Relationship Posts: Which kind of couple are you?

No doubt we're in the social media age. It's so easy to post stuff, track stuff, be able to communicate with people that you never would be able to twenty years ago, and spread information with the click of a button.

In a lot of areas, this is a great thing. If you're running a business or representing a cause, or just want to get the word out about something, social media makes it incredibly easy to do that. But when it comes to personal relationships, it also makes it easy to over-share.

Of course, this is a matter of opinion. What one person thinks is too much information might not be enough for somebody else. But just speaking generally.

Just how much of our personal relationships, namely our romantic ones, should we share with the world?

I've broken it down into three general categories:

The Lights-Out Couple - You know they're together, but you know very little about their relationship. You almost never see any pictures of them anywhere. Their social media posts consists of everything but their relationship. Sometimes on special occasions they'll post a cute couple pic or give a shout-out, but that's about it. They certainly acknowledge each other; they've got nothing to hide. They just don't care for the world to see their business.

The Teaser Couple - You'll see stuff from them here and there, only on a somewhat-steady basis. Special occasions, like an anniversary or birthday, or just something random. It's just enough to make you wanna see a little more, but you never know when that next post is gonna be.

The Timeline-Flooder Couple - "All right, we get it! You're in love or whatever!" This is the couple that posts all day, every day. Pictures, tagged quotes, GIFs...anything that will remind their followers and friends that they are boo'd up. They are proud of their relationship, and they want to share their joy with everyone. Constantly.

Certainly, what people choose to put out there is totally their prerogative. If you and your bae are on the same page when it comes to that, then go for it.

However, if most of your moments are more public than they are private, it does beg the question: What are you trying to prove? Why do your followers need to see screenshots of your lovey-dovey text conversations? We already figure you talk to each other.

Or tagging them in things on social media to ask them questions that could just as easily be done in a private message?

Or posting pictures of you two in bed, letting us all know you're about to get your groove on (or you just finished)?

Hey, I'm no prude. I love to see people in love. But there are times when I've seen posts that were almost uncomfortable to look at, just because they were so personal. For example, one time a Facebook friend posted a screenshot of him and his woman on Facetime, and it was clear she was topless. Couldn't believe my eyes.

 Look, you're grown; if you wanna get your cyber freak-on with each other, have at it. But good lord, does everybody really need to see that?

I'm sure a psychiatrist could write an entire thesis on why people do this kind of thing. Maybe they were lonely for years and are now over-compensating. Maybe they grew up in a household that's very open and shares everything, and they carry that over into their relationships. Maybe they're coming from a crappy relationship and are so thrilled to be in a good one that they just can't keep it to themselves. Who knows.

But God forbid you break up. Then what are you gonna say? Are you gonna explain why we're no longer seeing the two of you making out in front of the grocery store or are you gonna act like everything is everything? Can you handle the questions about what happened? ('Cause you know folks are gonna ask).

I don't want to be that person that turns what is meant to be a positive thing into something negative. Like I said, if you and your boo are good with posting all of your business, and you can live with whatever comes from it, then that's all that really matters. At the end of the day, everyone has a right to share as much or as little as they wish.

Speaking of sharing too much, well, it's literally in the title of my latest book, When You Share Too Much. Do you have your copy? It's on Kindle, iTunes, Kobo, and Nook. Or you can get the old-school paperback here.

I love ya for reading. Until next week!

10 Things I'm REALLY Bad At

I really believe that everyone is gifted at something. No matter how small of a thing it may seem to be, everyone has something they're better than most at. Myself included.

But there are also things that we're just really bad at. We can practice it, study it, dream about it, take classes on it. We can do that stuff all day. Doesn't matter. We stink.

So I thought I would share with you some things that I am not very good at.

1. Anything to do with math.
- I can do the basic stuff. But if you start asking me to calculate a bunch of problems in my head, you lose me. I'm good with words, not numbers.

2. Making pancakes.
- Seriously. I can just never get those darn things to come out as nice as in the pictures. And I follow those freakin' recipes to the letter.

3. Pull-ups.
- Even when I was at my strongest, I just could not do those things.

4. Writing left-handed. 
- It looks like a kindergartner wrote it.

5. Rolling my tongue. 
- That sexy thing people can do where they roll their R's? Yeah, I can't do that at all.

6. Doing splits.
- I haven't been able to do those things since I was a kid.

7. Learning a foreign language. 
- I've tried, 'cause I would love to be multilingual. But I just can't remember most of the stuff.

8. Swimming.
- I don't get mess with anything deeper than five feet. Don't even ask me.

9. Doing cornrows. 
- And I actually went to cosmetology school. How sad is that?

10. Couponing
- I have read articles, looked at that extreme couponing show, joined coupon clubs, all that. It always ends up being more effort than it's worth. I don't need a bunch of coupons for baby stuff and dog food, which is usually what I ended up with.


I could keep going but I'll end my self-deprecation there.

Is there anything you're particularly bad at? Share them. I'm not gonna laugh.

Oh, and if you want to sign up for my email list, just click right here.

I love ya for reading. Until next week!

Is your BFF giving you the side eye?

Hey y'all. Let's talk.

You might have a homegirl/BFF or best bud that you love and would do anything for. And you're certain the feeling is mutual. Why wouldn't it be? Y'all have never had any major arguments. No falling out. No peanut butter stealing.

And even better, your spouses are best friends, too. I mean, come on...you just can't ask for much better than that.

But...while you might think all is well, maybe your BFF is silently resenting you.

And it doesn't have to be on some malicious stuff, either. They might genuinely care about and love you. But maybe there are some things going on that they can't help but hate on...

- Maybe your relationship is flourishing while theirs has hit a snag. (An extra hit is if your man/woman is hotter than theirs).

- What if your career is booming while they dread going to work everyday? Or worse, what if you don't even have to work while they're counting every penny?

- Your Instagram posts get likes galore with seemingly no effort while they use every trick in the book to garner attention and get almost nowhere. (Yes, people actually get in their feelings about this).

- You're aging gracefully or can eat whatever you want and gain nothing, while even sniffing some bacon has their jeans about to pop.

- If they're constantly getting compared to you, and coming out on the inferior end.

I could keep going. But you see what I'm talking about.

You might not be doing anything wrong at all, but simply because you have something they don't, whatever it may be, they look at you funny. And if it's more than one thing, that snowball starts to build. And it just keeps rolling the more they're exposed to or reminded of it.

Before long, they're ready to explode and you never knew anything was wrong in the first place.

Why not just address it and get it out on the table, you ask? Because they know they're being petty. They know they're wrong for resenting you for stuff that's not your fault. So they keep it to themselves, hoping to just get over it or pray it away. Which doesn't always work.

In my latest release, When You Share Too Much, Anika and Chrisette were best friends. Had been for years. But over time, Anika started realizing more and more ways Chrisette seemed to best her without even trying. All the while, Chrisette thought all was hunky-dory with them.

So Anika started giving Chrisette the side eye; not really wanting but also not able to help it.

Now how long do you think a friendship can really last under those circumstances?

I'm not trying to make you paranoid about your BFF. Just saying...it can happen.

I enjoyed creating this drama for Anika and Chrisette because it's something that can totally be related to. How many movies are there centering around this very thing? Jealousy and envy are poison to friendships.

And truth be told, you just never really know what anyone is thinking.


I'd love for you to read this book because there's plenty going on besides this. It's available in paperback, Kindle, Nook, Kobo, and iTunes. Just click the links.


I love ya for reading. Until next week!

