Things I've learned as I become old

They say that with age comes wisdom, and I don't know if that is true or not. What I do know is that I've come to recognize some things as truths to me.

They might not be your truths, but they are mine.

Me, as Freddy

5. There is no movie I absolutely have to see in the theaters.

There are movies I'd like to see on the big screen. I love going to movies, so for me, paying to go is all about the experience I have when I'm there. The big bucket of popcorn (white cheddar cheese sprinkles, please) and the surround speakers... It is an experience.

That said, movies release to Netflix four months after their theatrical debut. They release to DVD in about three months... and sometimes those numbers fluctuate. Mostly, I can wait three months. Sometimes I don't want to, but still... I CAN wait and will wait for most movies since I can sit in my pjs and have taco night with my kids rather than going to a theater where I'm not even allowed to play Candy Crush during the slow parts of the film.

4. There is no piece of new technology that I have to have.

My sis & me at Christmas in the 80s

Arguably, if I lost my arm and they came up with a new arm device, I might actually have to have the device. But the new Apple or Android phone? Yeah, you've got to be kidding. I'm not paying five or six hundred dollars for a phone that I fully recognize that I'm going to drop the minute I try to get in my car. I'm an author, so my paycheck fluctuates a LOT, but say I was making minimum wage in my current home state (Ohio) which is $8.10 an hour. (Note: If I went out to get a job today, I'd likely be making just that for at least a while...) The new iPhone 6s Plus (with 128GB!) is currently available

Assuming I work about 40hrs a week, that's a week and a half for a phone I won't be able to find when I need it. For something I'm going to drop on the ground. For something I don't actually NEED, but I might just want.  Nope, nope, nope.
for $499 so we're going to round that to $500 to make the math easier for me to do. At minimum wage, I'd have to work sixty-two hours to afford an iPhone... plus the contract or however I wanted to activate the phone.

3. If my kids don't get a pile of presents as tall as them, they will not think I don't love them.

Cranky little me

I can't buy their love, and although my logical brain recognizes this fact... I kind of want to recapture every year that magical look of wonder they used to get when they were little. I tend to get a little panicky around the holidays because I ask them to make me a list and WHO CAN AFFORD ALL THESE THINGS?!

But my kids are cool as hell, so they sometimes get that look when I take them to a new place. They get that look in a museum (which usually has free admission) and they get that look when we're all hanging out and laughing.

So nothing I put under our tree is going to give them the pleasure that my time, my willingness to be in the present with them, and my love will give them.

Me and Aunt Lee

2. I can fix almost anything, but I can't fix dead.

I can't talk to my Aunt Lee again, no matter how many times I want to call her. I can't get another hug from her or smell the uniquely Aunt Lee smell ever again. I can remember her. I can tell my kids about her... But she is gone.

And I really loved her face. She wasn't classically beautiful or anything, just incredibly lovely to me.

With that knowledge, I can realize that I need to spend time with the people I love today, because I don't know if they or I will be here tomorrow.

1. And it doesn't matter how I look.

Me & my niece

Also a reflection because of Aunt Lee... I realize that it doesn't matter what I wear. It doesn't matter what makeup I put on my face or what fancy beauty techniques I use...

To those that matter, they will see me as lovely because they love me. To those that don't matter... they won't see me regardless of what I wear. I read once that most people are too concerned about what they look like to even worry about what you look like... and I've found that to be mostly true. Sure, maybe job interviews or other professional situations are the exception--since the goal is to make a good impression--but for regular day to day life? It doesn't matter.

The ones that love me will be happy to see me. They missed me, they want to be near me, and what is on the outside? That's not the important part.

My little niece loves me very much, but probably not as much as I loved Aunt Lee. She runs into my arms and gives me snuggles and tells me all the wonders of her world. I adore her, but she doesn't care if I brushed my hair. She doesn't care if what I'm wearing is name brand... she sometimes cares about my nails, but only because she wants to polish them.

Love doesn't care how you look. And if it does? I don't think that is love.

Just some random thoughts I was having today, so I thought I'd share them with you all.
xoxo
mama virg

How does it feel to be a USA Today Bestseller?

Arguably, the question I've heard the most in the past month was, "How does it feel to be a USA Today bestseller?" For once, something beat the expected, "How did you do that to your hair?" which I've heard for the past forever years.

I feel like I never answer the question well, so I'm going to try here. It feels wildly unreal. I know, I can see the list just like anyone else. I can see the newspaper articles. I can see them and they are wonderful, but I still feel exactly the same as I did before.

Well, that's not true. There are a handful of people who believed in me all along. There are an even smaller handful of people who believed in me when there was no reason to do so.

For starters, years ago I finished my first full-length novel, which I wrote backwards, believe it or not. Back then, Shell and Heather and Chrissy read it. Chrissy put her money on the line and became my first and only agent so far. She mailed off copies of that book and we waited to see what would happen...


Nothing. Nothing happened. But they still believed in me. Understand, at that point in my life, I'd done everything "wrong." I was a single mother to three kids to two different fathers...one of whom was my ex husband. I worked delivering pizzas. There was absolutely no reason to believe I'd ever be anything more than a poor mother of three kids in the middle of nowhere Ohio.

But they believed. Shell and her family went so far as to watch the kids while I wrote. Countless times they invited us to dinner and we went...because I was lost in chapters and they gave me the time to write. Speaking of the kids, do you have any idea how many times they helped me along the way? Because I don't. I just know that any time I said this was ridiculous and I should give up, they'd offer a hug and say, "I believe in you. Go write some more."

