Category: Smashed Potatoes

WOOT!  WOOT!  Okay, I am so excited I had to spell check that second woot.

TWO BOOKS PUBLISHED IN A WEEK and I AM GOING FOR A THIRD this month!

I have just put out Holly and Hazel. 

    

 

All that hard work, over the past several years, not having enough time to fully edit and I have gotten enough time to sit down and do final edits on three different books.  I am sad that my Ridge Lake series is almost over with.  I am up to book 9 published this week, book 10 by the end of June, and I have Book 11 80% written, Book 12 60% written, and the final book, 13, 40% written.

I can’t wait to reset the website, but I am waiting until I have a couple more details ready. 

Amazon

Smashwords

Book 10, Vine, which I have struggled with, emotionally, is coming up next.  I can’t wait.

Have some exciting news!

I am about to finish the first draft of Hazel, Book 9 of my Novo series. I’m on the last chapter now.

With this book done, and some creativity, I plan on publishing four books by the winter holidays!

It’s starting to hit me that I am more than two-thirds done with Novo. Such great friends and my head actually thinks in their languages. I actually swore by saying “pig snot” the other day. LOLOL…

I have book 11, Ivy, 90% done. Sooo… 10, 12, and 13 to go. I’m almost sad!

But I also miss my cop, Jaimie, and her K-9, Moe. So much to get done, finally, with the Haven Point series. I think I may have finally worked the kinks out of not killing off one of my most hated characters! Ahhhh.

I’ve also decided, for mental health reasons, not to finish or publish Being Casey. I was holding on to too much anger, even though I had come up with some fun characters. Watching Casey’s life unravel and get put back together, the way I would have preferred mine to, was rubbing salt in the wounds.

Well, it’s time for me to get back to Stew and see if his fingers get singed by the peaches. When I’m done with this chapter, I go back to OpCar in Hawthorne and do my final edit…. Can’t wait. June is one week away and I plan on having that baby out by the 15th…

Cheers, everyone!

Okay, so… things have been a bit tense lately.  The Gods of Chaos must have heard me speaking with my sister two days ago.

So, with the Ridge Lake series, I’m actually in the middle of writing book 9.  Books 1-5 are out.  Jana has book 6, and I am eagerly awaiting her ideas for the cover.  It’s something I was going to work on today, too, in between writing about Stew.  Books 7 and 8, I have some tweeking left to do, but I’m pretty happy with both.  I try to write a book or two ahead, so I have some clue as to where I am going.

Book 9 is pivotal for many of the story lines in this series.  I’ve got a lot of details to work in.  Plus Stew’s supposed “romance.”  I have a basic idea what I want for this book.  But I’m still working it out.  I was taking a break and decided to jump on Facebook.

Many of you know I am very supportive of veterans, as well as active duty- homegrown or enlisted.  I’m also supportive of anyone with PTSD or head injuries.  Otherwise, Smashed Potatoes wouldn’t be written in the first place.

One of my favorite places to visit on Facebook is The Dark Side of Service

So, as I’m scrolling through my feed, I came across this:

 

I just about peed my pants.

This was my response:

So, as you know, sometimes, real life, like when I’m chatting with Jana, does actually change my books.  This one definitely will.  Definitely.

Today is a special day. It’s my sister’s birthday.

December is always a hard month for me. What was happy, as I was young, has turned dimmed and desolate.

James, I can never, ever thank you enough. I know you hate the gush. I know you don’t fully understand. It’s fine that you don’t. That I can never actually explain. I don’t think you would care, to be honest.

I’ve lost eight children over my life. The first under horrible circumstances. Tomorrow, the tenth, is the anniversary of when I lost the last one. I lost two others in the month of December. My grandfather’s birthday. My mother’s. What was a month of celebration has turned into a hurricane of emotional pebbles, extremely difficult to navigate. Every year.

James cleared my path. In one conversation, he took away years of hatred, loathing, self-loathing, anger, frustration, nightmares. He made losing my first baby, twenty some odd years after the fact, bearable. I still cry. Still feel the waste of my life. But it’s bearable.

