boy pee helicopters. There was pee on the commode seat, which was DOWN, on the shower curtain, on the bath rug, on the tiles, on the BACK of the commode, and on the oak cabinet! I'm sure my neighbors think I slipped a few gears, but something had to be done, and bad cop came out to get the attention of the pee felons.
I marched them both into the bathroom and we had a refresher course in proper pee techniques, including stance and pecker handling(clothed and simulated), boys were mortified and embarrassed. Mom was mortified and disgusted that her sons were such disgusting little creatures. They were freaked out I KNEW such things,(I did spend a LOT of time around cops, Marines, Firefighters and just..guys), you pick up a few things. They helped CLEAN the ENTIRE bathroom and apologized profusely. Sticky made sure to announce to me each time he came out and peed afterwards, "I lifted the seat and held my pecker! I'm not a helicopter!" Stubby just blushed, but I know he got the point. When Chance got home later, the boys regaled him with their tales of woe, "Man, shes crazy!"
He shrugged at them, "Dudes, its easy, don't pee on the seat, don't mistake a dude for a chick, and just stay out of her way once a month and your life will not suck." We fist bumped. The eldest finally gets it.

Dear Roger: Its All In Your Head?

Being stalked is a horrible thing to experience, I should know, I have experienced it. My stalker was relentless and intelligent and he had help. He was also handsome and charming and well educated in the vernacular of law enforcement and he had friends who were manipulated into helping him continue stalking me for over a year. We had dated and it was a tumultuous relationship, he was and still is what is known as a psychopath and if you ever have the opportunity to read  Dr. Hares book "Without Conscience-The Disturbing World Of the Psychopath Among Us", You will find something called the "Psychopathy checklist", it is a screening tool for profilers looking for serial killers and the like. My stalker met 13 out of the 21 markers.
Back in 1994/95 the stalking laws were not as strict as they are now, though they did gain some teeth after the Rebecca Shaffer incident along with several other high profile stalker/murder cases, but proving you are being stalked is very hard.
I let people know I was no longer seeing him, I told him very clearly in front of people to leave me alone, and yet he would show up and demand to talk to me. He would treat me as if I was confused and he would show up at my work and act like I had called him for a lunch date and then become enraged when I would refuse to leave with him.
We worked with each other until he was advised to resign, and he made my life a living hell. He injured me several times, but they were all,"Accidental" including a broken tailbone, a severely dislocated shoulder, and multiple bruises and contusions.
I would get texts late at night when I was off duty,(before the days of good cell phones mind you) that were police code telling me that the man I was seeing had been shot in the line of duty. I was terrorized for months, followed and even though I was pregnant, he continued with the abuse and threats and assaults...yes, the assaults.
I moved. He found me. I changed phone numbers, he had it in days. I moved again, he found me again and left notes on my car. He denied the baby,(thank God), and threatened me and the child with death repeatedly, and then left flowers hanging on my door.
I moved to a security complex and things settled for a little bit. I had to hide from everyone. I had to cut of almost all contact with all friends, including the department I had started off with and I had to skulk into my own grandmothers house like a thief in the night.
I lost work, I tried restraining orders, protective orders, police escorts and when he tried to grab me at a college campus one night, coming out of the dark all clad in black with no warning, my shriek of terror had him surrounded by 10 very large and angry Tucson Fire Fighters who had been in the class with me and who already knew him from his past reputation, but it was the death knell of my career. I had to hide, so hide I did. I had my son very quietly with no fanfare or announcements and we moved to a place where we had over 150 very large and protective and armed brothers and sisters and for over 5 years we were safe. The state notified him about the birth he denied it, the state determined he was a very credible threat to our very lives and told me that no support or father would be forthcoming for my son, ever.
Before we moved to the far away place, he had tried to break into my apartment. He pointed a gun a me, he was a fan of the knife and razor as well, and the things he did to small creatures he caught on his property still leave me shuddering, so I count us lucky.
My stalker was very charming, he would tell me I didn't know what I needed, that I was,"Confused" and that he would take care of things.  He could be pleasant and fun to be around until that switch turned and then he was the most terrifying thing on the planet. His best friend was a Tucson PD officer who was giving him my personal information every time I updated my DMV records as required for my EMT license, so in essence, I was giving him my address each and every time. When that was discovered the officer was demoted and suspended, but I wish he had been fired because he cost me my credit, due to all the moves,(no allowance for that in most leases back then), and my career. There were days I literally thought I was going crazy and that maybe he was right, maybe I was imaging things, but then when he came to my door and tried to break in when my sister was there, I knew I wasn't and he would not stop until he was stopped or he killed me.
To this day I still twitch a little when I see a blue Toyota pickup truck or my son gives me an expression that looks just like him.
When I became a cop and focused my studies in Criminal Justice, I narrowed my focus to Serialized crimes and Sexually Motivated Homicides because I think I may have a very unique understanding of that line of insanity.
The state investigator who had questioned him and then later came out and spoke to me very candidly said that he was, in fact, quite clearly a psychopath and that I was probably very lucky to be alive and not dumped down some abandoned mine out in the west side of Pima County.
I've gotten pretty good at spotting folks like him and it worries me when I see they have resources like the internet to aide their insanity. I shudder to think what would have happened had my stalker had the net or phones with trackable Gps, or even worse, Google maps and public records databases on the web like those I have observed have to utilize at their fingertips.
I have advice for those being stalked, do not take it lightly, its a very serious matter. If a person has been by your house, that is a credible threat and you are in very real danger and if its happened more than once, they have met the California penal code requirements for Stalking (646.9) and if they have made threats, via electronic media, that is Criminal Threats  (422pc) and is a FELONY and they can go to prison for it and they SHOULD.
I quit worrying about what people thought about me when my kids safety came into play and I lived like a scrub for many years to keep him safe, 16 years later I have a healthy, happy and gifted son who knows what I went through and my stalker is a lonely and bitter man who is still just as scary.
The mental illness behind stalking is quite often Borderline Personality with Narcissistic tendencies, though I have seen what can only be some pretty significant schizo-affective disorder in those that I have observed of late. The interwebz is a scary place, and people send me the stuff of nightmares in what used to be a place of sunshine. God, I hope someone is paying attention.

