Instinct

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.

On The Move

Life for me is just slowing down as we’re settling into a new home in a different state. At an unexpectedly rapid place, my family relocated from small town Carolina to the Atlanta area of Georgia.

It’s involved a lot of change, mostly for the kids who live with ASD and are major creatures of habit, but also my husband who has come to a new job location and myself who, for now, is not working outside the home.

It’s always been a dream of mine, to be at home where I’m accessible to my family. Juggling household chores while working feverishly on stories, articles and books. Need I even say that it’s not quite that simple and now and then I long or the simplicity of a desk and a computer and a clock to punch?

But, I have hope, and hopefully, time to figure all of that out. For now I’m sitting here in the moment, doing the laundry and listening to the rain, planning dinner and anxious to hear about the kids’ day at school, feeling very much…at home.

Why?

I seldom feel the need to explain myself, and I never intended to start now. But since the news of my family’s move to Atlanta has been met with the general inquisition of “why,” I’ve been feeling the need to explain myself, to tick off reasons why we’ve decided to leave this grand old place, and basically, sell the idea of Atlanta to people who are not only not coming with us, but probably won’t even visit.

Our “why” basically is this, though.

We live in a rural area, and though my husband works for the federal government, his particular placement has little room for advancement right now. Atlanta has that. We do have family here, because we were born and raised here. However, that has been a blessing and a curse. Family is there for help and support, but only when they can and want to, and family tends to overstep their bounds. Hell, I’ll say it, my mother especially.

When you have the comfort and convenience of family, it’s hard to motivate yourself to go it on your own. For instance, I almost never have issues with babysitting. On the other hand, my mother often treats me like a teen mom and coaches me (without solicitation) through whatever thing I’m dealing with concerning the children.

We have special needs children, I’ve said that before. The school district has been accommodating, but all the while letting us know that they only have so many resources available and there is only so much they can do. We are relocating to a place where there will be many more resources for the children.

And also, despite their challenges, my children are gifted, but there are no resources here to help nurture their talents besides basic school activities. If my daughter wants to dance, she has to do it in her bedroom.

Finally, we will be in a place where, at last, I can give the proper time and attention to my own career. And not law enforcement. I’ll get to really give freelancing a shot, and I’ll be in a prime place to promote my book next year.

So, there you have it. Those are just a couple of reasons why other than, damn it, it’s our party and we’ll move if we want to.

“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!

The Butcher, The Baker, The Candlestick Maker Makes An Impression

It seemed more than coincidence to me that I wound up with Suzanne Portnoy’s The Butcher, The Baker, The Candlestick Maker in my hands to review. Its original release was in 2006, a year that flew right by me because I was in the midst of a separation from my two children’s father, moving back in with my mother, losing my full-time job and entering a brand new relationship.

At that time, the world around me was reading about a 40-year old divorcee’s wildly erotic adventures. Now fast forward seven years, the book has been re-released, and my life has changed dramatically and fresh meat like me got the opportunity to climb into bed with it for the very first time.

I knew when researching the book what is was about and what I didn’t want to write about it. Yes there is sex and yes it is sexy…very, very sexy. And I only got that out of the way to allow me to say that that there’s some really good stuff here. And in this instance the stuff I’m referring to is Suzanne’s superb writing.
The sex inside the pages wooed me, but Suzanne’s way with words wowed me.

The scenarios presented in this memoir were so magically painted that it almost read like an erotic novel, and while I believe that fantasy is great, anyone who knows me knows I like my sex with a little reality. That makes it perfect that there is plenty of emotion tied in with this erotic memoir’s mistress, Suzanne’s couplings.

No way does she does she make the mistake of confusing sex with love, not even in the beginning after she has sewn what she thought were her wild oats and settled down and married. She doesn’t look for love in sex – not in dives, not in sex clubs or in saunas.

She also doesn’t present us with a faux representation of what it’s like to be a mother of two, over forty, and sexing again in happening cities like London and New York a la Sex and the City’s Samantha Jones.

Suzanne has her share of thrills and her share of disappointments, and what will keep her readers turning the pages and ultimately hesitating to close the book is that through it all she gets right back up and tries again.
The Butcher, The Baker tugged me every which way. It made me happy to be currently married and out of the dating scene, but also made me wish I and made more of the free time I had between marriages.