This year, I am learning to say goodbye in different ways. Not just to my babies and my mother. To some of the hardness in my life. Which is why today is special. It isn’t anything I fussed over. Today, it was reaching out to my sister. Showing her that I am still alive, inside, and that I do care.

There are so many faces we put on in a day. So many ways we are told to not feel. To become corporate beige. That we shouldn’t show interest. That connecting with someone is stalking. That being aware of another person is wrong.

Loving someone means dealing with the pain. Grief is another expression of love.

In some ways, I’m giving people the finger. In others, accepting those same people for the flaws they have and letting go. Saying goodbye.

I know I’ve talked about this before. This is me, dealing. This is me, caring, and taking down the wall. I have lots of hard edges that will always be. But I think opening your heart again is a blessing, if you can manage it. And, I guess, in some ways, I just don’t care if someone is offended. Those thoughts might seem incongruous to someone reading this, who doesn’t know the specifics.

I’m hard because I’ve needed to be. Because I am. Because there are things I believe in, right down to my bones and beyond. If that scares people, I can’t apologize for that anymore. I refuse to break. I’m cracked. And that’s all it’s ever going to be. But that doesn’t mean I’m not human, too. That I’m incapable of laughing or loving. Because those sides of me are just as hard. Just as strong. If all someone wants to see is bitchiness, then, well, I can’t help them. Because they will never see the passion that comes from remaining with love of my children, instead of letting them go, as though they never existed.

There are wonderful gifts of understanding my sister has given me. Hard for her to do. So, I am saying, back to her, to you: bug, I love you. I will always love you. I had the strength to do what I did, when we were kids. I have that same strength, now. It never changed. Just got dented there. Hugs, love, and blessings.

Book Updates:
It’s exciting that I will be celebrating the 4th anniversary of my 1st publication this December.

Ridge Lake Series:
Books in order: Beth, Rowan, Ash, Alder, Willow, Hawthorne, Oak, Holly, Hazel, Vine, Ivy, Reed, Elder.

Beth, Rowan, Ash, have been fully released.

Alder and Willow have been released on Kindle. They will be released digitally on Smashwords, Nook, Gardners, and several others by the end of December 2020.

Hardcopies of Beth, Rowan, and Ash are available through the store at Murder By Six, in December 2020.

As you know, I have been struggling with Oak for 3 years now. Currently more than 90% written in this series are: Hawthorne, Oak, Holly, and Ivy. I plan, money providing, to have at least Hawthorne, Oak, and Holly released in 2021.

Haven Point Series
Books in Order: Lamp Light, Bug Light, Fire Light, Laser Light, Star Light, Candle Light

Lamp Light has been released on Kindle and will be released digitally on Smashwords, Nook, Gardners, and several others by the end of December.

Hardcopies of Lamp Light are available through the store at Murder By Six, in December 2020.

I took a break from this series to get unstuck on Bug Light, Book 2. I plan on returning to writing this series in late 2021.

Meeting Casey:
I have decided not to release this series. I thought it would be a funny series for anyone going through divorce, but… it turns out, this is part of what’s been dragging me back down my own rabbit hole.

Sheep in Wolf’s Clothing:
Singleton! I plan on finishing this book and releasing it in 2021. This was my first novel. It’s had several incarnations over the years. It started out as a horror story of about, ohhhh, forty hand-written pages, if memory serves me correctly. It turned into a romance novel over the years, of two people who have been severely abused. My heart needs to finish this book and get it out there in the world. So, after I finish trimming Hawthorne, I will be going back to this one and getting it done.

I say this with love. And realize this is, actually, my drama. And I realize this is written for more than one person, too. Four months to four years.

I do feel your absence. I wish I didn’t. I wish I could learn not to feel, but I’ve been that person before and I am always caught between the drama of mess and the cold of numb.

Yes. Obsidian. You are the only one that ever really got that.

I miss the would be laughter. I wish I didn’t feel like this. I know it’s my hurt. I know I left myself open to that hurt. But, honestly, I don’t know what could be more human. Kane Brown has a song “What if?” I love it. It’s right up there with my three other favorite songs. While it is romantic, in nature, I mean it for all the ways I love people. “What if?” And unfortunately, I feel like I’m the only one that says it.

