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.

Dear Roger:Mothering 101

Its yet another one of those industry created holidays designed to create stress and guilt on those who don't fall within societal,"Norms" Yeah, I know, I'm being all bah humbug and whatever, but really? I hate these holidays, just like I hate Valentines day. 
My kids have been busily making me cards and little treats all week and its been really sweet and I appreciate them, especially the little card that Conner brought me on Friday in his own handwriting that said,"I love you, mom" Hes finally writing independently and hes writing full sentences, and that's cool as hell. Of course, later in the afternoon he yelled at me to,"Get off my ass!" so...meh. My eldest is gone all weekend doing some,"Fast for Famine Relief" so its been fairly peaceful and quiet and I was able to finally finish re-editing my second book.
Its hard to write and edit with kids around. The younger ones seem to get it, and other than when they actually need something, they tend to leave me to it, but my eldest? It drives him nuts that I can sit for hours writing and working on something. He has even admitted that! He hates to write, so the fact I do it so easily drives him crazy. I tried to explain to him that its like playing the guitar or music for him, it just burns out of me at times and I have to write the story or it itches and makes me anxious. Then when its written, the obsessive/compulsive part of me takes over and I have to fix it and tweak it until its perfect, but I always worry that they never are.
We agreed to disagree about it, and he tends to try to drag me away from my computer with guilt or with just general harassment when he thinks I have been at it too long.
I worry that I am not a good mother constantly. I have tried to do a good job, and I am one that believes that my kids come first, last and always, even if it means depriving myself of most things that some women consider important. My sis thinks Im crazy, but I grew up always being second and I didn't want my kids to ever feel that.
Its hard to be the mom of a pack of kids with all the different personalities and ages as well as the needs and wants. My sons are as different from each other as they are from my daughter but they are all dramatic and intense and competitive and prone to brawling when they get annoyed with each other. I often feel like I am the ringmaster of a rolling dog fight in the middle of a circus with daughter and her monkey on the trapeze above us all laughing fiendishly flinging poo down on us.
Last night, I had the middle boy come strolling out of his room buck naked, carrying his drawers  as he walked into the kitchen to make some chocolate milk. Daughter was in there and I heard her shriek at him,"EWW! Conner! Why do you not have pants on?!" He muttered,"I don't want to talk about it, here smell them!" and the proceeded to try and chase her with the drawers. He forgot the broom was out in the kitchen and readily available to her. It then became a case of her chasing him and she swatted his naked ass with the broom before he could make it to his room. She then began yelling at him about being a savage and rude to be walking about with his bits hanging out when there were,"ladies home" him and his brother argued that there were no ladies around and things were deteriorating when I finally intervened.
I asked what had happened to the drawers, since the entire ass end of them was ripped out, and my supposedly,'Retarded" son very dryly replied,"Bad fart", and grinned at me. I probably dont want to know the truth, but I do know the drawers were getting old.
I hunted through the pile of laundry on the older brothers bed and found a pair of boxers which caused Stubby to throw a fit claiming that Conner shouldn't wear the boxers because,"He DOES things to them." so maybe there is some veracity to the,"Bad fart" claim? I dont know, but I do know boys are gross and weird and that is what I am going to be taking with me to daughters church this morning for the play she is putting on. It should be interesting.
The play is something she has been working on for months, she got the role she wanted, she has attended every single rehearsal and she has practiced faithfully.
She is pretty excited because she has a Blues solo and shes going to be singing in front of the whole church. She watched videos of her favorite boy in order to get some ideas on how to give it some zing, sooo...this should be interesting, a Jackson Rathbone/100 Monkeys influenced church play. Lord Help me? I did have her tone down the butt wiggle just a little bit, I already get the condescending looks from that preacher as it is.
Its going to be an exciting day I have a feeling, Conner has the farts, Stevie has the nerves so I will be carrying her Jackson monkey to church for her,(thus earning more stares and judgement from the churchy folk), Stubby stayed up to late reading  Harry Potter 4 and is grumpy, and my eldest is really annoyed that not only did I text him about all the yummy Tex/Mex food he missed at the street fair yesterday, but that I also tweeted about his love of Teletubbies when he was younger to Jackson Rathbone and others.
Being a mom is constantly living on the edge, just in ways that are a little different than when I was younger and on my own.

