(He) Sendeth Rain on the Just and on the Unjust

I understand that some of you probably look at the title of this blog post with a skeptical eyebrow raise, or even that you have some snaky comment to it and I understand.

Although this isn’t a blog post about any one subject and rainfall will be mentioned, I guess it is an invitation from me, to you. An invitation to step into the rain, see what it washes away, and who or what is left behind once the perceptions have been removed. Not all farmers resort to pesticides and poisons (if we did, we wouldn’t need to bush hog.) We respect the circle of life and our little role in it and we accept that sometimes death is a part of life. We don’t kill thoughtlessly but we do kill to eat. We just don’t glorify it. Maybe this will help to explain. Continue reading

The Black Crowes and Teardrops

I don’t know why I’m even crying, I guess just too much has built up. I’m texting my best friend and trying to set up some girl time but that isn’t going to help. Pressure needs to be released before I explode and take someone or something out.

Today sucked, and it started sucking early, like before the alarm went off. Pre-Sunrise Suckage is a “Special Reserve” kind of beverage that leaves the shittiest taste in one’s mouth.

I have probably written 4000 or so words about it, the incident, the bitching complaining and moaning and even got the starter for a new story out of it, but that whole shit-tasting aspect leaves me in dire need to cleanse not only my proverbial pallet but my mood and gray matter from the more morose thoughts and tortures that I have imagined extracting on those that brought out the Temperamenta Fuerte.

I am in danger of breaking a Blackberry, firing an employee, disowning a family member or worse a combination of all three today. I need to just state for all of mankind, if I hang up on you, thank your lucky stars. I find that is much easier to come back from than verbally eviscerating someone via AT&T’s 4G network.

I can’t change other people, I can only change myself but I can’t change my DNA, my ancestry or the way I was raised. My hair will always have a red-tint to it, unless Ms. Clariol or someone else has a hand in it, my Irish and Native American blood will always be quick to boil and my expectations for people to do as they should and not as they prefer will always be there.

I may be naive but at least I have a set of lungs on me that you can hear my thoughts and a few frills and dressing over the rumble of today’s preferred mediocrity and the baah’ing of today’s mindless sheeple.

Is this where I should say I’m mad as hell and I’m not going to take it anymore? Well, unfortunately, that is probably a lie. I will end up taking it and I just hope it isn’t up the ass without lube, but I won’t have to like it.

When my mom died, I thought that I was lost and adrift and I would never find the shore. Now over ten years later, I know that if I hug the shore I’m more likely to bash my head against immoveable objects or worse, give up on sailing into happily ever after and sit on the shore and wave as everyone else travels. Older me, hopefully wiser me, has to learn that I need to go with the flow, paddle like mad when the time is right and to not waste too much energy fighting the rip-tides in life and as Dory says, just keep swimming, even if it is perpendicularly, till the time is right to make my move.

Who knew Disney could do more than market to the childhood masses?

Listening To: Seeing Things-The Black Crowes                                                                                   Mood: Muddled

Identity Crisis

I’m a role-player, I still have role-play accounts that I jump on sometimes but I haven’t role-played in a while. Every time I get a good idea, I jot it down and put it in my “to be completed” folder. You know, a few short lines, enough to jog my memory and then whatever setting details or descriptions I had.

That folder is filled with all sorts of good ideas, maybe a few great ones. I have THREE series listed on an electric blue post-it note just above and over to the left of my laptop as we speak, yes I’m scared to take that next step.

I guess I don’t’ consider myself a writer, despite what it says in my twitter profile. I write things, I have moved people to tears and made them want to kill certain characters, but that was all while I safely hid behind the term Role Play.

I have role-played as characters in books before but that wasn’t where my joy was. Most of the things that I wrote and enjoyed were interactions with original characters, both others and mine.

I guess I fear the 50-shades of backlash. If I started as a role player, will I always be a role-player? My pen name is even that of my first original character who I took so much time to create and is just as much a part of me as anything anyone could write.

So do I have to stop role-playing to be taken seriously as a writer? I know other people, both published and soon to be published that have used this form as an exercise. Think of the difference in strength training versus maintenance. I guess now I see that role-play is a way to maintain the current skills and confidence that I have and if I want to go farther and be and do more I have to go out there and loft that monster tire even if it squashes me the first few, or hundred, times. (Sorry, I have weird visions pop into my head.)

Therefore, my website is going to get some surgery. A nip here, a tuck there possible an amputation or two. It will still be me, but hopefully, it will be more the window into my soul as a writer and not the strategically taken picture in the bathroom mirror that only shows what I’m comfortable in other people seeing.

Anything thoughts or criticism would be welcome. My new personal goal is to have something as ready as I can to submit to an agent by Fall. Heck, let’s set a date and put it on Halloween. It will be the scariest thing I have ever done in my life and I may fail, but I also know that if I fail to try I can never truly be happy.

A-Day Submission Deadline Set

Sneak Peak at “The MacClery Chronicles”

The “Look” Challenge

Here is how this challenge goes.