I had to learn how to deal with being shy. I *am* a private person. I do have walls. Very, very hard walls, and SHB, *you* are one of two that ever understood that.

Gods above and below, I miss you and your wackiness. After four years, it still hurts. I still feel the loss of you and I wish to hell I didn’t.

The thing is, with each of you, image. That’s what killed it. Image. What looks like, instead of what is. The drama of double meanings and not speaking clearly so that you can never be wrong and I feel nothing but confused and hurt. Yes, my problem, based on something within you. I will never live under that shadow again, even though I feel and will forever feel these things. I never learn. I always wonder if I should.

I see wonderful things under those masks. Aspects that, while someone else may not care for them, I love or enjoy or connect very well with. That’s the loss I feel.

So, tonight, it’s moonlight sonata. Because, while I feel the pain, deep pain and loss, I also know the sting of rejection and hurt would be worse, if I try to connect again.

There is no bridge. No way to bridge. Because that does take two. The thing is, there are too many misunderstandings for me to reach out and I can’t bridge on my own. Not without losing who I am. And if you love who I am, why do you ask me to be what I am not? Why ask me to chase after you, when you would not? Why ask me to leave a door open, when you do not? I had to learn a great many things, that you either do not or did and just don’t care. I don’t even know what to say. Which is why I understand, this is, really, my problem.

And for the least issue, out of these four, the one from August this year? You didn’t bother to get to know me, and you are right up there in the confusion level with the three people I love quite dearly. I wish to hell that I could have just walked out, in March. I wish I didn’t see your damned bike everywhere. Or the logo. Or the hawks, which you couldn’t have any idea what that is, anyway. There are things I would have said to you. I speak plainly. It isn’t to hurt or humiliate. Just the opposite. I don’t like causing this kind of hurt in others, what I’m feeling at the moment. I know. Not your problem. I see your own confusion, hurt, feelings of isolation, rejection, and loneliness. I see you trying to connect with others, and that you fall on your face a lot, even though you are excellent at covering. The thing is, they aren’t worth your time and you *are* trying to be something you are not.

The funny thing is? That is why I get hurt. Because, I do see, under those things. What I see is wonderful. You may not expect that. I also know? It isn’t up to me to dig that out of you. I’m worth more than that, and so are you. It’s not the first time I’ve said that.

I am going to sit here, with this pain and loss, and feel it. Because it should be felt. It should be respected and care for. Each of you are human beings to me, even if you don’t act like it. It is my drama and I have to deal, one way or another. I miss you. I will continue to miss you. And I will continue to be grateful that the drama is contained. I can’t fix this. Whatever it is. I would have helped carry it, even if it wasn’t really my mess in the first place. That is the hardest lesson I ever had to learn. I’m still learning it, I guess.

Today, I felt peace. I wasn’t expecting that. I’ve barely worked my other jobs this week. At some point, I’ll kick myself, for the money I could have made, but, right now, I am at peace.

There are times, with my meditations, that I think of emotions as drops. Drops of anger, kindness, grief, giggles. These drops are all interconnected. Sort of like how, in what seems like every kitchen, is that small box of four food colors. You know the ones. The ones with cones for tops that look like garden gnomes standing at attention. The red drops, even in a different box, are still red drops.

I haven’t been able to plan for my future very often in my life. From college and education, to career planning, and so on. So much of American life focuses on this. I know recruiters do. But I’m not a rung on a ladder. And… I’m alive today. I do need to be aware of tomorrow. But I am still alive *today.* What happens today will affect the future. One of my biggest frustrations with my ex was the amount of money he spent and his refusal to spend time or money to fix the house we were living in. Granted, it was his name on the mortgage, but that’s another argument entirely. I’m mentioning this because one of his arguments was that, oh, in two or three years, we won’t be living here anymore.