Empty Nests Are for the Birds

It's Saturday night. I have things I could/should be doing but I'm posted up on my amazing sofa, reading a new book on Kindle and half-watching a college basketball game. And ordering stuff on Amazon.

My son is next to me and a I randomly (and often) smother his still-soft cheeks with motherly kisses, which he endures with a tolerant grunt.

It takes me back to when he was a chubby-cheeked baby who would scurry away from me as I playfully chased him, my fingers wiggling as I repeated how I was gonna get him. Then I'd sweep him up in my arms and tickle him and nuzzle his neck. We'd do this ten times and every time, he'd squeal and giggle like it was an unexpected surprise. And every time my grin would be a mile wide because, hey, hearing that laugh just never gets old.

Then it was like time just started to zoom.

Now he's 15, and the days of picking him up and toting him around in my arms are long gone. He towers over me now by several inches. (He doesn't even really like taking pictures with me anymore like this; that started to phase out by age 13 or so).

He thankfully still likes my hugs. And he'll come lay on my shoulder or my leg when we're sitting around the house. But when I go overboard with the affection, he's quick to reward me with one of his signature grunts and groan "Mom!"

It's hitting me that his freshman year of high school is going to be over in a couple of months, and then he'll be a sophomore. Then a junior. Then a senior. Then he'll be graduating and going to an out-of-state college.

Oh god!!!

I'm not ready for that and I know it. The thought of him packing up his things and going someplace where I won't see him everyday bums me out, regardless of the reason for it. I'm certainly not one of those parents that can't wait for their kids to leave the house. I love having my son here. Heck, I hate when he's gone for a weekend.

*deep breath*

I know it probably sounds like I'm one of those mothers that's overly attached their sons. I'm not. Do I love my son immensely? I absolutely do. But my life doesn't revolve around him and him only. When the time comes for him to go off to college, I'll deal with it.

But I'm not gonna kid myself and act like it's going to be a piece of cake, either. I won't be dropping or sending him off one minute and planning a freedom party the next. There will be some tears. I already know.

So that just means that I'll have to try to pry him away from YouTube long enough to squeeze in as much quality time as I can before then.

I'm kinda dreading the empty nest. Who knows where I'll be by 2022. I could be in a different career (fingers crossed), in a different house, married. Or all of the above. Doesn't matter. I'll still want my son here.

But, I know he'll have to grow up and live his life at some point. He can't stay here with me forever. And hopefully he won't want to; I want him to be independent and take care of himself, and I'm preparing him to be able to do just that.

And I'll have to ask some friends and family how they dealt with the empty nest syndrome.

I'll still remember chasing him around the house and grin when I think of his cute little baby squeal when I caught him, though.

Cross This One Off the Bucket List

Usually when people talk about bucket lists, you think of things like jumping out of an airplane, traveling to some foreign country, maybe meeting some famous person, stuff like that. Me, I never really had much of a bucket list to speak of (I guess I'm boring), but if I did, this one thing would be at the top of the list:

Being a surrogate.

This is something that I've wanted to do for years. I'm not sure where or when the desire originated, but I just know that it's been something that I've wanted to do for a while. And not knowing how exactly to go about it, a few years ago I did what most people do when they want to know something: I turned to the internet. I scoured the web for information on surrogacy; the requirements, the restrictions, the tales of personal experiences. All of it fascinated me.

After being glued to my computer screen for hours, soaking up all this wonderful information, I was even more eager to get started on this beautiful experience. I found a couple of agencies and filled out their questionnaires, just sure I'd be getting some good news in the following couple of days.

But to my surprise, what I got was rejection. And I got it fairly quickly.

Both of the agencies shut me down cold. Said, basically, that I was too fat to be a surrogate (okay, what they said was that my weight was disproportionate to my height, but in my mind, same thing). My hopes dashed, I thought that my dream to be a surrogate would be nothing more than just that, unless I dropped twenty or so pounds.

Losing some weight wouldn't have hurt, but I just ended up resigning myself to the fact that it wasn't going to happen. I didn't know any other way to try to make it happen. So I painfully put it out of my mind for the next couple of years.

Then one day on Facebook, I'm participating in a discussion (I forget the topic) in this group I'm a part of and mentioned that I wanted to be a surrogate. This woman suggested I contact an agency in Atlanta that her employer works with (I forget her occupation). I thanked her profusely, but held on to the number for a while before actually calling; I didn't want to get face-palmed again once they found out how thick and juicy I was. I did look up the agency, though, and remember liking what I saw; it was a different vibe than the other ones I had looked at. Despite my trepidations, I was getting a good feeling.

So eventually, I sucked it up and called Tomorrow's Parents International. I immediately reached a super nice man named Marcus, and when I told him I was interested in becoming a surrogate, he eagerly welcomed me and let me know who I needed to talk to, and it was on from there. That began a 14-month process towards me getting pregnant with a very nice foreign couple's baby.

(Normally, it probably doesn't take that long. I had some issues along the way; fibroids and polyps required me to have a hysteroscopy, then I had to recover from that, and the first two couples that chose me decided to move on thanks to this. And plus, it's somewhat of a tedious process, anyway, just because of all the things that go into it. I'm kind of kicking myself for not documenting all of it along the way because there's no way I can remember every little step now).

In November 2017, I went down to Augusta, GA to get an embryo implanted. In December, it was confirmed that I was pregnant. It took on the first try, thankfully. I was so excited! I can't even tell y'all how happy I was.

Not only was I getting to experience pregnancy again, but I was getting to help someone who really wanted a child of their own but was unfortunately unable to carry. I think some people take for granted how easy it is for a lot of people to get pregnant; my son certainly wasn't planned. But for other women, it's not so easy. It either takes multiple tries and/or the intervention of science, or it doesn't happen at all. I can't even imagine the pain of a miscarriage, but this lady Marjorie* had endured several, the last one being almost fatal, so she couldn't even try anymore. I was actually honored that they chose me to help them with something so amazingly important to them.

The pregnancy wasn't the smoothest in the world; my first one was way easier than this one. My first trimester, in a word, sucked. The second one was a little better. By the third, I felt I had hit my stride, though I was put on bed rest...due to my age, I was considered high risk, and I was working two jobs. Had to chill out with that (which I did not have a problem with) and I got a lot of rest leading up to the induction this past August.

The delivery went fine, though it was considerably more painful than it was with my son, and that was with the epidural. But when I saw the look of sheer elation on the faces of Marjorie and John*, it didn't even matter. That was what I did it for; seeing that look on their faces when their baby girl was born made all those gut-wrenching contractions and months of discomfort before that worth it.

Now I've recovered and am back to work (yippee) (not), and I almost can't believe it's over. After the long, tedious process to even get pregnant, it seemed like the pregnancy just flew by. Marjorie and John have gone back home with their beautiful baby, and they send me pictures and keep me updated on how they're doing, which I appreciate.

One of the main questions I got throughout the pregnancy and after was if I regret doing all this, or if I wish I been able to keep her for myself. One, I couldn't have done that if I wanted to (no legal rights), and two, I established a few years ago that I don't want any more children. So I have no yearnings or baby fever or anything like that. I'm thrilled that I was able to fulfill this dream, for them and for myself.

Would I do it again? If physically able, absolutely! I actually plan to restart the whole fun process early next year when the required six month waiting period is up. And hopefully, the process will be a little more smooth this time.

But even if something does prevent me from being a surrogate again (the most likely culprit being fibroids, which just don't seem to want to go away but thankfully weren't an issue during the pregnancy), I'm thankful I got to do it this time. And I'll never forget it.

So that part of my bucket list is officially complete.





