Dear Roger;Vacation? Riiight!

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

Dear Roger: Fearless

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

Dear Roger:Talking To Myself In The Wee Hours

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

Dear Roger: A Small Immortality

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

Dear Roger: Performance Anxiety

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

Dear Roger: Pride Goeth, Hopefully Before Next Fall

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

Dear Roger: Is That A Monkey In Your Pants?

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

Dear Roger: Self Promotion When You Are An Introvert?

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

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

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

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

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

My First Major Novel 

My First Published Short Story

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

Dear Roger: There is Only One Person I Hate

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

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

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

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.