Dear Roger: Miles To Go

Some times I get a reminder that I still have things to deal with, and I guess with all the stress and things I have been dealing with over the past few days, I was due a good one.
Nobody got hurt, but it took me a while to calm down and the person who was involved in the situation ended up standing on the sidewalk with me having to reassure himself that all was well.
Stevie and I took advantage of a break in the rain to walk to the market to get some milk and bread, as well as to just get the hell out of the apartment. I needed to walk off some of my frustration and work over some of my story idea. I had been talking to a friend on twitter, so I wasn't really paying close attention to things,(my bad), and I had Stevie talking to me and distracting me as we walked down the sidewalk.
I was comfortable, not too worried, a lot on my mind and not paying attention. A tweet came in and I slowed to look at my screen because its hard for me to read being its so small. All of the sudden a male voice said in my ear as they touched my shoulder, "Excuse me".
I yelled, shoved Stevie out of the way and turned to fight. Mind you, we were in an area that is where transients congregate for meal handouts, no one had been behind a few minutes prior and he startled the hell out of me.
He jumped back and immediately began apologizing. Stevie began laughing,(she wasn't hurt or even scared), it was an older man we see all the time walking the sidewalk with his wife.
He apologized and said,"I'm sorry, I was in Nam, I learned to walk light. I didn't mean to scare you, are you a Vet? You act like a Vet."
We stood on the sidewalk a few minutes, squared off while I calmed down, him reassuring me he meant no harm he was just trying to go around me, me apologizing for not paying better attention. We eventually nodded at each other and even fist bumped, and then he turned around and said,"It will get better, just give yourself time." Holy hell! I hope so.
Stevie is taking over some of the more stressful parts of getting my books out to the public eye. She is just more people friendly, and more pushy. She will tell people about my book and try to get them to at least give it a shot when I just want to write.
I am submitting my book to a few kickstarter style projects for authors to see if I can get any attention that way, and I'm trying to get the attention of some agents so maybe I can get it in the hands of someone who could do something with it. The less hollyweird set might see purity of the story so I am edging my way back into Cowboy Poetry and even dusting off some of my old works from those days.
I dont know if I will do a full-length audio recording of it, but Stevie sure wants it and she usually gets what she wants and I have no problem telling a story out loud that comes from my heart.

Dear Roger;Vacation? Riiight!

Its two weeks until the end of school. Oh God....Its TWO WEEKS UNTIL THE END OF SCHOOL! I am not particularly looking forward to this time. Yeah, if we had a way to get out and go do stuff, maybe, but with one kid that meanders, ambles and wanders more than he walks, another who has his own agenda that involves getting as far away from his,"Embarrassing" siblings as possible, and limited resources, I have a feeling its going to be a special kind of hell. I figure the eldest with stay gone as much as possible with his friends, returning home only to eat when we have a fully stocked larder, hit me up for cash, and clean laundry. The other two boys will complain constantly about having nothing to do. Walking to the park with them will result in complaints that its hot and there is still nothing to do.
Daughter will be gone for a week in July to church camp, I guess I am okay with that. last year it was only 3 days and I had a really hard time with it. This year its an entire week. I don't know. Her and one of her little church companions have been having issues and its going to reach a boiling point soon. She came home last night so angry that she kicked a chair and ranted about her for a good 5 minutes. Apparently the other little girl is a snobby little thing who likes to rub what she has in my daughters face and make fun of the fact we don't have much. Shes probably about to get popped in the nose. I've tried talking to Stevie, told her about how some people have to make up for a lack of everything else by showing off material things, and telling her to ignore the brat, but apparently the kid likes to follow Stevie around and get in her face about it.
Little girls are mean bitches. My daughter is a lot like me. If she pops the kid in the nose,(and I have told her violence is not the key), then she probably wont be going to church camp. If she doesn't go,ill have to find a way to keep her busy because when she isn't occupied, all hell breaks loose.
My stress stash is gone. A small bag of chocolates,a pack of cigaretts and 20 bucks, gone. I kept it hidden in the cabinet for those times when I was at the point where the amount of stress in my life had given me a case of  the twitches.The chocolate is self-explanatory, the smokes are a throwback to an old habit I had when I was a cop and I didn't smoke often or much, but it was a calming thing that also got the odor of human decomp out of your sinuses pretty effectively. The 20 was for a nice quality beer,(change to be had, of course), most likely a Guinness Stout. But the thing is, I can only indulge in my stress relief when kids are gone and I have the stash.
I have been really stressed out the past couple of days, its been one of those waiting game, gorilla in the room kind of things.
My book is out there, people have read it and no reviews have posted. The books in L.A. are missing or an unknown quantity. I am an obsessive compulsive personality with severe control freak tendencies. So I am in hell. I had planned to indulge in a bit of stress relief last night, I was going to send all the kids to church, and after munching on chocolate all day long, I was going to wait until they left then hot foot it down to the local market, buy my beer and then sit on my back porch, drink a beer and smoke until I either relaxed or my heart exploded.
Everything went pear shaped the moment I climbed up on top of the fridge. I found a trail of chocolate wrappers leading to the stash spot, they were cast about with an air of disdain as if to say,"Amateur". Reaching the stash spot, I prized it open to find not only the money gone, but the smokes gone as well. BUSTED.
My kids are all rabidly anti-tobacco. They wont care that they were expensive and hadn't even been opened, they probably did horrible things to them and then threw them in the trash or the commode as if they had found a junkies stash.
The 20? Yeah...it was gone too. I could ask about it, but we al know the truth, the little one who smiled at me soo innocently and said,"I don't know what you are talking about" that very morning probably didn't get to keep it and if I say anything to the big brother, then there will be the days long lecture about the evils of smoking.
I think I am just going to cut my losses, pretend it didn't happen and try to just distract myself with other things until all this passes. Its only the whole summer.