Mind you, back in those early days... There was literally NO REASON to believe anyone beyond a handful of friends would ever read all the stories I was writing. My first royalty checks were for two and three dollars. Disappointing? Well, yeah, especially since you were talking about a month or more of my work and hours of nights giving up sleep to make less than the cost of a cup of coffee.


Yet they believed in me.

Another adopted family cosigned for a car. They believed in me and trusted me. My daycare provider? Yeah, she dealt with my little monsters with smiles and grace and taught them to swim while mama worked doubles to pay the bills and then wrote instead of sleeping.

So many people helped me to get that book on that list. It wasn't just me. Yeah, sure, I wrote it. I pulled the characters out of the ether and breathed life into them...but I couldn't have done it unless a whole mess of people believed that I could do it.

The one big thing, for me, to come out of hitting that list is that I feel like I finally earned their trust and belief. For every publisher who signed one of my books into contract, for every editor who moved a comma, for every beta reader who sent back a smiley face and, "it's good!"...

For my babies who loved me and my dreams.
For my family who pulled out the pom poms and cheered me on...

For the ones who know they were there and who thought me, of all people--a single mama of three kids to two different daddies living in the middle of no where Ohio--could do this thing?

I feel like this is your win, too.

Thank you for believing in me. Thank you, readers, for reading me. Thank you, universe, for letting me prove to my lovely children that you really can do anything if you put your mind to it and work really hard.

How does it feel to be a USA Today bestselling author? It feels like I didn't let everyone down. And that? That is a damn good feeling.

It is my 5 Year Anniversary!! #Author

My First Book Cover

Five years ago today, I stared at Amazon and had no clue what to expect. Sapphire Blue Publishing contracted my book and just making it that far boggled my mind. To think, people might that day be reading my words? Meeting Janie and Chance? It was more than I'd ever really dared to dream.

In an excerpt of the blog I wrote the day before that release, I said the following deep and meaningful stuff. *clears throat*

"Tomorrow is the big day and Odd Stuff will be out for your reading pleasure. Finally you can all join Janie on her great first adventure...*evil grin* *happy dance* In other, non-literary news... things with the kids are on the upswing. The chaotic events of last week (which could not possibly have had a worse drop date timeline wise) have ironed themselves out (okay, I ironed them out with a bus and a shovel and other heavy work... but we can make it sound easy on paper!) and hopefully we will see things getting better for the shortest member of the family. If not, he will be grounded until graduation. One or the other. Either will work.

Some man just swam through a wheat field on a Subway commercial on TV. One would think that would chafe. Just sayin.

We had the biweekly meeting of the writers group on Saturday Night. I think our name is M.U.S.E. but I don't remember what the acronym stood for. I was kind of punch drunk tired at that point and they were plying me with wine. Okay, I can't blame it on the wine, but it was worth a shot. I liked the wine. I had no sleep going into that meeting and I was doing the galley on Odd that night as well as the meeting so bits are blurry. Like what our name means. But I remember I liked it."

Back then, I wrote on Bluey. And she is STILL HERE.

As you can see, my reputation for thought-provoking writing is...still a lot like when I started.

Since then, I've published a plethora of stories with a variety of publishers, but in a few short days...I'm celebrating the release of another Odd Story and Jeanie and Chance will ride again. Life is funny. If you told me five years ago that everything would be okay, that there would be more books, that one day I'd look back on that one and be amused at myself?

I wouldn't have believed it. Thanks so much for being on this bumpy and crazy journey with me. Thanks to those of you who have been there since that first book, thanks to those just joining me at this point in the ride. And here's to another fabulous five years to come!

#Update 2015

¸.•*(¸.•*´`*•.¸)`*•. Virginia Nelson Update ¸.•*(¸.•*´`*•.¸)`*•.

• Completed edits for Odd Wolf (Odd #3)
• Began edits for Calling Caralisa (Bond of Three #2)
• Rumpling Riley (m/m) is currently in production for audiobook
• Odd Stuff (Odd #1) is currently in production for audiobook.
• Slated for release dates on a bunch of titles for part of 2015:

Jan 30    Odd Wolf (Odd #3) - Under a Wolf Moon

Feb         Super Seekrit Thing 

Mar 17  Back In Time (Set-Up Series, Fated Desires)
Mar 18  Calling Caralisa (Bond of Three #2, Ellora's Cave)

Apr 17   Wolf on a Leash (Black Hills Wolves, Decadent)
Apr        Riding Ripley (Bond of Three #3, Ellora's Cave)
Apr 21   Forever Devoted (Tempting Signs-Taurus, Fated Desires)

May       Fighting for Fiona (Bond of Three #4, Ellora's Cave)
May       Super Seekrit Thing 

Jun        Super Seekrit Thing 

• Updated Coming Soon Page on the website to reflect dates and revamped the website.

• Completed edits on Wolf on a Leash (Black Hills Wolves)

• Attended launch party for the debut of the Black Hills Wolves and the first story by Rebecca Royce. Gave things away.
• Attended New Year Bash for Fated Desires Publishing. Gave things away.

• Filled up the blog, so we'll have new posts (and a lot of guest authors) for all of January and most of February (keeping some slots open for the surprise in Feb...)

• Explored some previously unexplored territory and will share more of that soon...