Dear Roger: Always Look On The Monkey Side of Life

"Always looking on the bright side of life",It seems like good advice that would be something to get you through life with at least a hope of a smile a few times a day, but let me tell you, when it seems like life is determined to continually junk punch you with bad news, its kinda hard to keep that optimistic outlook.
More than a few folk wandering around the monkeyverse in particular have been having a hard time lately, myself included and I have come to the conclusion that we are in a protracted mourning period for a patient that, while not dead, is suffering from a dread disease that is really making them suffer and we are all feeling helpless because we want to cure them, we would even donate vital parts of ourselves to fix them, but the doctors are fucking listening to us, in fact, the hospital is trying to have security shove us all out the doors and lock them on us while they experiment like Frankenstein gone awry.
If that wasn't enough, many of us have other personal issues going on in our lives that pretty much trump the hell out of our one light in the darkness wavering and being in danger of going out, I personally, have a sister facing major surgery on in June where they will go in to attempt to make sure they get all the stuff out of her so cancer wont win. This will be the 4th damn time shes gone under the knife for that. It was the just  5th anniversary of my cousin passing the other day, I had a migraine storm to just about end all migraine storms that left me curled up in my bed hoping I would wake up with my vision back to normal and my eyeballs in my skull, while my kids worried and hoped that I would just wake up.
I have friends who have kids and loved ones facing surgery, or who have been through it, major job and life changes, poverty and health issues, political stress and relationship problems.
In other words, life is happening for all of us out here and some of it hurts like hell and without our sunshine in the darkness, its even harder, but we have to remember something...
They are all still alive. There is always hope. We have to have faith in the fact that young men grow up and things change and things that caused hurt and anger sometimes no longer seem so damn important anymore.
As I published my first book this last month I sat here in my living room and i realized that most of the people I wanted to be proud of me for it, that I wanted to see the moment I actually did something with my writing, were dead.
I couldn't call them up and say,"Hey! I finally did it! Are you finally proud of me?" There was no one to call.
I tweeted it out, spoke to a few friends online and that was it until last night when a friend from home who I have known for over 30 years talked to me about my second book,(the one I have dedicated to those boys), she reminded me that while we may wander away from things and places and even people that have hurt us in the past, they are a part of us and the roots go deep, and make us who we are. There is no escaping that, and that gives me hope for them.
I know things seem dark right now, but hold steady, hold the faith and believe in the power of good things and good people. Look on the bright side of things and know that they are alive and there is hope.

Dear Roger: Protective Streak

I lost my faith in God when I was 14 and I was told that my kind, sweet grandpa was burning in hell because he didn't go to church every Sunday and tithe 10%/ I also punched the man in the nose that said that to me. I have struggled with being lost in a sea of faithlessness ever since, its a lonely place to be when you believe that any superior being that might exist has it out for you and decides to take out their annoyance at you by harming the ones you love. I have lost most of the people near and dear to me and most of them have died young and unfairly.
Its been enough to convince me that I have really pissed off the big one, so I try to stay low and stay out of the way so I can protect the ones I care about.
I managed to regain some faith as I aged, in fact when I took my first oath as a Firefighter and went to fighting fires in the mountains of Nogales, it felt like a sacred mission. We were protecting people, homes and the beautiful country from destruction. I loved it and took my oath to protect to heart.
this is what I swore back then:

A Firefighter's Pledge

I promise concern for others.
A willingness to help all those in need.

I promise courage - courage to face and conquer my fears.
Courage to share and endure the ordeal of those who need me.

I promise strength - strength of heart to bear whatever
burdens might be placed upon me.
Strength of body to deliver to safety all those placed within my care.

I promise the wisdom to lead, the compassion to comfort,
and the love to serve unselfishly whenever I am called.

-Author Unknown

and that is what I lived by until I finished my training to be an EMT for the Ambulance division of the fire department.then my oath changed a little, but the heart of it was the same, service to and protection of, others:even if it meant some sacrifice on my behalf. 

It was often hard, dirty, dangerous and sometimes heart-breaking work, but I loved it and I lived for it, for years doing it for free as a volunteer.My faith was in my work and the knowledge that I was making a difference for people, even if it was just a few, I knew that the strands of help rippled out. 

When I took my final oath, it became the one that most suited me, because I have a very strong protective drive. I don't know why or where it came from, but I can remember in the 2nd grade giving a tear wracked speech in front of the class about how wrong and horrible it was for the boys to have stomped the chickadee chicks out on the playground at E.C. Brice Elementary, and I have continued that streak of protectiveness, even trying to wade into a truck load of idiots who yelled the word,"Faggot" at my teen son up on Burnside when we first moved here. In typical Southerner, I was dropping my bags, taking off my jacket and trash talking, rolling up my sleeves, ready to fight, because I will back up words with actions, I protect those who matter to me, or those who are in danger. Its a vow I took, and while my badge may be retired due to my damned disability, my heart rages at the wrongs I see and I want to fix them, because I know what it is to be a victim and its hard to trust others to,"handle things" when trusting others in the past left locks unchanged and a sociopath with easy access. 

I know what it means to be stalked, I endured it for over a year. My sis got the life scared out of her when he tried to break into my apartment that I had moved to after moving for the 3rd time and he kept finding me because it turns out he had a cop friend who ran my information and gave it right to him whenever he asked. I trust no one, because people slack off and make mistakes when its not their ass on the line. People do things like put folders with the address and pictures of children in files that the stalker has access to and trust that he will obey the note to "Not remove tape" and view. 14 years of hiding for a reason. My ex hubs is a teddy bear compared to my stalker, and yes, my stalker was a man, but women are just as dangerous and deadly. 

It fucked me up what happened to me in my life. I am hyper-vigilant and I am off the scale when it comes to PTSD diagnoses. I have friends who help talk me down and without them I would be lost, because what had been sunshine and happiness has been pretty damn dark lately, with occasional spots of light, but there has been soo much ugliness that its had me pinging all over the place with stress and people keep telling me,"You aren't a cop anymore, stay out of it." but the thing is this:

I lived by these word in my heart along with my Firefighters and Emt's pledge for most of my adult life, they are my version of the gospel I serve no agency but my own conscience and moral code, and my moral code is that I pay my debts, I watch out for those who are in harms way, and I do my best to be a better person. I fail sometimes at the last one because I'm weak, but if I didn't act and follow my code, and someone got hurt, I would not be able to live with myself and maybe that makes me weird or foolish, but I have never been the normal. 