Dear Roger: Fearless

I have no thumbnails anymore. I have chewed them to the quick. Grandma would be so aggravated at me again,after all, she was the one who broke me of that habit when I was a kid and kept my nails chewed down to bloody nubs. Granted, her method of smacking me each time she caught me with my hands in my mouth would be seen as a bit harsh nowadays, it was effective at stopping it and a lot kinder than my moms answer of cutting all my nails down to the quick so there was nothing to chew! A few of my nervous tics have resurfaced and im working hard to control them, but of course my teen son has decided to be a full on jerk to me, stressing me as much as possible, so as if I didn't have enough on my plate with the end of the school year wrapping up, financials in crisis, books I am trying to promote, and let me tell you, as a NOBODY, that is hard as hell!
I am Southern, and as a Southerner, I don't like to impose on people, I don't like to keep nudging my way in front of people and begging them to notice me, but luckily I have friends who have been trying to help me get over that. Im working on trying to get my books to a larger audience, but its hard! Im not a well known person even in my own little social circles so just getting attention among them is not easy.
I am good at talking about other peoples stuff, heck, you ask me about those boys and their doings and you better pack a lunch and be prepared to sit a spell and listen, because I can tell you pretty much everything you want to know and then I will twist your arm,(maybe even literally), until you buy some of their stuff, but when it comes to my writing, I just stress and worry and think its never good enough. I sent those books out with delivery confirmations on them and I don't know why the hell I did that other than I must have a masochistic streak a mile wide. After I got notice that a couple of them had been delivered, I threw my guts up.
The two that went to L.A. are still in the wind and haven't been received according to the postal website,(not that I have chronically been twitching every time I get an "New Email" alert), so the rest of my fingernails have remained intact so far, but my daughter has been looking at me funny all morning. "You didn't sleep good last night at all. You are grumpy and jumpy today. Its going to be okay, your book is really cool! I love it, isn't that enough?"
It should be, it really should be, but I want to do well for her and the rest of my kids. I want to be able to give them a better life and maybe some kind of affirmation from somewhere would soothe my soul, but I know that's not coming from my parents, and there have been absolutely no reviews posted on the Kindle site though folks have been kind enough to tweet me some really good ones.
I built an authors page on Facebook last night, and I'm going to film the commercial that my little girl has come up with because its pretty damn funny if nothing else, and I always think that that world could use more funny.
I don't know what to do, Rog. I am no good at this stuff. I'm used to rejection and criticism and I should be fine with dealing with it, but until it comes, its like standing at waiting for that first punch to land, you just know its gonna sting and take your breath away and most likely make me want to do like I did with my art and photography, burn it all and just hide for the next 20 years, but I really cant afford to do that. I have kids depending on me now, and watching me, and I have to lead by example, even when its hard.
I'm going to let my little girl lead the way with most of the talking and the promotion of my writing and such, because for some reason, she believes in me and its so weird to be out in public to have someone walk up to people and say,"Hey! did you know my mom is a writer?! Shes really GOOD! You should buy her books!"  I love my kid, I don't know what I did to deserve her, and I hope I don't let her down.

Dear Roger:Talking To Myself In The Wee Hours

So I finally went and did it, I did the vlog thingy to talk about my writing and what motivates me and what not. I think I look like I need a couple good nights sleep, but considering it was recorded at 1130 at night after a long day of chasing kids around, my options were kind of limited.
I don't get a lot of quiet time in my house for doing things like that, I have either kids making all kinds of racket, a dog scratching his bits and ratting his crate or his collar or jingling the bells on the back door wanting out, or the dryer is running, the dishwasher, or I have a kid needing to ask me a question or even better, I have to referee a fight.
At night, if I am lucky, its fairly quiet. Most of the kids settle pretty quick and I can actually sneak in a little writing without my train of thought getting interrupted, but if I say an idea out loud,(as I tend to do in order to test out how it really sounds), then i often end up with Sticky coming out to see who I am talking to.
I end up falling asleep on the couch most nights and that's not a good thing. Our couch is not the most comfortable, its horrible for my back, and ive come close to dropping my laptop off my lap more than once. My daughter has become pretty insistent lately that I go to my actual bed at a reasonable hour, and she will come and stand in front of me with her ratty monkey and give me the,"Look" until I acknowledge her and say,"Yes daughter, Ill go to bed soon." Shes usually unhappy with my response, but when I have an idea working, its hard to stop it.
Promoting my books has been nerve wracking. A friend of mine said its like having children out there that you want people to love like you do, and she was exactly right, my books are like my children.
My daughter is going to make a commercial for them for me. She has been my biggest cheerleader in the entire family, hugging me almost daily and telling me how proud she is of me, and she brags about me to everyone! Its funny at times to hear her. She was even telling off the ex last night, "Did you buy moms book?" He told her that he had not, and she said,"Well why haven't you? She did a really great job and she has been working hard and I am very proud of her! You should be supporting her!" I was quietly doing a fist pump as he apologized and said that he would order one right away.
She wants to read my books and I have had a hard time keeping them out of her hands. While they are not ADULT content, they do have some adult content that I don't think she is ready to read, even if she has read the Harry Potter books. The kids did harass me into reading them a few chapters of 'Face in the Rear View Mirror" the other night and the laughter that echoed in the living room was infectious and we started telling and remembering other family stories that made us all happy.
The poop in the heater vent is a classic that will remain in family lore for decades, as will the monkey flying out the car window at 85 mph, along with the countless others that didn't make it into the novel.
I read the last chapter aloud to my daughter and she lunged at me and hugged me tightly and said,"That was soo cool! Thank you! When will you write the next book?" I just laughed and told her that it was her tale to tell from here on out.