• Completed So. Many. Edits. I've been blessed to work with some of the best voices in the industry and am feeling a bit like a proud auntie. They aren't my book babies, but I can't wait to see what everyone thinks of them as they release this year!

• I'm officially a senior! I'm slated to graduate in December from Kent State, so I can add these letters after my name when I have both degrees:    

Associate of Applied Science (A.A.S.)  Bachelor of Arts in English (B.A.E.)

• Spring 2015 classes: Spanish 2, The Great American Road Novel, and Literature in English 1 (because somehow I forgot to do that one along the way...Eh.)

• Have not got my nails or hair done in ages, so will likely take out some time for both in the near future. Yes, this bugs me, so it made the list.

So, yeah...that's a quick and dirty summary for those who have asked what I've been up to. How goes your 2015 so far?

Setting #Goals -- a post by mama virg

I used to post all of it on the blog, but in recent years I've gone far more private with a lot of my goals.

When I started, I did it for accountability--if I'd published online that I was going to do something, I was more likely to hold myself to the goals I'd set.

But then I became more involved in social media. Some folks were fantastic, really supportive and encouraging. They'd say they believed in me, rah-rah, that sort of thing.

Some folks? They attack you for being transparent. Whether they call the posts bragging or if they flat out say you can't do it, they're there to encourage that little voice in the back of your mind which told you that you couldn't do The Thing.

I say The Thing because it doesn't matter what goal you've set, they're out there to either accidentally or purposefully undermine what you're doing. Are you all about losing some weight this year?

"God, don't tell me about your salad or the fact you've managed a mile in under ten minutes!"

Sure, you may have just accomplished something really, really major (perhaps you were addicted to soda or couldn't walk the block without wheezing a few months prior to posting your update), they are there to tell you to stuff it.

This goes with writing, too, although it has always been mind boggling to me when other writers attack their own kind with cannibalistic glee. We're all out there, sitting alone with blank screens and minds full of doubts, trying hard to do something we've dreamed of. Why, when you know how hard it is to juggle life and storytelling, would you tear anyone else down? Can that actually make anyone, whether you're the poster or the one reading it, feel better about themselves?

Eh, well, it happens and it happens to everyone is my point there. It isn't always trolls, either. More often than not, the naysayers in the world are people we actually know--our family, our friends, our spouses. If they can't see where you're aiming or understand how you're planning to get there from here, they're as likely to accidentally shred dreams with their comments as strangers.

Even if they follow the statement with a jovial, "Oh, you know I'm only kidding!"

So, that said, I've been quieter about my personal goals. I've told some of them to my best friends. Some I've shared with my crit partners. But like a dragon guarding a treasure, I never gave anyone access to the whole dream. Almost like I thought if I only shared fragments with this person and other fragments with another...

No one could tell me I couldn't do it.
My point? Setting personal goals is important. Whether you share that goal with the world (joining something like NaNoWriMo where everyone can see that you're trying to write 50k in a month or joining a weight loss support group, for instance) or if you keep the nuggets spread out like me, the goal itself can drive you to more.

I told my kid the other day that he shouldn't worry what people think of him. Most people are far too concerned with the little voice in their own head--

The one saying, "Gah, I got coffee on my shirt. Now all anyone can see is the coffee stain...is there something in my teeth? God, I can't believe I just said that. I'm an idiot."

--to even bother worrying about all the things you're busy crucifying yourself for.

Because we all do that. We all fight the little voice in our heads. We wage a daily and constant war against the internal narrator, bury our insecurities with fake smiles, pretend we're okay when we're totally not...

I've said it before and I'll likely say it another thousand times--

If we spent our days working to bring up those around us, giving them hope, encouragement, and bringing light to the world in general, we probably still won't change the world. We likely won't even change our hometown.

But we can change the people around us, one smile at a time. If we make the people around us happier, we've changed OUR world, which is more than a lot of people ever manage.

Set goals. Nail them. Do a little butt wiggle and dance around your house with the joy of accomplishing The Thing, whatever your thing is.

Change your world instead of trying to change minds. You'll never change what the world thinks of you, but you can change how you look at it.

Sometimes all it takes to start is knowing one person believes in you.

xoxo
mama virg

Dancing in the rain

A dear friend recently pointed out to me that my life used to read like the pages of misadventure some of my less lucky characters face. Chaos, panic, one disaster following the other and constantly in a state of almost damsel like distress.

She was being kind, as I've faced some interesting storms over the course of my life (doesn't everyone, really?) however I gave it a bit of thought on my drive back and forth to school and realized it isn't that my life has become less stormy.

In the past week alone, my son was in a car accident with my mother (they got rearended), I got venom testing done (which sounds so much prettier than they shot me full of stuff I'm allergic to and blew me up like a pufferfish), I dealt with various midterms and midterm projects for college, my battery died on the car one day, my dad fell and a whole cluster of other lesser catastrophes (phone replacement and issues, spacebar dying, little things).

I realized it isn't so much that my life became less of a muddle, it is more that I've learned not to let the various roadblocks and scary moments stop me from moving on. I've learned, somewhere along the way, to dance in the rain.

I'm not sure when or how, but if I have one wish for anyone reading this? It is that whatever things are jumping in your path or flat out barricading your way...

I hope you dance in the rain and come out of the storm fresh and strong.

How to train your writer

My best friend has excelled at this particular skill, so I figured a couple methods she's used in her hard work in training me might be useful to someone out there.