The stress has cost me pretty good this week, my back is wracked worse than it has been in years, and I would give money we don't have for a way to get the knots out. I had a flashback of the stalker last night, so Im sleep deprived in need of a hug, irritable, hungry and I want to hit something, My daughters answer to all of this? She climbs in my lap when i finally come home and says,"You look to sad today, you need a skinny monkey to cheer you up." She hopped off my lap and went to work and within 15 minutes I had a grinning, dancing, skinny monkey picture to add to my collection on the fridge along with a half dozen more hugs and kisses. It made for a much better night. 

Navigating around the things that set me off and stress me out is hard, I cant just shut off the world, and I cant just stay out of things, but doing minor things that make me feel like I have fulfilled my vows as a servant of the good and human being as well as just ensuring those who are evil are held to task for their transgressions, makes me feel much better.Loosing my religion at 14 was hard, losing my faith and what is left of myself at 43, would be devastating.

Dear Roger:For What It Was Worth, I Was Here

https://www.createspace.com/3859423    My book.
I'm not a very outgoing person. I tend to stand back and watch things happen, observe goings on, pay attention to what is said, listen to the subtext and just try to be prepared to duck and dodge when things go wrong. I never sought fame or even fortune, never wanted to be the top dog in anything. I just wanted to do my thing and be happy. It would have been nice to have been loved the way my grandparents loved each other, but I am not a very lovable person. I am stand-offish and cold and I live a lot in my own head. Its a big part of the reason that when my sisters best friend killed herself, that my sis called me for an explanation, she knew of all the people around, I would have an understanding of why she did it, because I have lived with the reasons to do it for years, but I have the reasons not to nagging me for cookies or Koolaid and reminding me I am needed, so I keep plugging along.
My writing is my solace, my only outlet and my driving force. I write every damn day and it burns out of me like a fire from a volcano some days. Its not earth-shattering, life changing, great, philosophical literature, but its whats in my head and it has got to come out or it makes me crazy(er). I didn't write for years and years when I was living in darkness, mainly because I was so busy surviving and ducking and dodging, I just didn't have the time or the energy. I had lost my muse and my will.
It came back a couple of years ago, in fits and starts, at first with a blog where I started railing against the misery I had allowed myself to fall into, and then low and behold my true muse found me again and he was a bit pissed to have been neglected for so long.
My muse is a visual creature and he has a pretty consistent appearance and persona that drives me and inspires me to write.I have pictures that help remind me of the face of my muse when he wanders off and the inspiration leaves for a bit, and those help, but I have found that I understand why most people find writers to be a bit insane, because I know I am.
I wander around with bits of scrap paper stuffed in my pockets with odd notes on them, my computer desktop is a disaster area of pictures of random people and things that have inspired stories as well as bits and pieces of starts of new story ideas. My son has fits when he looks at it because it looks like I imagine my desk would look if I were sitting with pen and paper again.
My son knows that I write a wide variety of things, from short stories that have people writing me to tell me that I," Ripped their hearts out and left them sobbing," to rollicking, awkward sex filled humorous, tales that my son wont even hazard to try and read, to flat out gay erotica that has prompted more than a couple gay men to write me and offer praise at a," Job well done"(pun fully intended), I kill people in my stories, beat them up, give them hardship, leave them hurting, make them poor and flawed and give them packs of kids that wreck havoc on their lives, in other words, I write what I know, (except for the gay erotica, I have no idea where the hell that comes from, my muse is a bit of a odd ball), I don't write graphic sex, but I get the point across without smacking you in the face with it, and I write like I talk, Texan/Southern. 
People have commented on my writing style, calling it,"Reality writing for Southern speak", but I don't know if I would go that far. I use colloquialisms and I use slang, and I chop the ends off words. Like my characters economic status, their way of speaking reflects where they are and where they come from;me.
I self-published a short story of mine that has never seen the light of day anywhere else. It was written over a few days and I sat on it for quite a while because it was so damn dark, and until my muse would cooperate and lighten it up, I just wasn't happy with it.
I don't know if it will do any good or if many people will buy or read it, Its sold 7 copies as of the writing of this blog, but its something tangible of what I was and what I did. My next novel is almost done with editing and its my pride and joy because its months and months of work that took a lot of blood, sweat and tears to come to life. I don't have an editor or an agent or anyone other than a long-suffering friend who pre-reads and looks for glaring mistakes and then reassures me I am not out of my mind to trying.
My dedication page is about the only thing I am sure of so far, and its to the men who gave me my light so my muse found his way home ,so that when I am gone there will be something that even if its half-assed with grammar to have my English teacher spinning in her grave, that says:I was here, I lived my dream even if it was small, it meant the world to me.