*names changed

My Top Five Funniest Moments as a Massage Therapist

Being a massage therapist is something that some people don't even know about me, but once upon a time, it was what I did full-time. And I absolutely loved it.

I got to pretty much set my own schedule doing something I actually enjoyed, take off when I wanted to, didn't have to worry about how many PTO (paid time off) hours I had, and I wore the same thing to work every day so I didn't have to go through the headache of picking out clothes every night.

But I needed something more consistent and stable (and with benefits for me and my son), so I ended up taking a regular 9-5. I still do massage therapy on the side, but there are times that I really miss it being my main thing.

There were some times, though, when it wasn't so enjoyable. Other times when it produced OMG, freak-me-out, is-this-really-happening-right-now moments. Thankfully I can laugh at them now. *smile*

So here are my top five funniest moments as a massage therapist (in no particular order):

1. When a woman's skin came off in my hands

Okay, maybe not literally...

But when I was working at a wellness center, I was giving this woman a massage...everything was going fine...then I started to feel this strange friction, like something was rubbing off as I massaged. I looked down and my palms were almost completely black.

Talk about a freak-me-out moment. The room was dim and I tried to see what the heck it was on the back of her thighs that was coming off like that, but I swear to you, it looked completely normal. Thankfully she was lying prone (face-down) at the time so she had no idea what was going on. I just subtly wiped my hands on the sheets (leaving a significant stain) and continued on with the massage. Never said anything to her about what happened.

2. The guy with the breasts

One of the requirements in massage therapy school is getting a certain number of practice hours outside of class, so I hit up a lot of family and friends asking them to be my guinea pigs.

One guy I knew from back in the day agreed to let me practice on him. I went to his house and after we did the obligatory what's-been-going-on-with-you chat, I started getting set up while he went to get ready.

When he came down, my eyes were immediately drawn to his chest. Not because he had rock-hard pecs, but because he had perkier breasts than I do. It was the last thing I was expecting, and I had to fight to avert my eyes and keep my face neutral.

But my eyes kept straying back to them all on their own. I felt like some kind of perv.

3. When they treated my massage business like some kind of escort service

So when I was still doing mobile massages, this guy calls and asked me to come over and give him a two-hour session. Cool, no problem.

Got all my stuff, drove to his house, got set up...was all ready to get started. I noticed that he didn't seem to be in any hurry to get ready, though...he was still in his work clothes, sitting around making small talk with me. When he finally did get up and leave the room, presumably to get undressed, he came back fully-clothed, with drinks, and asking if I wanted some dinner.

Long story short, I never did give him that massage; all we did was talk and eat. He just didn't want to spend the evening by himself. And he still paid my fee.

4. When a client showed up to my house unannounced

This one wasn't all that funny at the time. I can kinda chuckle at it now, I guess.

When I was building my mobile massage business, I had the brilliant idea to put an ad online. Since I didn't have a storefront and the business was mobile, there was no need to list my address on the ad. But apparently, the rep used my home address in the listing without me realizing it.

So one night, I kept getting calls from some man, asking where I was located. I told him, repeatedly, that my business was mobile; I didn't have a salon or anything. He didn't seem to believe me, though, and after a while I just started ignoring his calls. I figured that was that.

Next thing I know, a cab pulls up in my driveway. The taxi driver knocks on the door and asks if this is where BodyBliss (the name of my mobile massage business) was located. I said no, this was my home. A man in the taxi called out that this was the address on the massage listing, and I recognized his voice as the one that had called me repeatedly earlier. I just said there must have been some kind of misunderstanding (the taxi driver agreed; he said he had told the guy he thought they were in the wrong place) and they left. I closed the door, literally shaking. OMG moment.

So I don't really do the mobile massage anymore...

5. When he got naked and expected me to get naked, too

I don't remember how I met him, but this male massage therapist and I were talking about being possible massage partners...you know, someone to trade massages with once a week or so. When you're a massage therapist, having a good massage partner is golden, because we're often giving massages more than we're getting them, and our bodies need them as much as anyone's.

So we agreed that I'd come over and we'd trade massages to see if we liked each other's styles and all that. There were some immediate red flags that should have sent me running right back out the door, by my relative naivete` at the time kept me there:

Red Flag #1: As soon as I walked through the door, he was commenting on how beautiful he thought I was. When I recalled this whole incident to one of my massage instructors later, he said I should have checked him on that right then...let him know that I was there strictly as massage therapist and I should be respected as such. At the time, I just thought it was a nice compliment.

Red Flag #2: He wasted no time getting naked. Before I had even put my stuff down, he was as naked as a raw chicken, drawing the curtains. Now, massage clients wanting to get naked is nothing new and no big deal. But they're always under a sheet...I never actually see their full-on nakedness right out in the open. But dude was just walking around hanging free like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Red Flag #3: When he was giving me my massage, he insisted I remove my bra. His reasoning was that he wanted to be able to access my entire back, and he never tried anything or touched me inappropriately, but still. That kind of thing is supposed to be up to the person getting the massage...a therapist isn't supposed to insist they remove anything they're not comfortable with (heck, I've had to massage people through jeans and t-shirts before).

Red Flag #4: The sexual-sounding moaning. If you're a fan of the shows Modern Family or Friends, you might remember episodes where Claire and Monica (respectively) were doing a lot of loud moaning and talking as they were getting massaged, as if someone was sexually pleasuring them or something. Well, that was this dude. When I was massaging him (insert another red flag here, because he didn't want to use a sheet), and I was massaging his upper inner thigh as he requested (red flag...remember, he's naked) he started doing all this moaning and writhing, as if I was giving him some kind of happy ending. If you had been listening from another room, you would swear there was some fellatio going on. Definitely an Is-this-really-happening-right-now moments.

As soon as we were done, I got my stuff and got the heck out of there. Needless to say, we didn't become massage partners after that.




After doing massage in several places for several years, there are more stories I could share, but these are definitely the top five. Fun stuff, huh? LOL


I even wrote a novel about a massage therapist, but that one isn't out yet. There are several other books on my site, though, for your enjoyment. Take a look-see here.


#loveandbooks

How Playing Sims Helps My Fiction Writing

I don't really mess with many video games; back in the day I pretty much stuck to Pac-Man and Centipede. Then later on, Super Mario Brothers and Duck Hunt.

Several years ago, I started playing Sims. And I got hooked on it.

In case you don't know what I'm talking about, Sims is a simulation game where you create the people, build (or buy) their houses, get them jobs, and pretty much control everything they do.

I've probably been playing that for about 14 years now, at least. The original, Sims 2, and Sims 3. There's Sims 4 now, but I haven't played that yet because I'm so in love with Sims 3. (Well, that, and because buying a bunch of new games really isn't in the budget right now).

                                                      

Anyway, I can play this game for hours on end, for multiple days in a row. This is part of the reason why I had to limit myself and only play on certain days. It's kind of considered a reward at the end of a long week.

I'm sure people probably think that the hours and hours I spend on this game is a waste of time. And once upon a time, I might've agreed with that. But now, I no longer see it that way.

It goes without saying that in order to write fiction, (which I do), imagination is pretty necessary. One thing I've noticed is that as I'm creating these neighborhoods and these families and all of their actions, my imagination kicks into overdrive. I get to creating all kinds of backstories about where they came from and why they do what they do, and it just makes it all the more addicting for me.

It almost becomes like a soap opera.

I'll give each character motivations that exist only in my mind...create characters for a sole purpose...incite rivalries or bonds that last as long as their little Sim lives do.