Dear Roger: A Small Immortality

Last night was interesting around here, even more so than usual in that I actually read to the kids some of the more kid friendly chapters of my book,"Face In The Rear View Mirror". At first the only one really paying attention was Stevie, because she knew right off which character was based on her, and she was laughing and alternately cringing as she realized her antics had been shared with the world at large, but then her brothers started listening as well and there was laughter and lots of ,"Oh, and remember when..."
My kids were shocked that I had actually written something that in a way, included them and told some of their stories and Stevie was oddly touched. She hugged me and said,"I really liked the last chapter, being a writer must be the best job in the world if you can do stuff like that."
She has decided that she wants to help promote my book, and in order to do that, she thinks a commercial is the way to go so she has started planning for this commercial, including casting and planning for who was supposed to handle what, like her brother Stubby is supposed to be in charge of,"Lighting, props, and Sticky wrangling so there isn't and accidental nakedness in the shots." She is busily trying to think of everything as well as even write a jingle for it! I think its a much better idea than leaving me in charge of it, because I am not particularly adept at promotion, Im just the writer.
Writing some of the characters in my stories were hard, some were easy. They were mostly based off of encounters I have had with people, and people I have known and a couple of them are amalgamations of a couple people put together. I developed a few of them from kids I knew who never grew up, and those were the tough ones, but that is the thing about being a writer, you can give people life and imagine who they would have grown to be and that is a blessing and a curse. I think many writers do this, childhood friends and family who left too soon or invisible friends are given new life and allowed to thrive in the pages of books, freeing the writer to be able to visit them and imagine them somewhere happy and vibrant. Even a giant, slobbery dog that often peeled the paint off the walls with his farts, gains immortality in the pages of a book and hes remembered once again.
My kids laughed the most at the,"Poop in the heater vent" chapter, and yes, that did actually happen, and Sticky still laughs about it to this day, so if nothing else I created something that has immortalized family chaos and mythology in a way that will be a cautionary tale for future generations.

Dear Roger: Performance Anxiety

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0084HETDA
  So yesterday was a day I took a pretty big gamble, I put my new novel out on the Amazon website on a free promotion day and then I actually mailed copies of it to the people I dedicated it to.
If you know anything about me, you know how hard that was for me to do, in fact, at the post office, my hands were shaking so hard as I tried to pay for the shipping, the clerk had to swipe my card for me. Even after it was all said and done, I still, for one mad moment, debated grabbing the packages back and running, but I had my kids with me and Sticky is notoriously slow, so it would have been an ordeal and I would have been easily apprehended and probably tazed as insane.
I didn't have as much of an issue dropping off copies at the local store that wanted them, I don't know why, I mean, after all, these are people I see pretty much every week when we need food or whatever, but mailing them out to people I dedicated it to? That left me in what was pretty close to  a full blown panic attack.
The fact that one of them, who I really respect and admire, kept giving me shout outs, had me in fits all evening. I watched the numbers for downloads climb until 0130 in the morning until I finally passed out on the couch with my computer on my lap.
Its terrifying being out there with my writing, blogging and writing little fic's is one thing, but actually trying to get recognized as a serious, legitimate author is something that, at my age, is like trying to jump into the rapids of a raging river in the middle of winter.
I'm not good at the whole,"Promotion" thing. I can talk to people, but I am good at talking about other people stuff that I love and enjoy. Ask me about music and Ill talk your ear off about what is good and what I like, ask me about other people writing and you better be prepared to sit a spell and have a long palaver about things because I am Southern and prone to being a bit on the chatty side, but ask me about my writing and that sound the needle makes when drawn sharply across a record , you know, the one that makes you cringe? That is what you hear.
My son is trying to get me to make a video blog about my writing, one of those things where I talk about what inspired me and my motivations. I made a recording last night and when he gets home from his beach adventures with his buddies, Ill let him play with it and maybe upload it, but I dont know. I recorded it and re-recorded it half a dozen times and I realized that, HOLY HELL! IM OLD! but, you know, for once, as scary and as naked feeling as it is, I am doing something I love, and every single time that number goes up, and every time a review comes in, I feel like I am a little further down that road.

Dear Roger: Pride Goeth, Hopefully Before Next Fall

My eldest son got a bit of a wake up call yesterday, and I think it has left him feeling like hes been smacked in the pecker with a rolled up newspaper and rightfully so.
He is a talented, natural musician, one of those disgusting people who can pick up any instrument and after a short while, play it like they were born with it in their hands, his latest feat is to play the Imperial March every time I walk into the room, no matter what he had been playing because I told him I killed off a character in one of my stories. Yesterday he was sitting on the couch playing Shy Water, working out the mandolin part on his guitar, when I walked into the room, so key the March, then he got bored and started playing Fur Elise mashed up with Millionaire and then Caress Me Down. He just effortlessly blends and plays songs now, and when I commented that I was proud of him for learning Shy Water on his own when requests for the guitar tabs had gone ignored, he snarked at me, "Gee mom, did you really think it would be rocket science?"
Hes gotten cocky. He has a fantastic voice with a vocal range that has had his choir teacher having 10 different fits trying to keep him attending after he transferred to the online program, in fact, we waded through a myriad of paperwork and hassle to ensure she could keep him in concert choir, and hes had a couple of solos where he played guitar and he was being groomed to be part of her elite championship performance choir, but then he got lazy about showing up.
He spends hours everyday playing his guitar and when the mood strikes him, he will even take out his violin and play it, he has continued to try and work out how to write music on his own and hes come up with some really interesting tunes as he keeps experimenting with his style, but he hates having to follow others rules and agendas. I don't know where he gets that...
He went yesterday to audition for his spot in concert choir for next year,(a requirement for all Jrs.) and while the Director raved about his fantastic range and about how well his voice has developed, as has his musical ability,and she even told him that she would love to have him as a soloist in her elite performance choir,(they wear tux's) as anything from a tenor to a baritone, she was hesitant to spend any time on him because he was unreliable. She flat out told him to his face in front of everyone that while he was amazingly talented, and had the chops to go far, he wasn't going to unless he found the drive and the ambition to take him there.
I think I love that teacher now. I've been telling him that for what feels like forever, but it just went in one ear and right out the other. He blew me off and acted like he knew he was going to just have everything he wanted fall into his lap. He tells me he likes the rush of having to get everything done last minute and the pressure of looming deadlines, (hes buried in schoolwork), but I've tried to tell him that if makes him look like he is flakey and that he half-asses everything. What is really disgusting is while he lets the schoolwork pile up and then rushes though, he ends up getting A's on it! That pisses me off, nothing should be that easy for him and I hope that this teacher threatening to deny him the spot he wants as a soloist with that elite choir will be the one thing that sparks a fire under his ass and gets him working in a more reliable manner.
Hes going back to regular High School this next year and Stevie is going back to regular elementary school, though she will be advanced a grade or two ahead for her age and she will be getting some additional Gifted support through an online program at home. They have missed the socialization and all the extras like the music and art that the public schools have and I have missed my sanity. Trying to herd two kids through lessons on a daily basis while writing, keeping house, working, dealing with two other kids, including one who got in trouble yesterday for mooning an entire class, is exhausting, stressful and has lead to me constantly having to be the ,"Bad Guy" and im done with it.  We are going to try going back to the,"Normal" this next year to see if it keeps the insanity level down, and hopefully my son will decide that actually showing up and doing what he is supposed to will work better for him that sitting in the living room playing his guitar where only his long-suffering mother is around to hear.