Stevie Rae's Commentary On The 100 Monkeys

 This is my 8 year old daughters feelings about the 100 Monkeys and her experiences at the concert that she attended at the Wonder ballroom this last year. She wanted to apologize for her handwriting, this was for a school assignment she rushed through so she could get her monkey out of jail,(long story, but her Jackson spends a lot of time in jail on school days), so in her words, you have how she feels about things:

Dear Roger: A Low High

What a month! Im not going to say a word about wondering if anything else is looming, after all, we all know that just incites the greater being to wind up on me again, or actually never on ME directly for some reason, that I would be fine with, he delights in picking on those I hold near and dear.
Right now he seems to be focusing on my sister. Tomorrow she is headed into Dallas Presbyterian hospital to meet with her team of doctors to fight the battle yet again. (To my anonymous commentator, Thank you for your kind comments last night, it was like a pat on the shoulder that was really needed), they are going to be doing a bunch of tests to find out how big and bad the mass is, and if it is all wound up into her gut and intestine. I wish it was me instead of her. I was supposed to have a biopsy of a mass two years ago and I chose to ignore it because I believe that no news is good news. I'm still walking around. I pretty much spit in his eye and dare him to take me out and I'm still walking around. I'm skinny as a crackhead and pale as a ghost, but I get by. She takes care of herself, she does what she is supposed to do and this is what she gets in return? She is a good person and I'm obstinate and misanthropic, prone to fits of pique and temperamental, devoted to my kids and a very limited amount of people that pretty much are found on the confines of my Facebook page or twitter feed. My sis has friends, shes got a business and all kinds of reasons to be the lucky one, but she cant seem to catch a damn break.
Yesterday should have been so happy for me because I finally took the step and published my first book. Its not one of my major stories, its actually a short story I wrote after hearing an interview and getting a case of the what if the greater being was asleep at the switch and not watching over drunks and fools for a moment? I have a very dark imagination at times.  I sat down and wrote the story out and then let it sit in a file on my desk top for a few months. I played with it from time to time, adding to it and changing things to suit what I thought would work best and then I made myself stop tinkering with it. I let a friend pre-read it to see what she thought and to my shock, she loved it best of all my stories and encouraged me to publish it so I decided to make it may sacrificial lamb of sorts. I threw it out into the water to let the sharks taste it, and if they eat it, then I will throw my pride and joy in next.
I am editing one of my major stories for publication. Its one that is near and dear to my heart and I wrote my heart and soul into it, so I have been really reticent about putting into the common market, but now, I think its time because I have hope that maybe if the folks who gave me the nerve to finally write it, see what they inspired.I am even putting a special dedication page dedicating my most prized work to the 100 Monkeys, Jackson, Jerad, Ben G. Ben J. Larry and especially Spencer Bell for providing the light and hope in the darkness.
 Working on it and trying to get all my grammar fubars has been a trial and a bit frustrating, but its also good for keeping me distracted from all the stress of what is going on around me that I cant fix.
That is the entire crux of my problem, I am a fixer. I was an Emt because I wanted to save people when they needed help and were hurt. I was a firefighter because I wanted to save peoples homes and lives. I became a cop because I wanted to save people and make the world a better place. I studied law and mediation so I could help people, but now? Now I just have to sit here, sit on my hands and watch and the world blows up around me and things fall apart and there is nothing I can do to stop it. Its probably the most frustrating place to be in the entire world.
As my book gets promoted tomorrow on Facebook and Amazon, I will be celebrating finally living my dream, and hoping that as my dream comes to life, I am not going to have to watch everyone else's die, because I would gladly trade places.

Dear Roger: Shock the Monkey

This past week was the week from fucking hell. Pardon the crass language, but let me tell you what, they say that swearing supposedly reduces stress and if that is the case, then I should throw in an expletive about every other word to keep things almost level.
Where do I start? Should I begin with where I turned 43? Missed my 25th high school reunion that I really wanted to attend because my ex cost us soo damn much money I really just could not pull together that amount of cash for that level of plane ticket.
Or perhaps I should mention the fact it rained for almost 2 weeks straight up until yesterday, and then, when it finally clears up, I have a rotten cold from hell, complete with fever and headache and sick stomach and the works? Yeah...that was great, laying inside on the couch feeling like my head was going to explode every time the sun shone through the blinds while the kids looked sad that it was yet another day they missed being out in a park somewhere.
Maybe its because yet another boss has been fired and I am going to have to deal with yet another management change where I not only work, but where I live. I had grown to like my last boss, so I not only lost a decent boss, I lost another friend with no rhyme or reason to it and now I have to try and figure out what the hell the new person is going to be like and what their motivations are. Yeah...good times.
Or shall we consider the fact that some scrote keeps raping my bank account? Thats a real fun one. They managed to get the account and routing information and they hit it pretty good, not that there is ever a lot of money in there, but its all we have, so to have some scumbag taking it and forcing me to have to spend time on the phone with the bank sorting it all out and changing bank account information is not a lot of fun for me. Speaking of scumbags and money, the ex still just cannot seem to come up with a dime for the kids or any of the money he owes me, so of course that makes life even more fun and he has the audacity to complain that I turned his daughter against him. I told him that he did that himself, and when I asked her what she felt about the matter, she said,"Hes never been around. He doesn't call me, he didn't get me anything for my birthday and he always lies to us. Hes mean. I don't like Ed every much." Harsh, but shes 8 and she tends to speak her true mind and say what she is thinking.
More kid related fun is trying to get the eldest to understand that his nerd game is not the most important thing in the world and he needs to be doing his schoolwork. The constant having to remind him to get off the damn game and do his work was over the top this past week and the bickering was fierce so I just put parental controls in place that let me shut the damn thing down completely and that is what I do. I need a nearly 6ft tall nerdraging walking hormone pissed off at me to add to the fun.
Lets then add in the fact that the little band I love so much lost the rest of their damn minds. They seem to be operating under the "Lets totally self-destruct and go out in the most memorable way possible" method of rock star excess, so they changed the name of the band to "Pink Fuzzy Animals" which immediately brought to the mind of most fans over the age of 15, "Furries" and no one I know wants to be anywhere near associated with that little bit of strangeness, but most of us just think that they are trying to see how far they can push the fans before we say,"Yeah, nooo....im out" I reached that point. I refused and dug in my heels and called "Bullshit Shenanigans" and while I love the music and the kids and I will support the hell out of their other band, I wont go within a mile of that mess, and my new background is evidence of that protest.
Of course when you dare to protest something that involves youngsters though, you get controversy because they expect everyone to be good little sheeple and fall into lockstep and just lap it up, and like chickens when there is one with an odd spot on it, the rest of the flock will try to attack and peck you to death for being different. I caught some crap for taking a stand and saying ,"Nope, not gonna take it." But I have found a growing group of folk who are starting to say the same. We love the music, love the kids, we love our memories and we will live in them until the boys find the minds they lost somewhere along the way.
But you know, none of this shit matters one iota compared to the biggest news that has had me stressed out and worried and full of dread. I am one of those frustrating people that will tell you that there is nothing you have that I want or need, nothing you can take from me because I have nothing. Im poor and I make no bones about it. I am buried in student loan debt, I have a dead beat ex and 4 kids I support on a shoestring, and I walked away from everything to escape my ex so I dont even have a car or retirement of anything. If someone sues me, they just would end up frustrated and in debt themselves. I dont care about anything except...my people, my little flock of family, friends and others that I live and die for. My children are first among them, my sister is next. My sis has been through a hell of a lot, including facing breast cancer 3 times. She wants to live. She has a great life with a husband who loves her and kids who love her and the storybook family. She is my partner in crime and when we get to see each other, its like my best friend in the whole world is by my side.
My sis called me the day before my birthday to tell me that she has a mass in her uterus, its looking like its infiltrated into her gut. Shes going to have surgery around the first of the month. For the first time since she started dealing with all the cancer bullshit, my sis sounded rattled.
I dont think there are enough cuss words to take away this kind of stress.