One of the awesome things about the Sims 3 is that time doesn't stand still for the other households in the neighborhood while you're playing the household of the moment. They go on living without you controlling them. And I become so invested in everything that I actually take it a little personally when something doesn't go quite the way I want it to (like when a couple that I've married off splits up behind my back).

One time, three of my characters died in a meteor crash. I could have exited out, not saved it, and gone back to how it was before that, doing my best to try to avoid that same fate happening again. But I thought it would make for better storylines (in my head) if I let it be. And I got to play with an emotion that's not terribly prevalent in the Sims: grief.

(I tell you, that one actually hurt a little bit. It's amazing how ensconced I get in this. But one of the widows became a cougar after that so...fun!).

Not only is this game entertaining for me, it's also inspiring. As I'm creating all of these elaborate scenarios and storylines for these Sims, ideas for my books start to spring forward.

It could be anything, big or small. In Take One for the Team, the character Raven was named after one of my Sims. And she was a chef, which is one of the Sims professions.

The idea for a new series began to play out in my head one day when I was playing. I'm actually going to start a new neighborhood, create the characters I have in mind, and see how some things play out. (Yes, seriously).

It's like having my own little simulated minions on screen in front of me, keeping that idea mill churning.

Playing Sims could also spark an idea that's not directly from the game, but the game served as a springboard for it. (Remember, I've used a wonderful trampoline analogy for this here.)

See there? You never know where inspiration could come from.

So, while I know I can't spend hours and hours and hours playing Sims on multiple days like I used to, it's not totally pointless when I do play it. Call it research, if you want.

 And hey, whatever works, works.

You can see how Raven turned out in Take One for the Team by ordering your copy here. Kindle or paperback. Take your pick.


#Sims

My PMS Wears Brass Knuckles

Brace yourself; this might be a semi-TMI post.

I tried to tell you up front.

All right, you're still here. So basically, for whoever doesn't know, PMS is Premenstrual Syndrome. (I shouldn't assume you know that). It's those wonderful few days before a woman's monthly cycle begins where hormones are fluctuating more than a man who can't commit.

Every woman is different in what symptoms they get; the most common one you hear about is cramps. Thankfully, I no longer get those. I have the fun of having fatigue, irritability, lethargy, wanting to eat everything in sight, and tender ta-tas. Anxiety, the inability to concentrate, and depression are also frequent visitors. (I've shared about my battles with depression before; you can read that here).

And I always say that I'm gonna deal with it better next month. It's not like I don't know it's coming. But every month, that claw grabs me again and it's hard to pry myself free without a lot of torn clothing and gauges and bruises (figuratively speaking, of course).

So this month (yesterday, especially) was particularly hard for me in that I felt especially hopeless and irritated with everything. There are many things going on in my life right now that I wish would improve...some that I have control over and some that I don't, and when I'm PMSing, my reaction to them gets amplified times ten. All I wanted to do was be left alone so I could be the center of attention at my own pity party.

When my son asked what was on the agenda for the day, my response was, "Nothing. I just wanna lay here and melt."

And I tried to do that. I curled into a ball in the far corner of my comfy couch and tried to block out everything. Slept for a while. Then I went to my bedroom and tried again. Slept some more.

I don't even wanna think about how much weight I've probably gained in the last few days. Not only has my appetite been through the roof, my back has been hurting so much that I could hardly even stand up straight, so I couldn't work out for a good four days. Which only added to my frustration (and discomfort), of course.

My career seems to be on a treadmill to nowhere, and when you try and try and try and make little to no progress, you end up at 'What's the Point?' Avenue and 'Why Even Bother?' Circle. Especially when you see so many other people lapping you, seemingly effortlessly (even though it probably isn't), and you just want to yank them by the hair and sling them back a few yards to give yourself more time to catch up. (Rational thinking kind of goes out the window, too, in case you haven't picked up on that).

I seriously just thought about giving up altogether and resigning myself to a life of slightly-above-averageness.

Needless to say, this is not a fun time. And this February round of PMS has been particularly rough. It hit me so hard I feel like I'm just starting to recover from the knockout punch.

Why am I sharing all this?

We all go through tough times. It can be from PMS, or just life in general. It happens. But it's all in how you deal with it. We might get knocked down with the proverbial brass knuckles, and it might hurt like the dickens and we wonder how we'll ever get up from that, but we can. It might take some time, but we can totally recover.

I'm certainly trying to now.

I finally was able to do a short workout earlier today. My back still hurts, but not nearly as much as it was. Progress.

And afterwards, I came across this journal someone had given me a while back:

"Don't worry about anything; instead pray about everything."

That comforted me. So much to the point where I got on my knees and prayed right then. And I know that when you pray, you have to pray believing. Otherwise, you're wasting your time.

I'm definitely a believer. God always makes a way. Even when you've been knocked out for a little while and thrown off kilter.

I'll tell you what, though; those brass knuckles hurt.

My Life is a Trampoline

One thing that I get asked a lot is where I get my inspiration from.

A pretty common question for an author, I suppose.

Well, the answer to that is easy. Inspiration comes from life. My life, other people's lives...doesn't matter. Anything can spark that creative flame a'roarin'.

Take my book Not By a Long Shot, for instance. The main character, Natasha, was dumped by her boyfriend in a text message after three years. I was dumped by my boyfriend in an email after two years.

In Some Like 'em Thick, Oasis is one of the top furniture salespeople in the area. So was my father.

In It's All Right...Now, the two main characters, Monica and Ivy, are loosely based on me and my friend Charlotte, who I've been friends with since third grade. Most of the story was fabricated, but a couple of the things in the book actually happened.

The character Thurgood West in Get Right is greatly based on my pastor, Danny R. Nance. Sitting in service one Sunday morning listening to him preach is what sparked the idea for that book.

In Decisions and Consequences (the sequel to Not By a Long Shot), Sharif and Davion are pretty much a combination of my idea of the ideal man.

The idea for Take One For the Team literally came to me when I was at the gas station. I imagined meeting someone across the bays of the station, just like Van met Grant in the book.

I was riding to my aunt's house for Thanksgiving a few years ago when I got the idea for She is Me. The main character, Tonnette, is a low-key homebody, just like I am. And she honed her alter ego, Toni, in Barbados, which is a place near the top of my travel wish list.

I could keep going, but you get the idea. My own life or the things I see around me is usually the jumping off point for my stories. It can be the smallest thing, like going to the gas station. Or it can be therapeutic, in a way, like how it was dealing with the breakup from my boyfriend (getting dumped in an email is not fun...and did I mention that we were planning to get married, just like Natasha and her man had been in the book?). Writing that book was actually very healing, in a way.

Plus, when you're writing the story, you can make it turn out the way you want it to. A real-life crappy ending can become a happy ending in your story. Or vice versa, if you want to twist it like that.

Or, you could get that revenge on someone that's been clouding your brain since they wronged you.

But I digress.

My point is, when it comes to this book-writing thing, imagination definitely plays a big part, but don't underestimate what's going on in your own life...there's probably a ton of good material right under your nose. And if you have a large family or a bunch of friends or even an interesting job, then that's even better. You can get loads of inspiration just by watching other people.

Not to mention watching the news, watching movies, listening to music, reading (a writer who doesn't like to read doesn't make sense to me...it's like a babysitter who doesn't like kids).

So yeah, pay attention and I bet you'll be inspired, too. Whether it inspires you to write a book or do something else, it doesn't really matter (as long as you're not inspired to break the law or hurt somebody).

Can you just walk straight on a trampoline? The slightest bit of movement causes you to bounce a little bit, doesn't it? As long as you're living or moving, you're bouncing. And even those little bounces can be the springboard to something great.