1. If you feed them, they will come.

Not an exact science, since a writer in their natural habitat won't leave their natural habitat (staring at the screen or paper), however if you feed your writer, they will make appearances. Like most wild animals, the writer must eventually eat. If you provide warm food--or even cold food, depending on the length of time since you've last seen your writer--the writer will (like a stray) come back for more. Sometimes, just shoving food in the general direction of your writer will be the most you can do, but if you wait patiently, they will again reemerge from the writing cave and seek out what they know is a good source for sustenance.

2. Let them babble.

Writing is a most solitary profession, so your writer likely spends hours if not days (and nights) with no other sound than the tap of their fingers and maybe their own voice if they pause and read things out loud. Other than, "Get down, cat!" your writer might not have spoken at all since the last time you've seen them. Although you yourself might have things to say, just let your writer babble for a bit to remove the words bursting as if from a dam just broken and they will eventually run out of steam. Allowing for this babble will mean that your writer will hear you when you speak, since the pressure from all the words unspoken has been relieved.

3. Sympathize.

Your writer is babbling about some author or publisher or editor? Now they're telling you all about this person who made them mad, only for you to realize a half an hour into the conversation that they're talking about a fictional character in either their story or one they've read? Just sympathize, even if you have no clue what they're babbling about. Sometimes, your writer isn't so much looking for you to follow all that they're saying, they're simply hoping for someone to sympathize since they can't talk to anyone in the business about these things.

4. Pet frequently.

Remember, your writer is an artist at their core, no matter how businesslike they might pretend to be. As an artist, this means their temperament leads to the favorable insofar as they're great people watchers and might understand you pretty well when most people only see the surface stuff.

Conversely, this same artistic temperament means your author is constantly battling monsters known as self-doubt, insecurities, and otherwise a general surety that they're a hack. If you pet your writer, perhaps even remind them that you loved that one thing they wrote that one time, it will give your writer the steam to keep on keeping on, so to speak. One tiny nugget of belief is enough to fuel your writer for weeks, since they hoard any cheerleading comments like dragons guarding gold. When your author goes out into the world to deal with trolls, negative reviews, rejections and revisions, your breadcrumb of belief is the stuff that keeps them from turning in the writing hat and planting a nice garden instead.

5. Don't take their hermit ways personally.

Your writer can't be a writer if they're not writing. This means, sometimes? They're literally not present. They're home or in the office and writing away and it isn't that they've decided not to hang out with you...

They're not there at all. They're off slaying a dragon or otherwise living the lives of the character. They've probably not showered or eaten or even slept. So it isn't a rejection of you...they've forgotten themselves, too. It isn't personal. They do love you, but they're working. Once in a while, it is totally okay to steal your writer away from their work, since they likely won't remember to do it themselves, and will also likely thank you for the much needed break they didn't realize they required. Expect hugs and sometimes tears for this kind of rescue, but don't think it means they won't again be eaten alive by the next story or chapter.

6. Prepare to be immortalized.

Your writer will love you and cherish you so much that they'll likely give you immortality on the page. That one time you gave them a hug when they were crying? In a book. Your writer might sometimes burst into tears over fictional people or stare into space with a vague look on their face...while not remembering what you asked them to get at the store...but your writer still loves you, so you will live forever in the words they string together into stories.

"So, why do you write romance, Virg?"

I got that question again, uttered in exactly the selfsame apologetic tone I've heard it asked in hundred times before. Sometimes I've been asked in an academic setting. I can hear all the accompanying words, since I've heard them before, too, even without asking for clarification.

"But you're actually very intelligent, Virginia. I mean, you could write something else, something really meaningful." Once, even, although I'm paraphrasing (but awful close to a direct quote), "You're wasting your talent, surely you can see that! You have a gift and you're using it to write trash. Doesn't that make you sick to your stomach? Aren't you ashamed?"

Jayden Neverfails, if you read that last bit, yeah...I still remember your words and they still *&^$ing hurt, thank you very much. Because you and everyone else that asks doesn't understand and can't, not really. I could use a thousand words and never make it make sense to you. But I can try...

I've heard the question in less academic settings, where the person is just mildly curious. After all, I could write a nice horror novel. Spatter some blood about. I have a gruesome enough imagination and the correct level of general cynicism--surely I could devote my use of the craft that direction instead of 'dithering away' in the romance genre.

I can admit, rather freely, regardless of the intent of the person asking me why I write romance, that it is bloody unlikely I'll ever truly give up doing it. Not for however long there are stories inside me, anyway. A lot of things combine to drive me to write these books.

For one, I love fairy tales. In real life, I've never found that kind of epic love. I've never been the woman to inspire single-minded devotion and an overwhelming need to never leave my side in a partner. Some have walked beside me for a time, some have stuck around and become friends, but the kind of love I write about? Yeah, I am not one of those romance novelists, enchanted by her real-life hero, who pens stories with that lover at the root of every hea she crafts. Me? I write the stories of what I think love should be like and I don't know that I think they're all entirely possible, even if I made it so on paper.

But I do feel one thing very, very strongly.

Romance novels are magic.

Why? Why, after only seconds ago admitting I'm not sure if it is possible to love like that in the real world, do I claim the stories are magic?

Because I've been surrounded by darkness, overwhelming hopeless and weighted dark. Scary, bad things have happened to me, situations I couldn't get out of or forget. I've been hit by deaths of loved ones that left me mired in overwhelming grief and sadness and not sure how I'd face a morning without my loved one in it.