Dear Roger:Plausible Deniability

Today I turned 29 for the 14th time. Or in common folk speak, 43. All in all it was a pretty damn good day. It rained on me and I spent the day roaming all over the downtown area with my friend Chelsea. I got a replacement copy of my favorite book to go along with a few others, I got a vintage leather jacket that looks pretty damn good and that actually has pockets I can stick my frozen hands in, and I roamed through a sex shop and had a fit of the giggles when I saw plasti-peckers that made me step back and consider the fact that there can be too much of a good thing.
We ate lunch at a really nice place and for once I didn't get sick! Watched some doofy guy in flip flops fall on his ass and laughed like a mean heifer that I am, and then i stared inappropriately long at the butts of all the cute guys wandering around. I got recognized by some random chick for my brief acting stint on Portlandia and that actually made my damn day!
My phone was going crazy all day long with the birthday wishes from my kith and kin and friends from back home and it made me smile more than I have smiled in a long time. My kids behaved themselves and I came home to a clean house and no fighting for once.
I didn't come home to a cute lil fella duct taped and waiting for me on my bed, but I did come home to a clean, freshly made bed in a clean house that I didn't have to clean, so I guess its a halfway win.
I heard from the buzzsaw, and of course he had forgotten, but it wasn't a shock. The ex texted to tell me I" looked old as shit" and that's fine, I expected as much from him, but its all good.
The thing is, I may be lonely. I may not have gotten a birthday hug or kiss from a guy, and I may have bought my own birthday presents, but I am here. I am alive . I have slide into 43 like a dinged up and rattling old hot rod that has a couple of gears slipping, but I damn sure made it and I still am more than capable of spinning the tires and outrunning most of the new crap on the streets.
I will reread my favorite book and geek out to it, happy and content, feeling loved from all my friends that  took a minute or two from their day to make mine brighter and make me feel like someone knows I am here and alive, it really means a lot to me. Thank you all. Hope to see you for the 15th time.
I also hope to be a published author this time next year. I have finally, definitively, begun the steps to get there as of today. Its a scary and bumpy ride and I am sure to be freaking out most of the way, but knowing I am not really alone has really helped to encourage me to finally step out there.