Speaking of It's All Right...Now, you get a free PDF of that book when you subscribe to my email list on www.jessicaterry.com. You can read it and try to guess which parts are true and which parts aren't. ;)

You Don't Have to Have Sex, Just Get Out in the City

So there's one little thing about me that I'm not afraid to admit:

I can be kinda lazy at times.

I'm a bit of a homebody. Okay, that's a lie; I'm a huge homebody who is perfectly happy staying home most of the time...spending time with my son, watching movies or basketball, reading or writing, playing Sims...just minding my own business. Sometimes I don't want to do much more than just lay around on my awesome sofa. And lately I've been doing a little too much of that.

Why do I say that?

Well, I've noticed recently that my writing hasn't been flowing as it usually has; it's like there's something blocking the rush of creativity to my brain. I thought it was just your run-of-the-mill writer's block that happens from time to time, but mine usually doesn't last as long as it has this time.

It's an icy night here in Georgia and I'm up late, going through a online course on copywriting (something I've been into for a while now). I'd been at it for hours and needed a break, so I un-muted the TV and watched Sex in the City for a little while. And it was like the proverbial lightbulb finally turned on.

Carrie always got the inspiration for her column from her own life. She actually went out and lived and therefore, had plenty of material.

That was my problem.

I've been holed up way too long, and my creative garden was wilting.

I've never been one to go out that much, but occasionally I'll go to a movie or take myself out to dinner, or just go somewhere and people-watch. And I have the occasional date here and there with my boyfriend (he lives out of state, otherwise it would be more often). But in my recent desire to stay to myself, I've cut myself off from the water that will make my creative garden grow. I've even started getting my groceries delivered, since I hate grocery shopping.

Bottom line, I need to get out of the house.

Now, I'm an introvert and a loner...I don't have a group of girlfriends like Carrie did. I don't like going out on the town like she does (I'm not a fan of large crowds). I don't have a shoe fetish (though I do love me some shoes). And I certainly don't go through the men like she (and her friends) did.

But that doesn't mean I can't have my own little version of Jessica in the Smaller City.

Just that little revelation has me up at almost 3:00 in the morning writing this.

So when you find yourself stumped for stuff to write about, or doing anything that involves some kind of creativity, get up and get out. Go do something. Live. Get out in the city.

But you don't have to have sex.

Unless you just want to. That's your business.


P.S. Van finally tried something new and her life changed...whether or not it was in the best way, I'll leave that up to you. You can get your copy of my book 'Take One For the Team' here and read all about it. Feel free to let me know what you think.

#loveandbooks

Depression Chose Me Out of the Lineup

Let's talk about depression for a minute.

I'll divulge this; I went through this hard in 2015 (and last year, too, though not quite as bad). In the sake of full disclosure, I was never formally diagnosed because I was too paranoid to go to a doctor, but my homegirl was medically diagnosed with it and she said I sounded just like she was. And when I read up on it, I had most of the symptoms:

• sadness
• tiredness
• trouble focusing or concentrating
• unhappiness
• anger
• irritability
• frustration
• loss of interest in pleasurable or fun activities
• sleep issues (too much or too little)
• no energy
• craving unhealthy foods
• anxiety
• isolation
• restlessness
• worrying
• trouble thinking clearly or making decisions
• poor performance at work or school
• dropping out of activities
• guilt
• suicidal thoughts or tendencies
• pain, like headaches or muscle aches
• drug or alcohol abuse

Now thankfully, I never wanted to kill myself and I never used drugs or alcohol, but other than those, I had every symptom on this list. And I had them regularly. Every day was a different mix.

When it first started hitting me, I figured it was just some elongated form of PMS that would pass sooner or later. But it didn't. My moods would switch from irritable to down-in-the-dumps in the blink of an eye, and after a while, I knew something was wrong. I've never been one to just spontaneously burst into tears, but that's exactly what I was doing. And sooner or later, some of my family started to take notice, regardless of how much I tried to hide it. I didn't want my son to see me like that so I always tried to put my game face on around him, and also I just didn't want to answer a bunch of questions about what was wrong with me.

Truth was, I didn't know.

When my sister first got wind of the change in me, she made the comment that I was "moping" around. And I'll be honest, that pissed me off. I wasn't choosing to be depressed. Who would? No one chooses this.

It chose me.

Depression had come down on me like a heavy cloak that I couldn't shake off...I ate any and everything, gained a bunch of weight, then got even more depressed about that 'cause I couldn't stand to look at my own body. I was oversleeping for everything...work, church, whatever. Other nights I would lay up for hours, wide awake and just staring into the darkness.  I never wanted to go anywhere or do anything. Heck, I didn't have the energy to do anything. I was way more emotional than I had ever been and every day was just another twenty-four hours of going through the motions.

My life was a joke, I thought. My love life was an ever bigger joke.

I'd be stuck in two jobs I didn't particularly like forever, I thought.

I was a failure that nobody wanted, I thought.

My son was going to grow up and leave me and I'd die alone and fat and unhappy while everyone else was happy and toned and thriving. I thought.

My friend pleaded with me to go to talk to a psychiatrist, and I looked into it, but I never went. I don't know if it was laziness or denial, but I just couldn't make myself do it. I did eventually confide in my pastor, who was refreshingly empathetic and encouraging. But this wasn't something I wanted to go around broadcasting, so only my friend and my sister really knew what the real deal was (well, and my pastor). I just continued to pretend like I was fine around everyone else and then go somewhere and cry or lay down. Or both.

You know how when you're going through something or dealing with something, you tend to notice it being talked about more? It was like when I started suspecting I was pregnant; all of a sudden pregnancies and babies were all people were talking about around me. Or when I bought my Nissan Altima; I started seeing them all over the place.

Well, I started noticing depression being mentioned or talked about a lot more, and it irritated me how little empathy a lot of people have for this. Like I said before, some people foolishly think depression is something folks choose or want. Or they think it's something we're supposed to just be able to snap out of.

"Get over it," they say. "You don't have it that bad."

It's not even about that; at least it wasn't for me. True enough, sometimes it can be triggered by situations, like maybe your home burning down or losing your job or something like that, but that wasn't the case for me. I have suspicions, but I don't really know what triggered mine. But it was real. And it was serious. Everybody that knows me knows I love my son more than anything on this planet, and I didn't even want to do anything with him. I didn't want to be bothered; I didn't feel like being anybody's mother. I just wanted to be left alone. But I couldn't be, and that just made me even more frustrated.

Honestly, it was also embarrassing. I didn't want to readily admit, even to those closest to me, that I was depressed. I felt like it meant I was being ungrateful. But my homegirl helped me to realize I had nothing to be embarrassed about, and it has nothing to do with being ungrateful. It's a disorder. It's a sickness. And it could happen to anybody.

So towards the end of 2015, I tried to make some changes...I started working out again, thankfully dropping some weight. I tried to be more social and get out of the house a little more (something I've never been good at). And I met my current boyfriend, who did a lot towards boosting my self-confidence and esteem (he didn't know about my depression until way later, though). After a while, I really thought I had conquered the bull...I had pushed that cloak off me. But it's not that easy or that quick, from what I've realized.

Yes, I'm better than I was. But I'm not over it. So many days, I'm still lethargic, still emotional, still irritable, still feeling hopeless...etc etc. It's hard (and frustrating) to accept. But I deal thanks to encouraging friends and family, and lots of prayer. I know nothing is too hard for God. But this is just my cross to bear.

I still might go see a therapist. Talking to a professional couldn't hurt. And it would certainly help to get to the root of what brought all this on.

Just need to get off my bum and go.