Take your current manuscript and find the first instance of the word “look”. Then post the surrounding paragraphs as an excerpt of the book on your blog. Lastly, tag five more blogging authors who you think would be a good choice for the game.

The working title is “The MacClery Chronicles”.  I hope you enjoy and feel free to comment.

Quote from The McClery Chronicals (working title) by TJ Whelan



The sounds of the crowd were building. The teams were on the field warming up for game three of the World Series between the Oakland A’s and the San Francisco Giants. A small group of men gathered around a television in a smoke filled bar, beers and hot dogs in their hands waiting for the opening pitch. None of them knowing that one of their lives was going to be changed forever.

On the other side of the country a face that was familiar to the group stood among the crowd watching the couple as they walked past various shops and took frequent bathroom breaks, the later being because the female was well into her last trimester of pregnancy. He had worked hard to make sure that his rival wouldn’t find out about the upcoming birth, even going so far as to arrange the all expense paid trip and the job interviews that would lead the last remaining lines of this family tree away from their benefactor and protector. Yes, it had been a lot of work and he owed more than a few favors, but if Simon’s predictions were to be believed the catalyst for his plan would happen and soon. All he needed was for the young lovebirds to be here when it did.

Simon lit up another cigar and offered them to the guys around the table as he looked from face to face in awe. “Man, thanks for finally letting me into the Wednesday night game fellas. What changed your mind?”

Patrick fought the need to roll his eyes. He didn’t want Simon here, but he did have access to great Cuban cigars and well, he preferred to have 6 people at the table when he played poker. Besides, Simon wasn’t a true player, they could probably wipe him of his cash in no time and then he would be on his way “Ach you know Thomas is out running down another lead on his daft idea. He thinks that this could be the next big thing. For me, I think he has smoked one too many tokes with the lads at UC Berkeley and CalTech.” Patrick chuckled and shuffled the cards. The truth of the matter was that the idea of the world being connected by computers was the most interesting thing that had come along in a while. Of course it meant more ways that they could be found out, but think of all the possibilities that it had, maybe Thomas wasn’t wrong to be providing those nerds inspiration after all, especially if he could talk a few of them in to designing something that would help benefit the clan.

“Alright lads, ante up. The buy in is five hundred and I do not accept IOUs.” Patrick smirked as he started dealing the cards. He looked up from the table to the television when McCarver repeated himself. The screen flashed green and then went to black as the earthquake struck. Slowly each of the members of the poker night started receiving pages on their beepers, everyone except Simon.

“I told Thom this was going to happen, but he just insisted on going to see the birth anyway.”

Simon’s words were lost in the confusion and the calls that continued in waves. Patrick wouldn’t realize for some time that he was betrayed by one he considered his brother. By the time he realized it, it would be too late. The date on the tombstone read October 17, 1989. It would mark the end of the Ó Caiside Clan as it’s last known member laid beneath that slate monument.

But Kelly Michaels, formerly Kelly Cassidy, didn’t pass from this world before she brought her daughter into it. Her best friend, who had tried so long to conceive, adopted the child and named her Maeve Cassidy Seward and with the love of two mothers, one here on earth and one above, the young girl thrived.

Three Days

Three days since I have written any words, blog/wip or the like.

I’ve been feeling like crap and it just hasn’t gotten any better. It may be time for me to go to the doctor, which I HATE the very idea of doing.

It may just be a mind over matter thing, I sat down at my desk to write the other day and my best friend/sister called. We talked for two hours and I really needed that time. It made me get off my ass and setup some tasks for me to get accomplished today. I think I have managed to do one, I may get 3 out of 5 done by 9pm tonight. I wouldn’t hold my breath if I were you, it’s not life and death, and well the power is out.

Yep, I said it. The power is out. Just went I sit down with my trusty blackberry to write this with grand plans to post this here and then move things around life sticks it’s tongue out and me and blows the raspberry of all raspberries.

Is it not enough that I have all but become a vampire because the sunlight makes me feel worse? Silvie comes in for quick petting sessions and then goes right back out because I can’t be outside and play fetch with her? The donkeys are tormenting us all because they are jokester who come onto the back porch and literally ring the doorbell?

Then there are the dreams. They make my head hurt. Surely I would remember if I was published in a teacher’s anthology wouldn’t I? I know that particular year was crazy as all get out with losing my mom and dad being sick and all, but even if someone else submitted the work for me, surely I would remember it. It wouldn’t have been tied to the school district or whatever would it?

Ugh, some days I just want to turn my brain off. This makes day number three that I’d have been functioning sans gray matter. I’m ready to unplug, just me, my dogs and well, air conditioning, so I guess that means hiking and camping are out.

Hey, I know I need to write, but this FarmPrincess needs to feel better or my characters will end up as whiny as I’m being right now.

Three days…that’s more than enough. Tomorrow the streak ends, I hope.

What Have I Done?