Dear Roger: Is That A Monkey In Your Pants?

Kids...There are days when as a parent you wish for a remote control so you could hit either the mute, rewind or pause button just for a moments sanity, and yesterday was one of those days for me.
I have a teenager. His nickname is,"Werewolf Boy" and not because of any affinity for movies or anything like that, its because of his preponderance of body hair and his temperament. He is a typical teen boy in that he is a moody, confusing, often smelly, eating machine that seems to often delight in bickering with his little sister. Most of the time he is a great older brother who has been unfortunately forced into the,"Dad" role because her dad is not around and is less than optimal. He tries hard to imbue in her manners, morals and a a good set of values, but every now and then he gets a wild hair and just becomes a typical teen brother who wants to torture his little sister for a bit, and that was yesterday.
She was sitting at the table, working on something on her computer and he walked up behind her. He made some comment about her being on Facebook and bothering Jerad Anderson and she said,"I am not! I'm looking for a music video." He snarked back at her about how she was supposed to be doing schoolwork, and the bickering began. They sniped back and for for a few minutes with me tuning most of it out as long as there were not obscenities involved, and then she must have hit a nerve because he turned and headed for her room.
Oh shit...that was my first thought has she shrieked in horror. I knew what he was after before he even reached the bedroom door. Sure enough, he emerged with Jackson in his paw, grinning ear to ear as he dangled it above her. Issuing all kinds of vile threats to poor Jacksons person. I told him to give the monkey back just as she hauled off and popped him right where he thinks.
He went to the floor, folded up around the monkey as Spencer the dog went nuts, barking and running all over, Stubby arrived home from school to add to the chaos as both kids jumped on Werewolf boy to try to rescue Jackson, but now he was ticked off and there was blood in his eye and malice in his heart.
He dangled the monkey over the dog, as he raced into her room and grabbed Jerad monkey, creating even more chaos as he shoved Jackson monkey DOWN HIS PANTS. Stevie fell to the floor, in shock and horror at what her poor lovey was experiencing as Stubby bravely tried to rescue Jerad, only to see his stuffed dragon, "Fafner" fall to the same fate as Jackson,(I dont know how he kept the shorts up), and that cause Stub to snap just a little, necessitating me hiding the ball bat.
Werewolf Boy retreated to his room with the hostages in his possession as Sticky arrived home and emotions began to run high. Daughter was plotting nefarious revenge on his guitar and Stub has already hidden his long board. I went and knocked on the door, attempting negotiations for the release of the hostages all in one piece, but was met with silence as he was busy talking to his girlfriend. I knew then that desperate times called for desperate measures. Being sure to warn the small kids of my plan, I went and knocked on Werewolf Boys door one more time, telling him that I had had enough of the chaos for the day, that the kids were upset and wanted Jackson and Fafner back, he snarked at me that they didn't deserve them for being brats and that I needed to just deal. It was at that point I collapsed, making sure to hit the door and the wall on the way down, sounding like a good full on faint.
I am very good a playing dead or unconscious, (survival mechanism), and while I dont use it very often because it tends to freak the kids the hell out, it does get the job done. He opened the door and looked out, finding me laying on the floor with the little kids poking at me and he came out and said,"Mom?" I lay there, holding my breath, trying not to giggle as Daughter said very gravely,"I think you killed her with your meanness" and he said,'Shut up, shes not dead shes just faking." but his voice sounded very concerned as he said,"Mom? Get up..okay? This isn't funny anymore." He tried to roll me over and just as I was halfway over, I grabbed his legs and the bottom hem of his shorts and yelled to the little kids, "Get em!" as they ran into his room and grabbed the hostages and then fled back to Stevie's room, locking the door behind them. I reached up, grabbed his iPhone and tossed it to Stub as he raced past before Werewolf even knew what hit him.
"You are insane, you know that, don't you? Normal moms do not play dead and nearly pants their teenage sons! Thats not COOL!"
I told him, that we were not dealing with normal circumstances, it was monkey rescue and extraordinary circumstances had to be taken, and after he got over being annoyed he laughed. He asked me,"What if you had pants me! What would you have done? " I told him that I was his mom, I had wiped his butt til he was two and taught him to aim to pee, I think I would have survived. He said, "Maybe, but I think I would have died."
He managed to snag Jackson again later in the afternoon just to remind her that he could and this time he stuffed the poor thing in his mouth...I think they both need shots and a good scrubbing.

Dear Roger: Self Promotion When You Are An Introvert?