I gave up friends, making new ones, plans. Then I’d try to settle into the house again, because it would be a year later. Then the fighting would start again. I went through this for 11 years. 11 long years of battling over where my life *would* be. That his concession was that we could set money aside every quarter to fix something in the house. It never happened and was, for the most part while we were living there, MY money that went toward fixing things. And my name wasn’t on the mortgage. I do know he had to spend in order to get the house sold. I used to feel guilty about it. I don’t anymore.

When I feel peace, today, I know it’s connected to all the other times I’ve felt peace. Where I have stepped away from “what the hell is going on now” and “how the hell am I going to fix it this time,” I’ve learned to grab those days and simply BE.

I feel connected with the red tailed hawk I saw earlier this week. Pine forests I have walked through. Biking and hiking trails. Sitting in the woods as a child and letting birds land on me. Sitting on benches and watching the snow or standing in the rain or twirling around at three in the morning with my arms outstretched. Campfires and moments in the car with mom, as she drove and my sister slept in the backseat.
Those parts are parts of my life. The same as any other. As I sit and look around my house, my main living areas got a major deep clean and the floor space is more open. Peace. My cats. Peace and joy.

So, today, I slept. Dozed off and on. Reconnected with Self. I still feel the buzz of snoring in the back of my nose and I know that sleep was deep and restful.

Today, I am. I have let go. I am.

Yesterday. Yes, more yesterdays, but this one is happier. Yesterday, I called home, so excited. I was driving down a hill, in our spectacular fall weather, grey skies, gorgeous yellow and orange trees. It was a split second. This red tailed hawk fell from the electrical lines, snapped his wings out, and flew right over my car. Less than twelve feet from my windshield. Stunning. Absolutely stunning. It’s tail was as red as a cardinal. I watched as it soared around the tree, brilliant yellow leaves framing it.
Less than three seconds.
I love moments like these. Absolutely love them. They change me. My perspective.
Today, I tried something hard. Very, very hard. It flopped, but I got the answer I needed. And, in many ways, I’m glad it did. A private moment, buried in irritation. Buried in feeling anger over walking in on a road I know other people do, stared at as though I was scoping out someone’s business instead of being in a place of healing and contemplation.
I was trying to resolve conflict within myself. My heart had been beating, hard, most of the day. I felt exposed, as I had thought the time I had picked would remain private, and it had not.
In a moment, I had exposed my own pain. Left my car. Went for a last walk down this road I had chosen for myself, days ago. Half way, a hawk dropped out of the tree line, flying over a cornfield. It cried, soaring and wheeling. Chasing over the morning doves and hunting. It circled and circled and cried and cried. I stood, transfixed. Shielding my eyes from the sun.
The doves fluttered around, scared, and rightfully. Their wings sounded like dry leaves rustling in a gust of wind.
I decided, then, the hurtful comment that kept me from resolving this conflict previously didn’t matter. I’ve said it didn’t matter, for weeks. That the hurt had built up, inside me, and I had let it. That there wasn’t any shame, on my part. Only for not reaching out sooner. And if it doesn’t, whatever, it doesn’t. I’ve gotten through the worst of it, on top of trying to change my life and dealing with the drama at work. And to see this hawk, being what it is, hunting the way it did, enjoying the sunshine, crying out in sheer joy… I feel focused again.

It’s a day for quotes. I think the words I’m trying to avoid are “full circle.” That I’ve hit this point again. Seems like yesterday. And yesterday and yesterday.

I have the song, “Yesterday,” going through my mind, as I’m writing this.

“Yesterday
All my troubles seemed so far away
Now it looks as though they’re here to stay
Oh, I believe in yesterday
Suddenly
I’m not half the man I used to be
There’s a shadow hangin’ over me
Oh, yesterday came suddenly”

I recognize that I changed my writing and reading styles a while back. On many levels, my family was too serious. They took themselves too seriously. I heard this quote on the radio the other day. I’m sorry, but I don’t know who said it and I’m not going to take the time to look it up. Just know it isn’t mine. I will, however, be incorporating that into my mantras. It fits too well. This is paraphrased.

“I think teenagers should be kids. Because having wisdom as such an early age doesn’t seem like any fun.”

