This was a telling tweet. But I sent it out as I send most tweets, light heartedly, once it’s gone, it’s forgotten. Yes, it had started with a tummy ache, which with kids, is just another day at the office for a parent. I rubbed it, hugged him to make it all better and watched him sleep.

Then he couldn’t make it through the day in school the next day, and began to lose his appetite. And when the low grade fever appeared I figured was a stomach big than would just have to run his course.

But my boy who normally runs everywhere he goes couldn’t stand up straight. He walked hunched over and moaned in pain. He lay in my bed while I put up groceries, and then he let out a scream I will never forget. I dropped everything and drove him to the first hospital I could find, his twin sister in tow.

After six hours of labs, scans and tests, he was diagnosed with the one thing that I had pushed to the back oft mind as one of my outrageous hypochondriacal fears. It was his appendix, and it was ruptured.

It was the first time I felt the weight of being away from family and friends. The first time that I realized that my mom was now more than three hours away as opposed to just around the corner.

But mostly I realized that for two days I had dismissed my son’s pain as something far less serious than it was.

Not that I or anyone could have predicted or prevented it, but still, there’s that old mommy guilt. There’s the what ifs and the woulda, coulda, shouldas.

So today here we are, an emergency surgery later, on day six at the Children’s Hospital. He’s much better than he was before, but not well enough to go home.

I’m trying to make the best of it. Caring for him and reading and writing and keeping my fingers crossed that I can take him home soon.

And I guess that’s it. All I can say and all I can do. I appreciate the well wishes.

“Welcome to Atlanta where the players play…”

This is the text I got from my husband this morning, once he got to work and found out that he had been picked up as a transfer with his job to their Atlanta facility.

We decided on a whim almost a month ago to put in for it because the situation here has been at such a stand still, and really, I’ve been complaining about this place (my hometown) for oh…since I moved back here in 2006. We also tried for Houston and Butner, and I would have been fine with either, but being honest, my heart was already in Georgia.

And, truth be told, and as my history speaks for itself, I believe in fresh starts.

On one hand it’s scary. With two special needs children, transitions and the what ifs surrounding them can be paralyzing, but on the other hand we’ll be in a place where there are many more opportunities and hopefully school districts that can better suit their needs.

I will, at least for a bit, be able to be at home writing and be there and available for my family. The chances for promotion for my husband will greatly increase. And I will still have family in the area, including two beloved older aunts who I don’t see or talk to nearly enough. And there are a couple of friends who relocated there several years ago who I get to catch up with, too and writer friends I’ve met through social media who I might actually get to hang out with in real life!

But enough with the jibber jabber. I have a house to sell and another to locate and buy!

Suddenly…It’s Sex!


I don’t know what I had on my mind all this time that made me forget that Alison Tyler’s Sudden Sex: 69 Sultry Stories had already been released. I was reminded, however, when I checked my mail yesterday and pulled out a rather heavy package (tee hee, those erotic euphemisms, they never end, I tell ya). Bias to the wind, though, the cover is gorgeous, the blurb brilliant, and inside there is me!

I caught the tail end of the call, as is usually the case, so I only have one story included, but I’m very fond and pround of what I contributed. The name of my story is I’d Rather Go Blind and any Etta James or even Beyonce fan will know where I got my inspiration. The story, however, isn’t about what you would think…if you’re familiar with the song.

Alison’s got a whole blog tour story review thing going on, and I need to get my part done on that, by the way. I haven’t checked lately to see if anyone’s snatched my story up, but the lineup is on her blog post here.

That’s all I have good folks. I decided to end the week on a good note, it being my babies’ born day and all. I had a whole other post brewing for that, but it involved autism type things and was just going in a blues-y direction and who wants that on a Friday? 😉

The Woman and The Words

It should no longer surprise me that it surprises people that I write. Especially since on social media and even on this blog, my words tend to bend toward the more personal aspects of my life. But in thinking about it, as much as I’ve written, submitted and published, my writing is pretty personal, too.

On Twitter yesterday, a pretty new follower was genuinely surprised that I’m a published author. And not that I’m some Toni Morrison or Wally Lamb or even some literary one-hit wonder, but I have done some things. The comment, however, made me wonder, once again, if I have and if I am doing, enough to let the world know that I am, in fact, here.

Not to digress, but yesterday was a pretty awful day in terms of my family life, what with my autistic daughter and dealing with the school system and raising another special needs child and taking care of a home and a husband while writing and holding down a full-time job outside the home.

And, well, yes, that mingled with day to day life and marital issues weighed heavily on what I thought and put out there. What I haven’t been putting out there, apparently, is my writing.

The last contributor’s copy of an anthology featuring one of my stories (if I remember correctly) is Best Bondage Erotica 2011, and that, I believe was received November ’10. Now, since then, I’ve written several new stories, pitched a few anthologies, sold several stories, signed a few contracts and have big things on the horizon. But one wouldn’t know that, I suppose.

So yesterday afternoon, between fits of smoking, drinking, crying and watching my children and dog play in the back yard, I posted a series of pictures on Twitter, and I thought it might be interesting to do the same here, to sort of (re)introduce myself and show you (the world) who I am and what I do, all around. So, here goes:

…I take a lot of my pictures inside a vehicle. Nothing glamorous there.

Cooking is the other creative thing I do. It also destresses and relaxes me.

I obsess over my hair a lot. It’s naturally curly and I keep it short. It’s reddish brown now, though – see above.

This is my daughter drawing. She has Atypical Autism and she is brilliant.

I surprise my husband with things like this because…

…I’m a romantic and I’m in love.

This is my unkempt, imperfect backyard.

This is the hand I write with and the hand on which I wear my wedding ring.

This is where we sleep, fight and make love.

These are just a few of my favorite things.

I have a thing for shoes.

My hyper-active dog.

And, finally, what I do to remind myself that I am a writer.

Also, this is my Amazon Author page.