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0084HETDA

So I thought I had done the hard part in actually publishing two of my books, but it turns out, that getting them written, polished and coherent enough to publish was just the tip of the iceberg, actually getting them out there so people can read them is the really hard part.
I am not a very social person and when it comes to promoting my stuff, I vapor lock because I am always full of self-doubt. When you have spent most of your life being told you are the family fuck up or the not good enough girl friend or the crappy wife, or the bad mother, how in the hell are you supposed to believe you are a worthy author? After I published my main novel, I sat here in my creaky, uncomfortable chair and I debated pulling it right back down and erasing it all and calling it off, but with cajoling from my son and a few friends  I announced it on my Facebook page, tweeted it out, and even told people around me that I sort of talk to, I had some of  my family and a few friends jump up and congratulate me, but the vast majority of people I know were quiet. Its akin to coming home from school as a kid after winning the school spelling bee telling your parents and them not even looking up from the tv other than to tell you to go get them a beer.
I dont know how to promote myself. I cant hire a publicist and for Gods sake, IM SOUTHERN! Do you know what that means? It means I am very reticent about imposing myself on people. I loathe commercials, so the thought of constantly poking at people with my book and saying,"Please, for Gods sake! Read my Book! Tell me what you think! Tell a friend!" seems like a dreadful imposition. My own son and sis are hesitant to do much because like me, they are SOUTHERN and that just really screws the dynamic for things.
I need to get word out, this is my hope for a legacy for my kids, because after all, they aren't getting any support from their father, they have no trust funds or inheritance of any kind coming their way, and times being what they are, they are going to need all the help they can get.
Im still plugging away at the writing, still working at it every day and its not a job to me, its my enduring passion, my joy and my heart, and I tell myself I dont do it to get rich, but to be able to make enough to pay the internet bill would be nice, to have a whisper out there that says,"She was here, she actually did exist and she lived this." Would be nice to have recognized, I think that is what anyone wants, just that little whisper in the abyss and this is mine.

Dear Roger;Hoochie Boots, Monkey Panties and Crushing On The Young Gay Neighbors

People are determined to girlyfy me, even at this late stage of my life, so they often give me the damnedest things to assist in the effort. The other day a lady gave me a pair of boots with stacked soles and at least 4 inch heels,(hoochie boots) that I would break my fool neck in if I even tried to wear, and even better, a pair of stiletto heels. I haven't worn heels like that in over 20 years. I don't know if she was trying to kill me, or just needed closet space that bad, but they were brand stinking new and I am always unfailingly polite, so I thanked her and brought them home, threw them through the door and went on about my business.
I should have known...My daughter is quite the fashionista, she wears the wildest outfits that she creates herself out of all kinds of colors, patterns and what have you. Lately, they have become a lot less,"Little girl". In fact, its gotten difficult to keep clothes on her. She has a tendency to run around the house in her Paul Frank monkey panties, a cape, her 100 Monkeys ball cap and whatever mismatched socks caught her fancy and that is all. Then the boots arrived. They are a little big on her, but not much. Shes tall for her age, and actually has big feet too, her doctor tells me she may be my kid that breaks the short trend in the family, because she may actually be a tall one, so the boots come very close to fitting her. I came home from work and she was sitting at the table doing her schoolwork wearing her cape, a pair of leggings, her new t-shirt and the boots,(her brother was home and nagging at her), she wore the boots all day and navigated around in them with no problem, even running! While I was in the kitchen cooking dinner she came wandering in wearing the stiletto heels and said to me,"I don't see why you cant walk in these, its soo easy!" F.M.L. her brother threatened to throw them in the trash if she didn't take them off and put some clothes back on,(she was down to panties again), and she simply stuck her tongue out at him and ran to her room.
We frequently argue about her keeping clothes on with her brother often being the most vehement voice of dissent against her fashion,(or lack thereof)choices. He tries to remind her that she is a,"Little lady" and expected to act as such, but there are times she has been full on heathen lately and she has started confronting him on what she sees as an unfair policy. Her brothers often come home and sit around the house in their boxer shorts, so in her mind she is just following the trend and maintaining equality of the sexes. In fact she even told him he was discriminating against her because she was a girl, but he just got annoyed with her and went and took Jackson, dangling him over the dog until she went and frantically threw some clothes on.
She is starting to comment about boys...I really don't like that. In fact, the new series of Jackson Rathbone pictures that just came out had her standing and staring in speechless attention for a few minutes, and then she looked at me and said,"WHOA! HE'S CUUUUTE!"  oh hell. Hes never really been,"Cute" to her before, hes been someone she looked up to, you know? Like a hero? SHE never objectified him, but, we will have to see what is looming on the horizon because I think she has now realized he is a guy.
She has definantly noticed our neighbors, you know, the hopelessly adorable, cute as they can be with the equally cute dog, pajama wearing in the morning when they walk him outside our windows, young, GAY, neighbors? Yeah...she spotted them a few weeks ago and she has a little girl crush on the tall one. Every time she spots him she just smiles and watches him walk by, even mumbling a shy little, "Hi". I've explained to her that he lives with his boyfriend and they are happy and that led to a very truncated discussion about how things..."So let me get this straight, they are boyfriend and girlfriend?"  Yes daughter. "But they are both boys" Yes, that is how it is with gay couples, they are either both boys or both girls  "Thats cool, so which one is the boy and which one is the girl?" Daughter, that is private business for them and its not polite to ask.  "I hope the tall one is not the girl, hes the cutest." Oh good Lord....Daughter! You are not allowed to crush on the young, gay neighbors! "Why not, you do!" I know, and its pretty useless, but its like one of the greater beings mean jokes on me that all cute, interesting men I would like have to like other cute interesting men that I would like. "Do all the men you like have boyfriends?" Only most of them daughter, only most of them. "Well, I think its okay to like a gay boy, especially if they are cute and smart and smell good like he does when he walks by with his cute lil doggie!"  Yeah, daughter its okay, its like shopping when you have no money in the bank. "Wait. What? Thats no fun at all! You cant even have lunch when you have no money in the bank." Now you are starting to understand.
About that point in the conversation, her older brother interrupted us,(THANK GOD), and asked if he could borrow,(have), money to go see some dancers. He wasnt really clear on the type of dancers at first, and that lead to much interrogation as to why he needed so much money, where exactly he was going and who with until I was satisfied no titty dancers or other unseemly characters were involved, though with mr.straight edge, I should have known. His lil ballet dancer friend was having a recital and charity fund raiser and she had asked him to come and support her. She had neglected to tell him it was a fancy dress gala, but oh well. He needed to earn money quickly and since I had already done all the housework on my own,(much to my ire and irritation), he was stuck between a rock and a hard place.
I had him. Usually, when he wants money and there are no chores to be performed, he gets by with playing me a song on his guitar or letting me have a nice, non-smirking , picture of his face. But his sister, she had the most DEVIOUS idea! "Disney 411 Jackson!" she whispered it in my ear while he was out of the room for a moment after we had watched a video of the real deals salad days as a young man starting out.
Back when things were harder in our lives, Chance used to imitate Jackson from those days to make Stevie laugh. He was damn good at it, in fact, he could flat nail it, voice and all, (though he had to raise up on his toes for some reason), and it always made all of us laugh and feel better. Thing is, Chance has grown a foot and hes now a baritone for his schools choir, so it was going to be a real challenge for him, if we could bribe him into it. The breaking point was $45 and it took him a good hour to psyche himself up to it. Stevie was just being herself. I love the fact I have blackmail material that will last for years.