However, The Butcher, The Baker is not just for the mature, divorced woman, it’s for the adventurous couple, it’s for the curious single, it’s for the voyeuristic man which she so eloquently writes about… it’s for the woman who wants to wrap her hands around a firm glass of cabernet and swallow hard as she devours every delicious word.

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? 😉

And the Good News Is…

After 1+ years, I still have Lyme Disease. And that’s good because I can attribute the extremely high levels of liver enzymes and blood calcium to that instead of cirrhosis of the liver, hepatitis, lukemia, a cancerous thyroid tumor or some other awful thing. But…that doesn’t mean that my doctor(s) aren’t sending me through the oh so fun motions of taking the tests to rule these things out just in case.

In addition, I’m going to be seeing some specialists, doing a lot waiting and seeing, fretting for sure, and hopefully, finally getting some answers and some help.

To veer away from that, some really good news is that Smut for Chocoholics is now up on All Romance ebooks as of yesterday. It should also be up on Amazon soon. It includes my truffle story Kisses and here is the saucy cover:

But in the best news of all, my twinsies will be ten tomorrow…woohoo!!!

Sick and…

…well, you know the rest.

Who knew that a sore throat could last more than a week, even with medication?  So, I hesitate to say that life has gotten in the way, but it happens.  It’s well… life.

I am continuing to write through it all, having progressed one story to the final editiing stage and steadily adding to the word count of another.  The deadline for both is the end of January, beginning of February.  I am also staring down the deadline of my own anthology (Can’t Get Enough for Cleis Press), for which I’ve received a good many submissions, and am happily accepting more until February 15th (see below or my call at Erotica Readers and Writers Association).  I need to write my own story for that as well.

I’m also dealing with life issues, bumps in the road with my daughter, her situation and the school system, but nothing I’m not used to and certainly nothing I can’t handle.

Whatever, whoever, whenever, bring it on.

“…and when have I ever wanted to talk about it?”

The line is one of my favorites from Samantha in the Sex and the City movie.  I know, I’m all typical, but I keep thinking about it as I’m pushing life issues as far as possible from my mind and concentrating on my writing.  After finishing up a story just this morning, that makes four fresh, new short story submissions within the last three weeks.

And I haven’t been fretting over them or checking my email every five seconds.  I’m just writing them, sending them away and then working on the next project.  How many times have I said that writing is therapeutic for me?  And I’m not even the writer who takes the real life bad guy, put him in the story and kill him off.  No, I’ve been writing happy things and these things have, in turn, been making me happy.

Somebody has to have a happy ending, it may as well be my characters, eh?

The Christmas shopping is slow going, but that’s because (thankfully) the children aren’t asking for much this year.  They’re getting older now and are more excited at the thought of spending time with family which I’m supremely thankful for because I truly hate the gifting part of the Christmas holiday.  I won’t hop on that soapbox, though.

But yes, writing, loving it, sleeping well and feeling more at peace than I have in a long, long while.

Every Day I’m Thankful…

…for my children, husband, dog, turtle, extended family (even the ones who get on my nerves) and friends I’ve met in the craziest ways (I met one of my besties via Twitter over a year ago) and editors who continue to publish me and even take the time to mentor and encourage me and readers who like my stuff enough to reach out and even those who read and enjoy my stories and I never know anything about it.

But…I’ve got a feeling that today, I’m supposed to be especially mushy about it 😉 so…

I am especially thankful this year and on this day for two children, who I struggled even at my young age to conceive and to carry, who continue to thrive despite numerous challenges, a daughter who, even with ASD, asks for hug after hug and kiss after kiss and comes into my room to tell me she loves me about one hundred times a day.  I am especially thankful for a son who is standing next to me right now reading from a Batman Comic Book after having not spoken a word until he was two years old.

I am thankful for a family physician who, after numerous hospital and specialist visits, had the experience and foresight to test me for Lyme Disease when he out of everyone else recognized the symptoms, when I was ready to just shoot myself to end the misery.  And on that note, I am thankfuly for a boss who left work to come and take me on one of those hospital trips.

I am thankful for a mom to argue with but also have beers and laugh with, a husband who knows and excepts all my flaws.  I am eternally thankful for the ability to continue to do what I love after all these years.

I am certainly thankful for the opportunity to edit my first anthology and to keep coming up with new ideas.

I am thankful, I am, everyday, and always.

Happy Thanksgiving.

Love, Tenille