I've been surrounded by sickness. I've been so not well, I wasn't even for a second wondering how I'd draw my next breath. Instead, I've been to the point where you're pretty sure you won't draw that next breath at all. When part of you just stills... and says with quiet acceptance, "Ah, so this is how I'm going to die."

I've been weighted by impossible realities. Bills too large to ever get paid, unsure where me and my family would sleep that night, unsure where I'd manage to find our next meal, unsure of abso-f*&%ing-lutely everything--other than feeling scared to death and not nearly a good enough person to make it past that point.

I've walked the midnight vigil only another parent would understand. That horrible lo-o-ong night when your child is gravely ill and you've spent all your tears and prayers and begging to whatever gods might be listening for that child to just make it through the darkness and see another sunrise. I've wheedled and bargained and made deals I could never hope to fulfill, been sure that nothing and no one heard my desperate cries...and yet there are still hours of hopeless night remaining where you just pace the floor (or the garden outside Rainbow Babies and Children Hospital, as the case may be) feeling entirely alone and inept.

In those times of darkness, depression, self-doubt and sometimes even abject hatred of myself, there has been one truth that always remained.

I could open a book and become someone else when the weight of my life was too great to carry.

I could fall into a story, become someone else--if even just for the duration of a chapter--and cry about something else. I could fall in love, even if I never quite managed it in real life with any sort of success, and the hero would love me back. I could laugh and be mad and feel a thousand different things, but by the end of the book...

There would be a happy ever after.

While reading those fictional happy ever afters, I can half believe in my own against all logical odds. I can hope that there is a reason for the dark times, that they might one day lead to ones that are brighter.

Sometimes hope is the one thing we're denied in the real world, but it shines so bright in the stories.

And that is why I write the books I write. Because somewhere, some day--maybe even today--some other person is lost in the darkness and isn't sure how they'll make it to morning. Maybe they're in a hospital bed, cradling a smart phone with an amazon app in their hand, facing unbeatable health odds, and maybe one of my stories is how they make it through their seemingly endless night. Maybe I can make them smile, even while their personal hell is bigger than any I've personally faced.

Maybe there is another mother, just like me, out there alone. Maybe she's so much like me that no one else is at that hospital with her...she's feeling young and inept and completely not good enough to fight for the precious life laying in a bed, but she'll be damned before she'll walk away. Maybe others walked away from her, left her alone in that battle, but she's not going to walk away. If I can give her  a measure of solace or even a moment of respite from the fears clogging her throat...

Then I'll keep telling these stories.

It is entirely possible none of that will ever happen. Maybe every time any of my stories are read, they're just a couple of hours of fluff and kinky sex, easily forgotten once the reader gets to The End. I know in the past (Dom of the Dead, for example, triggered A LOT of reader emails and messages suggesting others dealing with grief understood my need to bring that lost person back to life, if only on the page, and their words meant the world to me...) some of my stories have mattered to a few, and that is enough.

Even if I never manage to be the light again, I am happy that my words have been the light for someone else. Authors have written hundreds of books which were my lights, so if I've done that for even one reader?

Then my work is important.

It isn't a 'waste', because how can adding to the light in such a dark and pain-filled world ever be considered a waste?

Anyway, with less rambling--THAT is why I write romance. That is why this genre, these stories, this use of my life...because I've needed books like this. If I've needed them, others need them too. Maybe they won't find my book when they need that escape, and that is okay, because I'm not the only one writing these stories.

There are hundreds of us, thousands maybe. We're all sitting in the darkness (or light, if you're a morning writer) and putting word after word on the screen or paper
.  

We're a literal army of voices, rising up and chanting the most important words in the entirety of human experience.

• There is hope. 
• Everyone deserves love. 
• You can make it through this. 
• You are not alone.

There are other important words besides those ones. You'll hear the ones you need to hear in whichever book you're reading...because of that army of writers, all scrabbling to find new ways to scream into the dark and battle it back, even if only for a little while.

That is why I write romance. It makes me part of the battalion against hopelessness.

That is why I taught my children to read. I knew if I taught them nothing else, reading offered a key into a thousand other worlds. Reading would unlock the door to their souls and show them they weren't alone when I couldn't be there to remind them.

That is why this genre. Because even if I don't know how to make a love last in my life, I can create hope. Sometimes that is more powerful than real arms, anyway.

Eh, I guess this is a bit of a dark post. But as I watched the sun rise this morning and battled my personal demons, I remembered why I do this. When I get asked? Sometimes I just blink back tears of frustration or shake my head because no short answer says what I mean, not really. Often, I'll laugh and give some snarky answer.

"Why not spend my life writing about nipples?"
or

"Because kilts,duh."

When I actually mean something more like all of this...all this rambling truth. It might not be everyone's truth, but it is mine.

Just like everyone else, though, I often don't have the words to say what I mean. Feelings are bigger than words, which is why it takes a whole book to fit them.

Happy writing and reading and thanks for listening to an old lady babble.
xoxo
virg

How I spent my birthday #GlamLife #RomanceAuthor

I took the day off work.

For those of you who know me, I don't do that. Like--EVER.

I woke up and started reading the Kim Harrison book I've been dying to read. Omg, Trent. *siiiiigh*

My niece called. Those of you who've seen Maleficent (I NEED a copy of that on DVD) will understand why I call the little goober my Beastie. So I headed over to see her (and her brother, who is also awesome.)