#loveandbooks

Pet Peeves, Gear-Grinders, and Other Random Annoyances

There is some stuff I just cannot stand.

We all have them...those things that just bug the stuffing out of us, regardless of how insignificant it may seem to somebody else. And I just felt like sharing some of mine with y'all tonight.

So in no particular order, here they are...

• Too much salt on my fries. (I HATE this; you're ruining my favorite food!)
• Getting interrupted when I talk. I already don't like to talk much as it is; let me say what I'm gonna say so I can hush.
• Having to repeat myself multiple times. With each time I just get more and more arrrgh.
• Small talk.
• People that let their children run around unsupervised in public places.
• Being volunteered for something without being asked first.
• People taking/moving/using my stuff without asking.
• Kids who don't respect their elders (more notably, parents who don't teach kids to respect their elders).
• Arrogance.
• Someone not keeping their word.
• Bad kissers.
• When a car cuts in front of me on the highway and then goes slow.
• When a car cuts in front of me at all when there's more than enough room behind me.
• Traffic.
• Cigarette smoke.
• Excessive cursing.
• Seeing women go after the other woman when their man is stepping out on them, instead of checking their men (and vice versa).
• All the dumb trades the Atlanta Hawks have made over the years (starting with Dominique in '94).
• Dirty nails. Just, ugh.
• Seeing teams automatically run down the floor when a shot goes up instead of going for the offensive rebound. (In basketball; I guess I shouldn't assume you know that).
• Too much cheese. On anything.

I think that's enough.

Now you know some more about me and I've gotten some stuff off my chest. Two birds.

That was fun...now I have to go check on my sick child then work on my latest novel, Emasculated. And I should probably eat some dinner, too.

#loveandbooks

• 
  

Wait for the click. Only you can hear it.

There comes a time...be it with jobs, relationships, whatever...that you just know when you're done.

You might know for a while that the end is coming, but you can't quite bring yourself to break away from it just yet...you still have some unfinished business, maybe, or you're not quite ready to transition to whatever the next thing may be.

It's like the athlete whose been in the league for twenty years and everyone wonders when he's gonna retire. Kobe. Tim Duncan. Kevin Garnett (can you tell I love the NBA?), and I'm sure countless other athletes in other sports...they all had long, (sometimes) successful careers. But as they got later on in those careers, there were the mumblings of 'how much longer is he gonna do this?'...'is he still effective/can he still contribute?'...or just flat-out 'when the heck is he gonna retire??'

Those athletes knew when it was time to hang it up. It's like a click; it goes off when it goes off. And nobody heard it but them. They reached a point where they just knew...it was time. And they could be at peace with it because they did things in their own time and didn't let anybody else dictate when their end should be.

Listen for that click. You'll know when you hear it.

I was in a relationship a few years back that I thought was the be all-end all...I just knew that I had hit the jackpot with him. We were planning to get married and I was on top of the world.

Then he dumped me. In an email, no less.

Needless to say, I was devastated. And it took me a long time to get over it. There were so many times that I thought that he had or would change his mind and come back to me, but I was always left with the proverbial egg on my face. (And I hate eggs).

Then one day, six or seven years after he dumped me, I heard that click. I knew that he and I were never gonna happen again.

I'll admit that over time, after I had begun dating again, I always held out hope. My mind would automatically compare every other man to him. I just knew, that one day, we would end up back together. But when I heard that click, I knew that was it. It was over. And I was fine with it because I knew that I had done everything I possibly could have done. And also, that the demise of the relationship wasn't on me. I had proven myself, pleaded my case, been patient, honest, loyal, faithful, etc...if he still didn't want me after all that, then I didn't need him.

It took years, but I finally heard that click.

Other people might try to tell you when you should be done with something, or when you should walk away, but no one can make that decision for you. No one can hear that click but you. You have to be the one to decide because, if you jump the gun too early, I can almost guarantee you'll regret it. There will be what-ifs, if-onlys, and coulda-shoulda-wouldas, and those suck. You don't want those.

Be at peace with your own decisions.

You know when you've done all you can do. You know when you've had enough. You know when you get to the point where the consequences or changes of leaving a situation are worth it. But only you know that.

That click is like turning out the light on the old stuff and knowing you're ready to move to the light of the new stuff. Don't let anybody try to push you out if you're not ready.


#loveandbooks

This is NOT the End of the World

Me again.

So I get a word-of-the-day on my Dictionary app, and the word for today was Syncretism.

"The attempted reconciliation or union of different or opposing principles, practices, or parties, as in philosophy or religion."

How fitting.

I don't have to say what happened today; we all know. It's been all over every social media site, news program, newspaper, water cooler conversation, and anywhere else it could be discussed. (Just in case you're just getting back from Mars or have been camped out under a rock, I'm referring to the presidential election results).

Now, I don't usually post about political stuff. And one of the reasons I don't is because it's so divisive. A lot of people don't seem to have the ability (or desire) to disagree cordially; there has to be name-calling, finger-pointing, degradation, and all this other unnecessary nonsense.

I don't care for that. So I stay out of it.

A few years ago, during President Obama's first term, I wrote a blog-say (blog/essay) titled 'I Don't Like Politics.' The gist of the blog-say was that I despise all the mud-slinging, diversion from the issues, and pointless minutiae that clogs most electoral campaigns. All of the hatred spewed towards President Obama, and for what reason? What has he really done to deserve that? And he's still getting it (remember the people with the President Obama mask and the noose at the University of Wisconsin football game just last month?).

And now, the same thing is happening again...and this time, it's not only towards the president-elect, a lot of it has been from the president-elect.

There is no syncretism. And there probably won't be.

You would think that things like opposing police brutality, discrimination, racism, unequal pay, etc. would be things that we could all agree on, regardless of what political party we sided with. But shockingly (or not), that's not the case.

All day on Facebook today, I've seen arguments, debates, calls for action, prayers, long soliloquies about how we're now doomed, and everything else. And while I am certainly not happy about how the election turned out...I'm kinda over it.

I voted. The person I voted for didn't win. It is what it is. That's not to say I don't care, 'cause I do. I'm in this country. But I simply choose to expend my energy on things I can control, and that's raising my son, writing my books, building my business, expanding my knowledge, and living my life as I was before last night.

My trust is in God, not the president. Regardless of who it may be.

So no, we probably won't have syncretism any time soon. People seem to be more divided than ever, and the divide will probably widen before it narrows. But, in my opinion at least, this is not the end of the world. We've survived a lot of things in this country, and we will survive this.

Until next time...

#lovewords

13-Year-Old Cold Water

I spent a wonderful few days down in Delray Beach, Florida this past week. It was more business than personal, but since I don't get many vacations...hey, two birds.

It was a long nine-hour drive from Georgia. Endless stretches of highway with nothing to keep me company but a few CDs, my own imagination (I'm sure I'm not the only person that talks to themselves when they're alone in the car) and the fun of trying to find a decent radio station when the local one faded out. I kind of regretted not renewing my satellite radio subscription.

Anyway, I made it down there safe and sound...my room wasn't ready when I got there, but thankfully it was just in time for me to throw on some more decent clothes for registration. I didn't know a soul. And I am usually not very good in situations where I don't know anyone. I'm quiet enough as it is, but put me around a bunch of strangers and I'm as withdrawn as a mouse avoiding the broom.

But the wonderful people at AWAI (American Writer's & Artists Inc.) and all of the attendees were awesome. I've never met a more kind, genuine, welcoming, invested, generous group of people. We were there for a copywriting bootcamp, and that's exactly what it was. We hit the ground running and had pretty much 12-hour days until everything wrapped on Saturday. Three-and-a-half days of constant learning.