Dear Roger:Owning My Nerdiness

My son scoffs at me, he considers me hopelessly socially inept, introverted to the point of misanthropy,(true), lacking in a fashion sense,(debatable), and overly passionate and devoted to the most unlikely and odd of pursuits. I embarrass him, and frankly there are times I am a bit embarrassing to myself, but I am a recluse so its not like I am in public often enough to endure the stares and questions very often.
Thirty years ago I was given a book that changed my life. Its a book that I can quote the beginning line of from memory. I've had the faces of the characters in my mind for years and I have read every single book of the author, looking for clues and tie ins to the story. In one week, he will be publishing another part of the series and that has made an otherwise crappy week about a million times better for me. My only regret is that I really wish I had someone to sit in a coffee shop with and rant about the book for hours on end, but I don't. I will buy it alone, read it alone, and then sit and contemplate its ramifications for the characters on my own.
Finding someone to "geek out" with would be so nice, but I'm used to just reveling in my little pleasures on my own at this point. Ill try talking to my son about it, but like he does with most of my passions, he will listen politely for a few minutes and then he will fidget, roll his eyes and then find some reason to be elsewhere. He doesn't understand the excitement over a book.
My youngest son sort of gets it, but hes too young to really discuss the nuances of all the plot twists and tie ins with. I am going to buy him the first book and let him start the series, but I don't know if hes even old enough to grasp the whole journey. I hope someday he will and then much like me, he will look back with fondness and remember the person who gave him that first book and think about how wonderful of a journey they were set upon.
My daughter fuels my passion and devotion to the music I follow, and its her love and devotion to that little band that drives me. We mourned the break up and remained stalwart in our belief that there was something,"Not right" in what we were being fed and we refused to believe that the smiling little fella was the bad guy. We were right and we have joyfully watched him slowly re-emerge along with his partner in crime over the past few days and there is hope on the horizon that music might live again. My daughter even heard from Jerad, and her shrieks of happiness brought me running, thinking that something bad had happened. She was ecstatic, and quickly responded and watches each day to see if her Jackson will ever talk to her again, but that fact that he is talking again, to her is reason to celebrate and geek out.
We wear the t-shirts, the hoodies, the bracelets, we speak the language, we unabashedly proclaim our love of them and the side bands and we promote them, even when our hearts are aching from the break up. When people look at us with a blank stare when we try to explain to them who they were or where they might have heard of them, we out ourselves as views of a movie that gets us teased and categorized with overly hormonal tweens or mid-life crisis, sexually deprived housewives in need of a hobby,(im no housewife), but when that tie in works and we see the lights of recognition flicker on in the eyes of the person we are talking to, we then break out the music on the Iphone.
Enthusiasm...daughter has it in spades. I do to in the right setting. I can talk about the books I love with a passion that leaves my voice shaking and that brings tears to my eyes. Maybe its because Stephen King inspired me to write. Hes someone who, in spite of whatever political leanings he may have,(don't know, don't care, know he tends to piss people off), all those years ago, he created a world that pulled me in and inspired me. He has always inspired me because he has struggled and come from nothing and he made it. He also lets the dark side roam and it serves him well. I wish I had his nerve because I look at the things I write and I long to set them free in better places than they languish, and my eldest son harangues me daily about,"Doing something" with them, but I lack his nerve, but his nerve is what fired me years and years ago. I didn't write for such a very long time and then two years ago that odd little band lit the fire in me again and almost 480thousand words later, I have over 10 novel length stories that have been set free.
Things have been changing very rapidly this past week, and in a couple of days I turn 43, and shortly after that, "The Wind Through The Keyhole" comes out. Maybe its time I start trying to get serious about turning my hobby into something.

Challenge Accepted- For One Brief Shining Moment, Lives Were Saved

Her hero's headband at her last show

Her first show 

There are many of you who know my story, and there are many of you who dont. I dont talk about it as much as I used to because for almost 2 years now, we have been moving forward, but there was a time I expected to die in a pretty brutal way or I expected to have to kill someone to keep my children safe and happy. Its a horrible place to be. I lived in darkness and misery for a long time and it changed who I am as a person, and my struggles still go on, but my life and the lives of my children were changed soo vastly a couple of years ago by the strangest of things, in fact, if you really know me, it would have left you scratching your head wondering just what the hell had happened to finally make me find the strength to get up and say,"Im not going to wait to die, or to keep taking it, we are going! I am re-posting my contribution to a charitable fundraiser that explains some of the situation, but the rest of the story... well, that involves 100 Monkeys and an odd little sorta Texan named Jackson Rathbone that has somehow convinced my daughter that he hung the moon and lit the stars.
Almost Two Years Ago...