My mom and sis got me a cake, so I had dippy eggs, some fried ham...fed the beastie some blueberries and counted markers for a while (she's not yet two, so pretty easy going when it comes to a good time)...
Then I let her and her brother shove their fingers in the icing of the cake. Because you're only a little kid once and everyone should just eat the icing right off the cake.

Also, because I'm not crazy fond of icing. lol

Anyway, then me and Ralph (because you know I brought the pound puppy with me. He's my shadow...) headed back to the barn. I said "Thank you" for an hour or so on facebook, didn't work, and then went back to Trent. *siiiiiigh*

Ate some more eggs (I love eggs, I really do) and then said "Thank you" on facebook some more. Checked kids school stuff--looked good so back to Trent. *siiiiiiiiiiiigh*

Drank some coffee out of my new amazing coffee pot. OMG. Amazing coffee pot.

More Trent. *siiiiiiiigh*

Then more "Thank You" (300 people said happy birthday!! WOWZA, ya'll. xoxo) and more Trent. *siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh*

Finished The Undead Pool (Will review both books later, promise) and started The Witch With No Name. *siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh* Oh, Trent.

And that's it. Lots of thanking folks, a few phone calls, lots of eggs.

It was really fantastic. The only 'work' I did was to look at my Amazon rankings a few times and be thrilled some of y'all picked up Odd Stuff while it is on sale. (Thanks for that, too. The rank is down to 4k. Love y'all for doing that. Hope you enjoy my Janie.)

Today? Off to IEP meetings and the DMV, but I plan to catch up on missed work and finish the last book of the Hollows series (*bawls* THE LAST BOOK!!! *tearteartear*)  I have an edit I hope to get out the door and then I'm back to finalizing Odd Fate.

Lifestyles of the Not Rich and Somewhat Famous!

Okay, I'm admittedly old. Because of that, I remember as a kid watching episodes of Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous, hosted by Robin Leach.

Real life and that life are two very, very separate entities. But, probably due to Romancing the Stone (Joan Wilder, I love you), being a romance author always sounded like a really glamorous life to me. Something that Robin Leach could totally report about.

In reality, last night I came home from school pink and itchy. I'm not sure WHAT I was reacting to, but something had my allergies in a tizzy. My eyes were even poofy.

So, I popped Benadryl, fell into a coma and woke before the alarm today. (I missed entirely everything that happened last night...)

My son then cheerfully handed me a ream of paper, all of which required my autograph (glam!) and money.

Eighty-six dollars, to be exact. While rummaging through the ream and trying to make my coffee-less brain focus on what he'd shoved at me, I noticed one of the papers meant pictures were today.

"Today?! The pictures are today? Quick, find a button down shirt or something not icky!"

After the ensuing argument, I realized I needed to give the school $21 for school pictures if I wanted to see how handsome my son was at the ripe old age of thirteen.

Besides that, they wanted $15 for a Chromebook. Apparently the school has decided to go paperless within the next two years and my son's class is the trial run for this project. So, they're assigning each student a ChromeBook.

Glancing up, I looked at the two computers provided by the online school that my older kids attend. I didn't have to give their school $15--they simply used the federal monies provided to the school to purchase computers for them to use. Also, a paperless school?

Basically, the district wants me to give them $15 so that my brick and mortar kid can go to an online school in a building?

Mmhhmkah, whatever, I gave them $15 for that.

Then there was another paper with the $50 pay-to-play so my kid could participate in a school sport. Gritting my teeth, I remembered again that the federal government has given our district monies for things like sports...and band, which they fail to fund properly...and art...and, Oh, don't get me started on the mismanaged budget in school systems or the state of the art sports complex which means I get to hand over $50 for my kid to be in the sport, not to mention the other money they're going to ask for because he is in a sport and...

Eh, whatever. Okay, $86 dollars so my kid can go to school today. That's cool.

I then headed downstairs to see no one did their chores, but man did they have a good night while Mommy was in an allergy coma. "You're cleaning that up, preferably before I get back home, right?" I asked my older two. Like zombies recently awakened from the grave, the teenagers dragged themselves out of bed and began to fix the mess.

Buzzing along on my way to school, the gas light came on in the car (ca-ching!) and I reminded myself that my birthday is only a few days away...

Which means I get to renew my license, buy that expensive sticker for my plates (which, to be honest, for $50 bucks should be a cooler sticker. I mean, it doesn't blink, light up, sparkle...nothing. A $50 sticker should be way cooler. Someone fix this.) and snag the van from where it is parked before those plates expire...

Oh, and crickets, I thought. I really need to buy more crickets to feed the frogs...
Without the slightest hesitation, I pulled into the school and parked right next to the sign that reads:

 

With a smirk, I said, "Hop off, kiddo. This is your stop."

Because for $86 dollars and online school in a building, I can drop him off wherever I please.

I'm such a rebel.

Was your morning as glamorous as mine? What made you twitch?
Tell me in the comment section below and I'll give one lucky blog reader a $5 Amazon gift card.
Smoochiewoochies, dah-links.

"No one finds us accidentally."

Yesterday was so chock full of fun,  I couldn't begin to explain in a facebook posting. Actually, it is even going to take a couple blogs. We'll start at the first stop...

The Hill

When I woke yesterday, I very nearly immediately herded the older kids to the car and we headed to Euclid, Ohio. On autopilot, I very nearly drove to my deceased Uncle JuJu's house--since if I'm headed to Euclid, my brain still thinks we're going to see him even if he has been dead and gone for years now.