Dear Roger: When Trying To Promote Books,Mustaches Videos Are Not Recommended

My First Major Novel 

My First Published Short Story

Ive been kinda busy lately, even with the world kinda going to chaos around me and all the commotion and fracas disrupting everything and driving my muse to insanity, I still managed to get these two pulled together, edited into some form of submission and thrown out into the world. Im pretty damn proud of that. My other writing has slowed down a little, and I am sure my regular readers as pretty unhappy with me, but I intend to fix that today, though with all the busy I have had going on, my muse has been more difficult than usual to argue into working with me.
Its scary putting things out there. I keep waiting for someone to rip into me and tell me how bad they suck or for someone to be offended or put out or for someone to just call me a ,"Mary Sue hack job" for "Drifts". I wrote it on a lark, just one of those ideas that came to me in the dark of night and was like an itch that had to be scratched. Im an ex-cop and a mom that has a tendency towards the,"Oh my God! What the hell were you thinking! You could have been kidnapped and murdered." school of thought, instead of ,"Oh, so you just go really sick and lost some of your stuff? Sounds like fun." version. More Stephen King vs Beastie Boys I guess, so anyway, I had that come to me and it was a hell of a lot darker, but I convinced my muse that the world needs less dark in it, so I put it out there in the pg13 version.
My "Face In the Rear View Mirror"? That is my pride and joy. Over a years hard writing that even my son bugged me for updates of. I used to read him the newest chapters as I finished them, out loud in the living room some nights, and he would often laugh or cry along with me and the memories. Its fiction, but then again, its not. I love that story, its precious and important to me, as I guess all origin stories are to people, and even if I never sell another copy of it, the fact I had the ability to put it out there finally, after it sat inside me for over 30 years, is a miracle in itself.
After I pushed the button that approved it for publication, I sat a my computer and cried. My son came and hugged me because he knew...he realized what a journey it had been and the day it was finally approved was like reaching the pinnacle of a mountain I had been climbing for most of my life.
Its probably not perfect, I didn't have anyone to pick apart my grammar, spelling or changes in tense for me, but I read and reread and picked it apart until my son was afraid I was going to burn it, much like I did my art and photography, so he made me stop.
I wanted it to be perfect, because I want to send a copy to each of the people I dedicated it to, the people who helped me to take each of those hard fought, crippled steps up that mountain, as my way of thanking them for inspiring me to at least try, something I have never had the will to do before.
Getting word out about my books is not easy, and I will tell you, im the worst at it. Navigating the net and all the links and such is a never ending adventure and unfortunately for one of my very conservative friends of faith who asked for the link to the website yesterday, I am often engaged in other silliness, so I am hoping she didn't get too far into the "Mustaches" video before she realized it wasn't the link to my books, and I really hope she did not understand just what the heck those boys were singing about, but I am afraid to ask.
Im posting the actual link TO THE BOOKS below, if you want the link to the Mustaches video, well...I may have it saved somewhere, just shoot me a line and Ill hook you up.
https://www.createspace.com/3873385