Three mismatched duffels, one red, one camouflage that used to carry my parents camping equipment, and one blue that was actually supposed to be a laundry bag. My carry on is a Makita tool bag that I rescued from the back of the closet because it was sturdy and fairly clean and would hopefully keep my meager electronics safe and useable. They were nothing remarkable, much like what they contained, the sum contents of my 41 years of life on this earth, my clothes, my boots, some documents proving achievement of a college degree at a second rate college, pictures of my children and family, memorabilia of my glory days, and a few books and my electronic lifeline and leashes. The rest of what most people consider their identity, had been signed over to my ex-husband just a few hours earlier as part of a deal we had hashed out that was to allow me and my eldest son and youngest daughter to escape the hell that had been life in Flagstaff over the last 10 years.
The arguments had been epic, loud and close to bloody and ashamedly, I tried to incite him to violence because I needed to prove to myself that the monster I knew lurked in him was either dead or hiding in fear of going back to prison. Much to my surprise he hadn’t risen to the bait, though I had seen the familiar signs of his desire to inflict on me the lessons in pain that he had previously taught me for such disobediences. Prison and time had worn him down, and my jibes and challenges to his abilities to manage the demands of running a household, went unanswered. He claims he could do it, and hopefully he can, but doubts remain, he has never, “manned up” in the past and the thought of my younger sons being left to their own devices while he either naps of stares at personal ads on Craigslist, leaves me sick with fear, but I have to go, and he has, “Rights”.
My oldest son is weary of the entire situation. He has been shuffled between grandparents, aunt, home and now we are moving to Portland in the hope of establishing a foothold in a new land and building a new life while he is still young enough to enjoy it, but all he wants is some stability, a room to himself, some good acne medication, reliable internet and driving lessons, for me to finally get over the anger and the rage. He is a very easy going kid for a former punching bag. He has forgiven him, and hell, he even jokes with him and shares music and jokes with him about girls, but that’s something I cannot do. That day is forever imprinted in my mind and when I look at him, I see that day when he was being beaten and punched in front of me and I did nothing. Though no, “Long Term” physical damage was done, and my ex was arrested and supposedly, “did his time”, there is time still being served, right here, in my mind, and until my sentence is up, and my son has the life he deserves, the sentence will continue to run.
The decision to leave was made a long time ago, but the ability to enact the plan always met one snag or another; lack of funds, no place to go, lack of understanding of the rights that were afforded by the child custody decree, fear of inciting him to violence beyond what he had been capable of before when he realized that it was being considered. As a former law enforcement officer and with a degree in Criminal Justice, I knew the stats and the risks that came with making the final break, so when the time came, it had to be decisive and sudden, so that he would not have time to contemplate all the implications, there would be no going back, no changing of the mind, no hesitation, it had to be something that was done with finality and with no room for negotiation, but as we all know, the best laid plans of mice and men.
I should have never been one of the statistics. I was never seen as the stereotypical ‘battered woman”. My father may have been a Veteran with a case of PTSD so bad that it made the stuff seen on tv look like Saturday morning cartoon fare, but he was mostly just a drunk that thrived on emotionally abusing me, he never laid a hand on me or my mom. My mom was a manic depressive that seemed stuck forever in the “Depressive” end of things, so we lived in squalor and it was a relief to finally escape when I turned 18 and left for college.
My life was always an adventure with bad men, and I seemed to gravitate towards the ones that thrived on inflicting pain, perhaps it was that was the masochist in me or some deeply repressed death wish, but who the hell knew, but by the time I met my final ex, I had scars of many sorts and I should have known my now ex-husband was trouble walking. He was everything that women are warned about, a biker, never been in a long relationship, no stability, and he had a record. But I was a cop and I guess I thought I could “fix him”? I was cocky, arrogant and figured that I had achieved everything else I had set out to do with my career and education, fixing a problem man should be no big deal.
He started off by throwing a plate against a wall one night when dinner wasn’t to his liking. Then it escalated to shoves, punching walls, insults, and emotional blackmail. I should add that by this time we had a child in common, a little boy that was born with a genetic disability that created a huge amount of stress upon me and that had also impacted my health a significant amount. I almost died having him, and it took months to recover, months that I didn’t have because I was expected to be providing for the family as well as keeping house. He became angrier and more stressed and the amount of tension in the house grew. The son I had from a previous relationship learned how to live like he was a shadow, trying to never make noise or get in his way. My ex lived in his recliner in the living room, watching tv and yelling at anyone who disturbed him. He was forceful and cruel and in spite of everything we ended up pregnant again. I told him I wanted to leave and he took a .357 magnum pistol and first put it to his head and said, “I am just going to shoot myself if you leave me! Will you do that to our kids?” I was so terrified because my sons were right there, and then he pointed the gun at us and he said, “Maybe I should just shoot all of us?” I begged him to stop and he slammed the butt of the pistol into the wall and walked down the hall and left. I didn’t call the cops I didn’t call until the time he took a straight razor to me. He grabbed me by the throat and slammed me into a dresser and held me with my toes barely touching the floor as he told me how he wanted to slit my throat, and take a picture of it and send it to all my friends after he dumped my body down a well on the Rez. When my kids started crying he let me go and I escaped. I called the police and he was arrested. He was given probation, but while he was in jail I divorced him even though we had 3 kids in common by this point as well as my son by a previous relationship.
When he was released he came back. We lived 10 miles from town in the country where it took the sheriff’s department 19 minutes to respond when I called. I endured the next few years, living in the hell thinking that I had no hope. His drug habit had increased to the point that we were always broke financially and I began baiting him in the hope he would leave to just chase his drug habit. It backfired on me and He just got more mean and angry at me, and my eldest son decided to step in and try to divert some of the abuse and my ex, who was a 6ft tall, 290lb biker beat my then 12 year old son, who barely stood 5ft tall and weighed maybe 130, in the front yard like he was a dog. It was then that I decided I was going to kill my exhusband.