I loved every minute of it, though.

Finally, I'm feeling like I'm on the path towards making some much-needed changes in my life. Stress has had a chokehold on me and I felt it loosening with every day that passed. And by the time I headed back home on Sunday morning, I felt so full of energy; my mind was churning and burning with ideas and plans and strategies the whole way back. It was thrilling.

I felt so alive...so invigorated...so inspired. Nothing was going to stop me from really making a move towards the kind of life I wanted. I couldn't wait to get home and really get the ball rolling. Nothing was going to get in my way!

And the first obstacle I got to tackle when I got home?

"So, Mom, what's for dinner?"

Seriously.

Talk about a splash of cold water in the face. I mean...he's chilling on the couch when I walk in and mind you, there were other people here that he could have gotten dinner from. But of course, I was the only one who could pull up an app and order a pizza, 'cause that's all I did. I hadn't even taken my shoes off yet, much less unpacked or gotten the creases out of my body from being in the car so long.

And may I add that the apartment was in a little bit of a mess. And he's just sitting on his phone in the middle of it like it's nirvana.

That was a little bit of a sail-sucker (and, it kinda pissed me off a little bit). But what can you do? He's 13. All he cares about is basketball and pizza. The order depends on the day.

So now, I've shaken that cold water off and dove back in. Updating my LinkedIn profile, doing research, outlining everything I was thinking about on the drive home. I should be asleep because I do start the 9-5 in a matter of hours but I'm pumped. Progress is addictive.

And anyway, Mr. Cold Water is the main reason I'm doing all of this. :)

Take that Mental Rest Day. Or Week.

Hey y'all! I'm just getting home from work and wanted to be sure I got this out tonight, especially since I didn't post one last week.

Which is an excellent lead-in to what I'm going to talk about today.

Last week I took a much-needed and much-valued vacation down in Florida. It was four wonderful days of doing absolutely nothing; no work, no working out, no studying, no writing or reading...nothing. I literally laid around, sleeping and watching television, while my wonderful boyfriend brought me food and encouraged my laziness. It was heaven.

Yeah, I took my laptop with me, with the intention of using it for nothing more than watching Modern Family DVDs or playing Sims. But I didn't even do that. Never even took it out of the bag.

I already know I'm not the only one that has a lot on their plate; I'm a single mother (divorced), I work two jobs, I write books, I'm currently studying and honing my skills in copywriting, and I still do massage therapy whenever it's requested of me. This is all among whatever else may come up (including having a son that plays AAU basketball, so that means practices three times a week and games that take up a good chunk of the weekend). So time to just sit around doing nothing is at a premium. Heck, I have to take a day off if I wanna sleep in...I work six days a week, my only off day being Sunday, and I get up then to go to church. I know there are people who probably have more to deal with but heck, this is my batch and it's enough.

So needless to say, I needed a little break. As we all do from time to time. My mind and body needed rest and I took it. At the last minute I had put the outline for the novel I'm currently working on into my laptop bag, but that was an unnecessary and wasted formality; as I mentioned, I never used my laptop at all. The bag stayed in the same spot against the wall the entire time I was there.

I had already planned to not do much the day after I got there, anyway; I was going to sleep in and just relax. But I figured after that, I would at least go to the hotel gym and get a workout in. An hour a day, tops. But nope. I couldn't make myself get up and it didn't take long for me to give up trying to make myself get up. It's not like I get many vacations like that so I was going to take full advantage of it. And I did.

After four luxurious days of lounging, it was time to come back home and get back to the regularly scheduled program. And while it would have been nice to have a couple more days down there, I felt grateful and refreshed and rejuvenated, and anxious to get back to my studies and my writing. I could come at things that I had been kind of stumped on with a clear and renewed mind. That time away from it just made me all the more excited to get back to it, when it came time to. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, and all that.

So many people are stuck on this go-go-go, gotta stay moving, I'll sleep when I'm dead mentality (don't even get me started on that). And while it's certainly great to stay productive, we all need to rest sometimes. We need to give our minds and our bodies a break. Some people don't need as long a break as others; mine was four days...some people might only need one. Or even just a few hours. But it's necessary. We can only rely on coffee and Red Bull and 5 Hour Energy (or in my case, Crunk Juice) for so long before even those things become ineffective. Eventually, your body will take the rest it needs on its own.

I know what I'm talking about with this. Back when I was in massage therapy school, I got to where I was doing so much and not getting enough rest that it eventually caught up to me...I was working a full-time job, going to school at night and on the weekends, working in the massage clinic every possible day that I could (I was determined to be the first one in my class to finish all my required hours), not to mention still writing. And of course, I had my son and whatever else that was going on at the time. And when I tell you I eventually crashed, I mean it. My body just shut down and I went into this coma-like sleep for two days. So I certainly learned my lesson about trying to do too much; when I need rest, I take it.

I hope you do, too. You don't have be a total bum about it like I was last week, but allow yourself to chill out sometimes; it's good for you.


Now, I have a presentation to work on...I appreciate you!

#loveandbooks

Some Like 'em Thick. Yes, Really.

Hey y'all! It's been a great week; been getting a lot of things done and trying to make some moves. Being productive is awesome. :)

So anyway...the other day when I was at my night job, a lady I was helping at the front desk asked me if I was a writer after she saw my handwriting. When I said yes, she asked what I wrote, and when I replied that I wrote fiction novels, she asked for the names of them.

Here comes the automatic smirk.

The first book I put out was in 2008 and the title is one that always brings chuckles, confusion, or questions (or a mix of all three). And the first question they almost always ask is "What in the world...what does that mean??"

Some Like 'em Thick.

Most people think it's some kind of sexual reference. It's not, but I get it. Especially since the cover is a picture of a red-lipped woman pushing a bunch of peppermints into her mouth. My mother considers this risqué.

The picture was one I chose after looking through literally hundreds of photos, and I figured it would draw attention (and it does). But the title is nothing sexual at all. It doesn't have anything to do with a certain part of the male anatomy, which is most people's guess.

The 'thick' is referring to woman's physiques.

I actually thought of the title before I thought of anything else. I don't remember what was doing or if anything in particular triggered it, but I remember it just popping into my head and thinking, "Hmm...that would make a great book title." Then the storyline just formed all on it's own after that.

The book centers around three women; Oasis, a sharp-tongued vegan who secretly considers lipo...Salvatrice, an insecure divorcee who has not been able to lose all the weight she gained during her marriage despite all the diets and weight loss gadgets she's tried...and Irie, the eccentric who is liable to say (and eat) anything and is afraid of spending the rest of her life alone.

The story deals with their various struggles stemming from their weight and how their issues are really self-inflicted and all in their heads. They're just fine the way they are, even if they do have cellulite or a little jiggle in their thighs. Self-esteem was their issue, not their weight.

It was pretty easy to relate to this seeing as how I had this very issue up until a few years ago. Heck, if I'm honest, I still have my moments. My body is far from perfect but the men seem to like the thickness...but more importantly, I like the thickness. Meat on my bones is a must; I have absolutely no desire to be skinny.

So yeah, that's where the title came from. And just like I figured it would, it got people talking. Mission accomplished.

So for all the folks that need to get their minds out of the gutter...LOL


I've got to get off of here so I can at least try to get to bed at a decent hour, for once. Until next week...

#loveandbooks

Just Write! It's Not Rocket Science...or Math!