Once I got back on the right track, I headed to Kristen and Brad's--my son's aunt and uncle and family to the rest of us after years of friendship--to snag my boyo. We chatted for a bit and then headed off on a planned expedition to visit Lake View Cemetery, East Cleveland, Ohio.

On the way, however, I noticed a big hill I hadn't really ever paid attention to before. "I don't think I knew Euclid HAD a hill. What is up the hill, anyway?" I asked Kristen.

"Drive up. It is pretty cool, actually, I'll show you."

Once up the hill, I saw a huge parking lot and some nondescript tan buildings. Still no clue where we'd landed, we headed down a blacktop path until we came to a plethora of flowers and paths and tiny shrines. "What is this place?" I asked her. "Go into the gift shop, find out," recommended Kristen.

Full of all things Catholic, I still wasn't sure where we were...very nice reliquary box with a bit of someone inside, but no real clues. A nun asked where we'd come from for our visit and offered to tell us a story.

She began in the distant past when the property functioned as a winery and vineyard. The Harms family owned the land back then, and Mrs. Harms apparently prayed frequently in the grotto up the hill. One day, she told her husband that she'd been visited by the Blessed Virgin who advised she'd give birth to a child and then she'd come for her. Mrs. Harms begged her husband to keep the land sacred.

Fast forward to prohibition and the land began to get sold off, wine grapes not being nearly as easy to sell in an alcohol free country. Nuns bought the land and were gifted a piece of the stone from Lourdes, France, a place of healing waters due to a visit from the Blessed Virgin years and years before. They made an American healing spot, a place for prayers and reflection, on the hill in Euclid which is visited to this day by pilgrims from all over the world.

The nun said no one found the grotto accidentally and regaled us with tale after tale of the healing property of the water. She suggested we tour the property, perhaps drink or wash where needed with the healing waters, and left us to our own devices. We toured, beautiful land, and brought some healing water back to my mother (the sister had advised we were welcome to do so, we weren't robbing a shrine) who is Catholic and still occasionally sleeps with her mother's rosary. Hopefully it helps a bit! You can find out more about the Our Lady of Lourdes shrine in Euclid on their website here.

An Ancient Labyrinth

On our way out, we found a 2500 designed labyrinth, which didn't impress my daughter but fascinated my sons and me. We walked the labyrinth and found our way to heaven a few times before we headed, sweltering in the heat and my car's lack of ac, to the cemetery. (Post on that tomorrow)

Dawn ~ A rambling post about life

Today I watched the sun rise from a chair moist with dew. It wasn't the loveliest sunrise I've ever seen, nor was the wet seat the most comfortable place to rest, but I found contentment.

At my feet lay the goofiest dog I've ever met and a fat and mean cat glared at us both from the doorway. I'd just awakened and left the barn that we call home, leaving my children sleeping inside. The children and the barn aren't perfect, not by standards set by those who set standards about that sort of thing, but I wouldn't want it any other way. My children are beautiful, they make me proud, and our house might look like a barn on the outside, but it is clearly a home within.

The dog isn't the prettiest dog and has no pedigree. He's a neurotic part black lab, his family roots as diverse as my own. The cat was a stray, found in our backyard, who is too expensive for a cat and not even a very nice one most of the time.

My car is used and a lot of the things we own came to us second-hand. I am a terrible cook, but the cooking and the newness don't seem to matter to any of us.

We're not rich, we don't live exotic lives. Nothing about any of it says 'happiness' according to everything I'd been taught to expect.

And that was what made me so content. I guess I always believed every happy ever after has a handsome prince. I think I always thought comfort came from money, nice things, proving you were better--faster, stronger, more lovely, whatever.

I grew up with the notion that if you find the happy ever after, you live in a house with a white picket fence and a sports car and an suv, both new, in the driveway.

But what I realized? I don't want any of those things. That house? It comes with a mortgage and, once you've been paying on that for a while, taxes and repairs and upkeep...

I hate all of those things. I like my barn.
 
The cars are expensive--few actually have their cars paid off. My car isn't new--2004, thanks much--but I love it and I don't owe anyone anything on it.

Prince Charming? Well, I have two princes and one wonderful princess. I'm not unhappy without the prince and neither are they...so did I just want him like the fence and the car payment? Something I thought would make me happy, but I already AM?

So looking at the sunrise--which wasn't that pretty, since clouds obscured most of it--sitting in front of the barn filled with second-hand treasures, children who aren't perfect, with a goofy dog and a fat mean cat...

And me, not perfect either (I'm chubby, you see, so therefore should be unhappy, even though I eat what I want and have been fortunate to not do without for quite a while) and not rich or world famous...

Just a writer in Ohio living a very normal life...

Looking at that sunrise, I realized that I've been waiting for things to 'get better' or for us to hit that magical point where everything fell into place.

What I hadn't realized? That we already had it all and I am very happy.

Anyway, the point of this blog isn't to brag. The point is that everyone at some point forgets that happy isn't always what we think it should be. Happy sometimes sneaks up while we're doing other things, while we're planning for tomorrow.

In my case, happy is here right now. Luckily, I realized it and drank tea with the goofy dog and fat cat and watched the sun rise over the hayfield...

And thanked the universe for all that I ever wanted, but never thought to ask for.

My cat is a jerk

Meet #Evilkitteh, aka Jinx (You can find her on instagram, too.)