I knew I could. I am an ex cop and criminalist and I knew I could probably even get away with it, but after being let down by the legal system in Arizona so many times, I just didn’t give a damn anymore. He was hurting my kids and I was done. I made my plans, wrote up a will and contacted a friend in Portland telling her that I was going to be giving her guardianship of my kids, so she was going to be getting a packet of papers with all their info as well as my financial records and such, but she should expect to have to come and get them pretty soon. Lucky for me, my friend is a pretty damn nosy and persistent person. She asked what was going on. She called me, emailed me and harassed me until I told her. The she gathered up everything and spent a few hours tracking down my exhusbands probation officer and she told him, “Unless you want to be short a probationer, you better get him quick, I know her and she is not messing around.” By 0900 on October 1st of 2007 my exhusband was back in jail and I was talking to investigators.
It was terrifying. I thought I was going to jail or that I was going to lose my kids, but for once the system sort of worked and he actually had to sort of answer for what he did. He got 20months in prison. I used that time to get my act together and to try and figure out what to hell to do with our lives. We couldn’t stay where we were, I wasn’t going to end up back in the same situation because I knew this time someone would die. I was worn out physically and mentally and I just didn’t know where to turn.. A black depression ate me up for quite a while and my kids and I struggled to even have enough to eat, and to get though my bout of H1N1 and a winter with 12 feet of snow. As time approached for him to get out, we realized we had to make a decision, and it was my small daughter’s love of a funky little rock band that finally gave us the strength to go.
I tell folks that we were drug to Portland by a pack of ragtag monkeys, but the truth of the matter is, I had promised my daughter we would see the 100 Monkeys in concert some day because they had been our sunshine in the dark times. Our happy when all was sad and they meant a lot to us. So we saved up our nickels and dimes, sold anything we had of value, and raised enough money to buy tickets to a show they were putting on in Portland, OR and then Amtrak tickets. We knew it was going to be a rough departure for us, the judge in our case had said that even though he had been in prison for,’Aggravated Assault with a Deadly Weapon per Domestic x’2 and Aggravated Battery on a child as well as Unlawful Imprisonment with intent to injure”, and a wide variety of other things, he still had “Rights” to his children.
I had to make a deal with the devil to be able to leave to save our lives. I signed away my rights to the house, my van, all possessions in the house and I gave him temporary custody of our two sons because the judge said if I took them out of state without his permission he would, “Throw my ass in jail”. I was hoping that once we got settled in out of state and got established, I would be able to seek full custody of the boys and get them out of there, but I was able to get him to agree to let me take my daughter without any problems because she was so young.
He was released the end of June, we left the state July 5th, and though it’s always a delicate dance to appease him long distance, I have managed to at least be able to speak to my sons from time to time and they tell me how they are doing. It breaks my heart daily, to be away from them, and I often consider caving in and going back, but then my ex will get on the phone and I am given a reminder of just what a deadly decision that would be to make. My sons are well, I have friends who see them who also work in the schools with them so I know that at least he has not transferred his hate of me onto them, and once I can afford to fight him, he never will.
Life is not easy. We never have enough money, we have no car or many of the other things that people take for granted, and this was the saddest Christmas we have ever known, because we were apart from my two boys, but we are hopeful that the New Year will bring better things for us, we are healing and the weird little band that brought us sunshine in the darkness, still is lighting up our days and making us smile when the pain wants to pull us under.
 Almost Present day...
We got to see that concert in Portland. In fact, we got to see them twice that day and the first show was in a Parking lot at VooDoo Donuts. It was blistering hot, we had walked over 5 miles with less that $2.38 cents to our names and the little bit of money we had we spent to buy Stevie a can of Dr. Pepper and a bottle of water that we split 3 ways, but you know what? It was glorious! When those boys pulled up in that parking lot, I thought it was a bunch of lost college kids. They were kinda scroungy looking and they were friendly and the cars all looked like something wouldn't look twice at on the city streets. Stevie spotted Jackson right away and it was like she had been struck by lightening. This is a child who was quiet, withdrawn and pretty scared of most men. I had keep a hold of her hand to keep her from running over!
We sat on a curb with a bunch of other girls and watched them set up and joke around with everyone. I was just gobsmacked, this was not the "Rockstar" kind of behavior I was expecting at all. They played their songs and my daughter just beamed with joy. It was as if the sun came out all over the place and I felt a load of pain lift off of us. As we were getting ready to walk over to the Doug Fir to watch the regularly scheduled concert, my little girl looked at him with such longing that I knew I had to find my nerve for once and do something I never thought i would be able to do, I walked up to a strange man,with my child and I asked ,(stuttering and shaking and in a whisper almost), if he would take a picture with her. His attention was all on her and his face lit up and he just beamed at her. He knelt down and hugged her and I had never seen such pure and utter love and joy on my child's face as I did in that moment. He spent time being kind to her, talking to her and then when he stood back up, he smiled at me and patted my shoulder. My son gasped in shock because he knew I was already on overload for the day, but it was a good thing. He saw me smile. It was like a high hit us all and pulled us out of all the stress and fear and pain.
The next year was just as good, and when she saw him at the Best Buy table, it was like she was seeing her old friend and when he handed her his sweaty headband at the Wonder ballroom show she was delighted until she realized it was dripping with sweat, and then she had the typical 7 y/o reaction and went,"EWWW!"
 No doubts, never has had any. She loves all the guys and the band and as  survivor of situation where there was fighting and pain, she hates to see it spread to those she loves and she has the pure heart and innocence of a child when it comes to all things like that and I love her attitude about the whole situation which is ,"Its none of my business who is mad at who, I didn't see it or hear it and I don't know the whole story. I know I love them all and they have been good to me. Jackson has always been nice to me, Jerad has always been nice to me. People should be nice to each other, because there aren't enough nice people in the world sometimes."
Shes 8 and she gets it.
Our lives were changed by that little band, maybe its a crazy reason to finally leave your abuser because your kid wants to see a rock concert, but for 10 years I had just taken it when nothing else had done it. I now have all my kids and we are slowly but surely making progress even though its a struggle to support 4 kids on my own, but thanks to some monkey fans, I was able to rescue my boys when the ex lost the house I had to sign over to him, and at least we are together and safe for once.
A band of 100 Monkeys made  differences in a lot of lives, and I, for one, will never forget that.