Dear Roger: There is Only One Person I Hate

Hate is a powerful word to me, it means that you wish horrible things upon a person, that you revile them to the point of wishing them dead. I don't like the word Hate at all and I try to discourage its use, much like I try to discourage much of the hostility and vitriol I see. I don't know when I became such a semi-Buddhist, peace loving, pseudo-hippy, but I have found myself being the one who has in many situations been the person calling for a measure of calm and a reduction in the number of expletives flung about. Its not that I'm worried about being sued, Hell! anyone who sued me would find that they would need to get in line behind my student loan debt, the house the ex let foreclose,(I was still on the note, even with the quit claim), and all the general bills and BS I have facing me each month. It would be like suing quicksand.
No, its that in the grand scheme of things, I don't see why the hate is being rolled out for things that are ridiculous,irresponsible, and mean-spirited, but not hate worthy.
People are hurting in my small little microcosm, they are worried about people who mean a lot to them and they are looking for someone to blame, but adding fuel to the fire via hate is only making the quagmire of horrible emotions thicker and more negative.
I spent nearly 30 years hating a person. He never knew it. He never even knew who I was and I could not have picked him out of a line up, but I knew what he did and the repercussions of his actions changed my life and me in ways that you cannot even fathom. But, I felt my hate was justified at the time. This person had killed someone important to me and I had to face the end result of that every time I went to school and home for years. It haunted me. It was a big reason I became a cop, a big reason I carried anger in me for drunks and a big reason I carried the burden of hate, and he never even knew it. He went on and lived a long, most likely happy life and died just recently a very old man.
My hate aged me, ate me from the inside, twisted me and took years of happiness from me. I never realized it until I some little hippy chick counselor I got sent to for PTSD (after I went off on the Chief of Police in a meeting of the Domestic Violence Action Committee when he said that battered women don't really want a way out)scratched open a wound that had been festering for close to 30 years and got it bleeding.
The thing about wounds like that, sometimes you have to open them up and dig out the bad to get them to heal, and when I left Arizona, I was still festering. I came to Portland with it still bleeding, angry and hurting and without direction, my hate beginning to eat away at me again, and then we had our day in the sun... I found some direction. My little girl smiled. My son began to be a little less angry at me and the world in general and we had hope. We found a small little light in the darkness and I followed it. I  found a direction and a reason and a focus. I also found a role model for how to handle my grief in someone who had made changes in the world because of his.
I have lost many people in my life that I loved more than anything, not only to death,but to ended relationships where I was cheated on and then unceremoniously dumped on Valentines day, left with a little boy who did not understand why his Bear was no longer coming to see him after 3 years of being there for him. I've had to come to grips with the fact that a man I loved heart and soul and who I would and did sacrifice everything except my children, for, just did not love me. Yes, he cared for me, yes we have a bond, but he doesn't love me like I love him and realizing that hurt like hell. But I don't hate them. I made my peace with them and we still talk and have friendships.
My ex, the one I sent to prison for taking a straight razor to me? The albatross who cant manage to support himself much less his kids? I don't hate him. I may not like him very much and I may not have much in the way of kind things to say about him, but I do not hate him.
"Hate is a poison that consumes the vessel that contains it" is a very old quote that I find to be very true. Its the same with anger. Sometimes you have to just take a deep breath and look at all sides of things and stick to the positive and that is what I intend to do because anything to do with hate is just as the hippys would say,"Bad Karma".
The world I live in used to be a very happy and silly world with monkeys bouncing about, bright eyed boys that made us laugh and sigh and songs we all know by heart. Its changed lately, as worlds tend to do, and change is hard to deal with, but with the change some have tried to bring hate into it and I have watched as one of our bright-eyed boys has begun to suffer more and more and I worry as the light around him dims and becomes faded. Hes struggling and it scares me. Watching the pollution that hate has brought into our little world slowly choke out the bright light around him and everything that was good and sweet and silly  and I am saying that the hate needs to stop. I may not agree with what has gone on. I will not support a person who openly and unashamedly followed a vile hater and who made not so veiled threats,(in my humble opinion), but I do not hate any of my boys and I cannot hear any one speak of it.
When my little girl sees a picture of a certain young man who has always in a way kind of freaked her out, and she says."Oh no! he looks soo sad I want to draw him a monkey and give him hugs until hes all better." Then I think its time to bring some love back into the whole mix of things.

Dear Roger: Her Role Model Was a Monkey, What Did You Expect?

Daughters play finally was performed this past Sunday and it was not the typical church plays of my childhood. This one had the production values of some Hollyweird endeavors with wireless mics professional level sets, a sound track and all kinds of lighting and coaching of the actors that seemed to suck a bit of the fun out of it, and weirdly enough, a grown-assed man playing the lead in the childrens church play? I was a bit off-put by that, but I guess that is how things roll now days.
I didnt really pay that much attention to the rest of the goings on of the play, my focus was on my little girl and I have to say, she shocked me!
First off, her wiggle to the music! She told me earlier in the week they had told her that she wiggled her butt too much, and I guess she still was at it, because before the started the rehearsal the guy coaching them reminded her to keep it decent in front of everyone and he pissed her off, so then she went the opposite direction and went stiff so he ran up during the rehearsal to try to get her moving again. She is a wiggler and her most frequent dance moves are very familiar to anyone who has ever seen any concert videos of a certain band, but she is temperamental and telling her something in front of everyone just does not go over well.
Then the next thing that really shocked me was her voice, she actually sang the blues solo and I was shocked at the voice that came out of her. She has been so quiet lately, not her formerly boisterous and exuberant self, so to hear her actually singing a song loud enough that it was heard? Even her brothers were shocked.
The wiggle really started coming out during her singing, but it was the harmonica solo that cracked me up. I knew she had been looking forward to that and she really seemed to enjoy herself. The audience seemed to get a kick out of her performance as some of the old her re-emerged.
I was so very proud of her and stunned by her voice and her presence on the stage. She was so funny after the play, thanking the people who came up to talk to her, congratulating her on her singing and asking her were she learned how to sing like that? She told the,"I learned from Jackson." They thought she meant the ratty monkey she had hugged up to her and so once again, the churchy folk are convinced we are even more odd, but hey? I don't see much wrong with that.
My second book is going to come out, come hell or high water, sometime this week. I had it almost perfect and then we realized that one word in the title was off from what the ISBN had been issued for, so the whole thing had to be pulled back while that is adjusted. Its been stressful and frustrating to try and get it up and going, much more so than with the first one for some reason, perhaps because this story is so deeply personal and was at times so hard to tell? Its been very emotional at times to write about it, reliving things from long ago, writing about how things should have been, could have been might have been? That is what is so true about that great quote, "Fiction gives us the second chance that life denies us", and the story coming out is part that, part reality based, so its messed with me a bit to get it ready. I have nit picked it apart at times, and hopefully caught every out of place comma, period and just odd misspelling, but I doubt it. Its hard to catch everything on your own and with crappy glasses that have a prescription that is probably 2 years past its effective limit, but I have done my best and I am throwing it out there, hopefully to have some success and to let some things go.
I've started on the 3rd one, its a different kind of love story, one with love and loss, angst and atonement with a hope for redemption, kind of how life is on a daily basis in out little world, but its what keeps us moving forward, and that is the only way to go.