Pacing back and forth I knew something wasn’t right. Even though the monitor to Ryder’s room was in my hand I had this irrational fear that something was blocking the signal or sneaking past it. If he suddenly stopped breathing there would be no noise to hear.

Death was close, and not the kind of death Roman was, real death and it was coming for someone that I loved. Whatever was in this protection amulet that Mena gave me let me feel it, I was just scared who Death was going to claim.

What do you do when your heart pulls you in four different directions? You carry on with big pieces of your missing. I loved Roman and Warren, but I couldn’t be happy with either one of them without making the other miserable. Warren seemed mollified since he had Ryder. He understood better than anyone why I had to try to go out on my own. He didn’t bitch too much as long as Rafe was near by, I guess there is something to be said for having the power but not the drive to use it.

Rafe was as powerful as any alpha I had ever met. His strength and malleability let him stay in situations that would have crushed anyone other person, human, were or vamp. He could easily have taken over his home pack, or mine but he didn’t want that. He was just a little too laid back, he would fight if he needed to, but he hadn’t found anything worth fighting for, at least not yet.

Me, I had too much to fight for and felt that I was battling myself. Ryder was my focus, he was my soul. There was no way that I could look into those sleepy green eyes of his and not want what was best for him. He loved Roman, and Roman loved him, but a centuries year old vampire, no matter how modern he became still had peculiar visions of what a woman could and should be. I could be Roman’s arm candy, I could be his right hand at a fight, but he took the vampire ideal of “what’s mine is mine and what’s yours as my bonded is mine too”. Yeah, I fought too hard for what I had accomplished, I had done things that, well let’s just say I don’t regret them, they lead me to this place but I don’t want my son to have to live though them.

And then there is Levy. He is the only time I wish I was other than wolf. A tiger or human, something that could be what he needed and what he deserved. He NEVER made me feel less than I am, but I know I am less than he deserved. I guess my own insecurities drove me away from him. When the second attempt was made on his life and I realized that it could be because of me, well, I know why King Solomon decided to cut the baby in half, I would rather live alone and in misery knowing that my Kitty is out there and safe than face a world without him in it.

That is how I ended up back here in Shreveport. I figured that it was the last place that Roman would look for me, it was still big enough that I could hide from my ghost and I already had a network of people that I could trust and a compound that we could secure. As far as I knew the men in my life, other than Ryder were states away. Warren had managed to weather the storm of Isaac well and was making sure the member of the pack there were safe, Roman was somewhere in New York, or Atlanta or wherever the hell he decided to let his newest toy talk him in to traveling and Levy…Levy was in Las Vegas, the place that I left a piece of my heart and where Ryder did too. Even now, he is sleeping with a stuffed tiger and sometimes cries out in the middle of the night for his Ash…

What have I done?


Writer’s Insight Required

I can not get my head to slow down so that I can do something, anything at this point. After such a good start to “The Clancy Chronicals” (Hey it’s just my own personal title!) I have run head-first into a brick wall.

There are so many things that are running through my mind. I’m all about the little details and I know that the perfectionist in me will get frustrated and give up on the idea soon if I’m not careful. I don’t want to give up, so how do I break through the bullshit?

Another part of me knows that I am a want-to-be writer, I don’t know that I can even consider myself aspiring at this point. No, right now I am farmgirl, business woman, caregiver, furmom and then probably a dozen titles away is the writing. Why is that important? One word: Isaac. While it looks like now it may just be a rain/wind event for us there was a point where everyone in my area was concerned because there was a chance, however small, that it could have been in our laps as a category 1 storm.

Preparations had to be made, that normally means spending money which I HATE with a passion. I can attest that in business sometimes you do have to spend money to make money, and sometimes you have to spend a little of it to not lose lots of it. Right now we are faced with both.

Now that doesn’t mean that I haven’t been writing. I have blogged and written small snippets each of three days since I have be challenged by my muse with this project. The only thing is I’m not putting out the numbers of words to the project that I would like. I don’t see any improvement, any advancement and it is making me cranky.

So after talking with my friend Jay I am considering a “non-flying by the seat of my pants approach” for a bit. Maybe if I am working on characters and outlines, plots and points-of-view then I can not feel like a failure before I’ve really given myself a chance to crawl, let alone walk, run or marathon.

So in the spirit of that hope I need some help from you all. You may not be use to my writing style, and while I realize that short works in the vein of role-playing won’t tell you much maybe the next part will.

I try to write like I live. I’m an earthy texture driven person. I like to roll things around in my mouth and mind and think if they sound and feel right. I want my words and my writing to have a texture to it. From starting with the character names “meaning” something in the story to the little hidden accents that although a reader may not catch them in the moment, they may have that a-ha experience later. I tend to write a lot and imagine the smells, like the warm apple pie the old man is having with his coffee two tables over while two girlfriends chat about their love lives.

Do I just have a vivid imagination that will constantly suffer from the lack of other skills I possess? Is there a book or a magic wand that we can beat me over the head with and stop this line of thinking?

What is my malfunction, because I’m feeling a blue screen coming along soon.