This is true. Any person who, at a young age, had to develop the skills to go out and get what they needed, from someone other than their parents, for stability or “the basics” or having to get a job at a very young age, knows exactly what I mean. And we get tired at an earlier age.

There’s another quote that’s sticking with me. From a bartender I used to know. Another missed opportunity, for a deep friendship, but … anyway. “If you can’t run with the big dogs, stay on the porch.”

Alpha. Yup. Said it. Went there.

Alphas are. We exist. Every day. There’s different kinds of alphas, too. Most of us have been through so much shit, we are comfortable, even if we do complain about it, with shit. Doesn’t mean we like it. We are *comfortable* with it. I guess, with a situation I’m dealing with, I’m deciding about work life. I want a slower life. Half of what I talk about, with the conversion of my kitchen, my house, getting rid of possessions, and slowly extricating my ex from my life.

I have to say that dealing with Huffy’s negative personality has driven home a lot of lessons. About the person I used to be. Flipped, in some ways, for what I know was my reality. I was a big dog. Still am. I don’t have the patience to deal with someone who tries to be a big dog and never will be. I have enough I’m dealing with. It’s a daily challenge. One that is sucking me back into a life I don’t want.

My sister, with all the butting heads we do, says things so flatly at times, they are like boards to my head. “Why would I want to know what it’s like to be raped, or have an abusive ex?”

And she’s right. So painfully, obviously right. Why would anyone?

It irritates me, from a personal standpoint, that Huffy aggrandizes her situations to make herself look more badass than she will ever be. Could ever be. It demeans her. It demeans me. It demeans the other people who have to work with her. It demeans anyone who has suffered. I’m not saying what she’s feeling isn’t hurtful. It is. But it isn’t my problem and it shouldn’t be shoved down my throat every minute of every day, like it’s her right to do so.

Holding back on this, because it’s at work, makes it difficult to get through my day without chewing her head off. Especially combined with her officious, “I’m better than everyone around me” attitude. Every time I hear her comments, or call someone stupid, when I know she has no clue what that other person’s job could possibly entail, grates on my very nerves.

I could say, and did try to, at first, ignore it. I shouldn’t have. I should have nipped it in the butt, right then and there. I stopped being the kind of Alpha who dealt with that, to prevent this sort of build up. It isn’t healthy for anyone. What I want to say the most is: “stop wasting your life, and mine, by the way, by being something you aren’t. BE WHO YOU ARE. Uncover your blessings and stop taking everyone and everything around you for granted, just for your ego.”

I’m giving that blessing to myself, as well. My own stability. I had it, there, for a couple of weeks. Was almost comfortable to say “yes, I will stay here.”

I’m also giving myself the blessing of laughter. To unplug. I’m writing Holly right now. Because I still have hundreds of pages to strip out of both Hawthorne and Oak. I need to get my story lines dealt with and back on track. And put more humor back in.

I may not like these emotional crossroads I keep returning to. Coming full circle. But! I have a place to walk, now, without people. I have a room set up to get my workouts done, so I can lose weight. I miss Pi horribly and my house is still settling. I miss laughing every morning, seeing his Alpha male butt trot into the kitchen. I’m listening to Frank Sinatra more, to get some of that back. My other cats know there’s a change and we’re all coming up with new routines. New “good mornings” and treats to have at night. My sweater is almost complete. And I have someone coming to fix the dryer this week. The money to get that fixed. Two ways, with three backups in case they fail, for employment, with a steady value of income that I can work around. A crush that, while I gave up on it, still makes me smile. My sewing table is set up and I can work on quilts or manufacture hard copies of my books, whenever I want.

I may miss Magoo. But he missed out on jello and more giggles and what built the sunshine between us.

Slow. Giving up the anger at what’s been shoved down my throat and what’s been ripped away. Replacing negativity with productive. Replacing void with fabrics and fun. That’s the point. That’s been the point, all along. My rules, when I split with my ex. To keep my feet pointed in the direction I want to head in. To find other hard-asses who aren’t willing to take their reputation and images so damned serious, they miss out on life. To find sunshine out of thunderstorms. To find sunshine in sunshine. And fuck all the rest, because it didn’t belong to me, anyway.