I did the big meaningful post about how wonderful, even if flawed, my dog is and yet I've never really done a post about my cat.

My cat is a jerk.

I call her evilkitteh on the internet and I think people believe I'm kidding...

I'm not. She's a jerk.

She's fat, for one. If there was a kittycat Weight Watchers, I'd put her on it. I'm pretty sure when I call her fat, she's looking at me and laughing her cat-laugh. She's clearly thinking something along the lines of, "Yeah, look at your butt, or rather that sun eclipsing wad of cellulite you're sitting on, and then we'll talk about my swaying gut, mmhhmkah, human?"

She refuses to eat cat food. She became a Temptations addict about a year ago and will now go on hunger strikes (which don't seem to change the fat) until I cave and give her the cat-crack. I'm looking into support groups, maybe a Temptations rehab, but so far, no such luck.

She likes to stare at you, right in the eye, and then knock stuff down. She has a preference for glass things. I think the tinkling of broken glass is her idea of a symphony.

She tries to kill people. Like all cats, she enjoys rubbing against your legs or flopping while you go down the stairs. If she manages to trip you, she generally purrs. She's bloodthirsty, that one.

She's a big fan of torturing the dog. Making him growl, jump, startle, freak out...all of it brings joy to her feline heart. Nothing makes her day more than making the dog fall down the stairs. It's like his yelp fulfills her.

She's working on her memoir. This writing is sometimes disturbed by me clicking the delete button, erasing the hard earned letters on the screen from her walking back and forth across the keyboard. Although she's been thwarted so far, she hasn't given up her dream of becoming a bestselling cat author. Me getting a touchscreen has further enabled her process and she diligantly works to finish her autobiography. The working title translates to, "Fat Cat in a Skinny World," but is spelled "af;iojdfsaokdfioijfdjkjdfasdfsaae4fsad" in cat language.





But my favorite trait in any creature is loyal. She may try to kill us. She may occasionally claw at us. She might even try to smother us in our sleep someday, but she's loyal.

She'll stick by us until the end and has proved that.

Even if she plans on the end happening sooner than we might prefer...

Is your cat a jerk, too? I know I can't be alone in this.

Lessons I teach my kids

Not so long ago, but long ago

When I became a mother, I planned. I read.

Nothing prepared me for the reality of it, not babysitting or reading or thinking about being a parent. I was granted three wonderful children who are terrifically different in their temperaments, preferences and every other thing that could possibly be different.

That said, it occasionally falls upon me to impart wisdom, advice--life lessons, if you will--to my darling children.

Here's a list (in no particular order) of lessons I never dreamed of teaching my children, yet have found the need to discuss--sometimes at length--with my offspring.

• Never open the car door or window to the crazy drug addict.

If someone runs up to your car, yelling that they are dying of the AIDS virus and need money for the bus, there is something wrong, indeed. Not something you can fix by handing them money. Something you should lock your doors and keep your windows closed against. This is especially true since a lot of people in Cleveland have guns (sometimes even with concealed carry permits) and the person running up to the car CLEARLY forgot this, meaning something is VERY wrong with them, so just drive away. Quickly.

The gang, now

• But do pull over and help sometimes.

There is a really fine line and trust your gut on that one. My kids know I’ll pull over (have done so and even driven 5mi for gas for someone, gave it to them way out of my way and making myself late, before returning to whatever I was doing when I saw the person alongside the road), but I don’t pull over for the bus money people. There’s a time, your gut knows the time, trust your gut and you probably (not guaranteed) won’t get killed. But you can’t not help…being a helper is one of the greatest things you can do with your life, in my opinion.

• Sometimes it is okay to be angry.

It is also okay to be sad. It is okay to be hurt. You don’t have to pretend not to be any of those things. Chances are good, though, if you let those emotions rule you—which they will try to do—you won’t remember to choose to be happy. Because it is a choice. Life will drag you down, worse than any riptide out there, but you can’t let it. Although you gotta try to find the happy, to find the way to get past the sad/hurt/angry/whatever, you are ALLOWED to feel those emotions. You don’t have to bury them under fake smiles or otherwise hide what you’re feeling…you’re allowed to feel bad things. I’ve found people are happy to tell folks to be happy, but they forget to let them cry. I try to let them feel all of it because, well, life is full of both good and bad. Ignoring any part of it, or pretending it away, is not living life fully. Embrace your tears and your laughter. The best days are the ones when the laughs outnumber the tears.

• Other people are going to be angry, too.

And sometimes you can’t do a thing about it. We met an angry security guard at the cemetery the other day. He was just…ticked. I don’t know what his personal issues were and he certainly was in no mood to chat about it. Sometimes you can help—be the shoulder to cry on, be the person they vent to. Others? Sometimes you just have to let others feel what they’re feeling and walk away. You can’t fix everything and if more people admitted to that, they’d spend less time worrying over things they couldn’t change.

• Sometimes it is your fault they are hurt/angry/sad.

If you can, make it right. Own up to what you did and try to make amends for your transgression. Other times…
They’re going to feel how they feel and there’s not a thing you can do about it. Learn to accept that you can’t control how others feel or think and worry about what you can control—yourself.

• Language is powerful.

You can use it to hurt. You can use it to heal. Sometimes, you don’t intend to and you do one or both things…
Remember your words have power. Remember your words can change the world, or even change a person.

Choose them accordingly.

What are some lessons you never planned to teach your kids, but did anyway?