Hey y'all! So...yeah, I know I've been a little lax when it comes to posting but I've made it my mini-life mission to get back on schedule. And I'm gonna do it, so get used to me. lol

I have been working on my latest novel, though, and whenever I mention that to someone who maybe doesn't know I do that or hasn't heard about my books or something, they either marvel over how I can sit and write a whole book (some have actually thought I wrote one in a single day) or that they've been wanting to write one themselves and just haven't gotten around to it yet:

"I've been kicking this story around in my head for years but just don't know how to get started writing it."

"With everything I've been through, my life would make a bestselling book. But I have no idea how to do it."

"You oughta write a book about me, or base one of your characters on me. I'd do it myself but, I don't know how to write a book."

I have the same response for all of 'em: JUST WRITE IT.

Seriously. And this isn't me being sarcastic (although some have thought I was). A lot of people think that writing a book is some big, astronomical undertaking that you have to have some kind of special innate talent and skill set to accomplish. That only certain people can write while everyone else is regaled to the land of 'I wish I could.'

They are so, so wrong.

Now, I'm not saying that it's just the easiest thing in the world to write a book. I'm not saying that it doesn't take any skill or creative ability to do this. Writing a book takes time and a lot of patience, which is something that a lot of people don't have, or just choose not to use on this. Please don't think I'm diminishing what I do because I'm definitely not. But you also don't have to be John Grisham or Terry McMillan to produce a good book, if that's what you really want to do. It might not come as easily to you as it might to others, but you can definitely do it.

JUST WRITE IT.

For real. Get your pen and your paper, (or your tablet or your laptop, if that's too old-school for you), and just start writing. Get your ideas and stuff down on paper. Organize how you want those ideas to flow in the book. Then just start writing the book itself. You might think I'm making it sound too simplistic, but I'm not...it really can be just as simple as that. Because one thing that people don't realize is that just because you write it down the first time doesn't mean that's how it has to stay; you can always edit it and fix it later. And trust me, you will. Just get what's in your mind out. And go ahead and get it in your head now that the first draft of just about anything is crap. Re-writing and editing are par for the course and to be expected. But you have to have something to re-write and edit so....

JUST WRITE IT.

Once you get going, it gets easier. I often tell people the best way to get better at writing is to just write. Just like with anything else; the more you do it, the better you get at it. (Reading is also a great teacher, FYI). Whatever your goal is with what you're trying to write; if it's just a personal goal of yours that you have no intentions of showing anyone else, or if you're actually trying to get it published and make money off of it, it doesn't matter...you're never going to get anywhere if you don't start somewhere.

Do you think Kristi Yamaguchi never fell on the ice when she first started ice skating? Do you think Steph Curry came out of the womb shooting 3's? Do you think Bobby Flay didn't burn dishes or slice his fingers or mess up recipes when he began cooking? Think Tyra Banks never messed up on the catwalk?

Of course she did. But now she's one of the world's most successful supermodels and has parlayed that into all kinds of opportunities. Bobby Flay cooked for the president and has multiple successful restaurants and, like, a thousand cooking shows on Food Network and the Cooking Channel. Steph Curry is shooting jumpers from halfcourt like they're layups, and making a bunch of 'em...not to mention being a league MVP and world champion. And how many championships and medals has Kristi Yamaguchi won? A bunch.

Because they all stuck with it.

I look back at things I wrote years ago and see how far I've come as a writer. And with the books that I have out now, I couldn't even tell you how many edits and re-writes and tweaks had to be done before I was finally and fully satisfied enough to put it out there. And as the author, you're still probably going to be extra-nitpicky and think that there's always something you could have done better or changed or whatever. Our books become our babies. But hey, it's all good...this is a journey and you get better with every step you take. Just remember what you did and try to improve upon it in your next book, if you choose to do another one. It's not going to be perfect right out of the gate, so don't even put that kind of pressure on yourself.

JUST WRITE IT.

I can't say it enough.

Sure, you can always get a ghostwriter and just tell someone else what to write instead of doing it yourself. You could always just ignore that ever-present itch you have to get your story out of your head and onto the paper, telling yourself that you don't have time to write any book or you wouldn't be any good at it anyway or nobody would want to read anything you wrote, or whatever other excuse you use to talk yourself out of it. Or you could...say it with me...

JUST WRITE IT.

I tell you, there is nothing like the feeling of finishing. Knowing you completed something you set your mind to doing. Even more so when it's something you really didn't believe you could do, or that other people doubted you could do. You'd be surprised; you're better than you think you are at this.

So unless the whole 'I really want to write a book one day' is just something that you say when you hear someone is an author or when someone raves about a book they've read, stop wasting time and get to it. Don't make it harder than it is. Just do it. I promise you'll be glad you did.


Until next week, y'all!

#loveandbooks

I Love Valentine's Day

I know it's been so long since I've posted, and I'm awful. I'm a procrastinator. This has been on my calendar every week but in my astounding genius, I didn't set an actual reminder so it oftentimes went unnoticed. But I'm going to do better!

So anyway, Valentine's Day is coming up in a few days. Now, I don't have a man or anything, but I'm still looking forward to it. I'm a big romantic sap so even without a boyfriend, the day is awesome for me. I just love to celebrate love. And yes, that should be done every day, dah dah dah...I get it. But in my opinion, there's nothing wrong with having a designated day to highlight it. I give thanks and am thankful for things all year but I still acknowledge and love Thanksgiving. People seem to be on a mission to down Valentine's Day, for whatever reason. I don't know if it's out of loneliness or just an innate negativity or bitterness or what, but it's sad to me. Just chill the heck out. It is what you make it.

So, my son and I have established our own little tradition of what we call Chicken and Chocolate (which always draws strange looks from people when they hear it. LOL). There's not much to it, really...we get some Popeye's, go to Walgreen's or wherever and each get whichever kind of chocolate we like, then we come home and watch the NBA All-Star festivities, which always seem to fall during this time. That's it. We just enjoy that time together pigging out and watching a game we both love. I'm enjoying this while it lasts because my son is 12 and I know it's only a matter of time before he doesn't want to hang out with me so much anymore...his Valentine's Days will be occupied with his *gulp* girlfriend. I'm not in a big hurry for that.

In other things, I'm really looking forward to my seventh book, Backtalk, coming out. I've been excited about this one ever since the idea started budding in my brain. And I have other plans for this story, also. This is a really exciting time...I just love being creative. One of the best things about being an author is that you get to make everything up and it can end any way you want it to. And I happen to dig that since I have next to no control over anything else.

So I'm going to be doing a lot better about getting this out on a more regular basis from here on out. Pinky swear. Today's is kind of short just because I'm in the middle of several things at once (I'm actually on a conference call right now...shhhh). I hope y'all have an awesome Valentine's Day...get some kisses, get some hugs, eat some candy or whatever. It's a day of love, even if you're just loving on yourself. Heck, take yourself out; treat yourself to something. I know I've done it plenty of times. There's absolutely nothing wrong with that. :)

Late-Night Musings

It's two in the morning and I'm perched on the often-unused end of my wonderful couch, mindlessly watching Food Network and trying to ignore the rumbling in my stomach (which means I'm probably watching the wrong channel...just turned to Frasier). I know part of the reason is because I fell asleep when I got home and got up around three hours ago. But the biggest part is because I just can't seem to get my mind to stop jumping.

It has been an interesting last few days. I'm doing a 20 day Full Body Cleanse and my diet is limited to raw fruits, vegetables and nuts, basically (and a whole lot of herbs). I wanted to do it because I've been feeling rather whale-ish lately thanks to stress-eating everything in sight and not caring, and I do feel better, but I miss seafood and sweets and other delicious things. Someone offered me hash browns today at work and I had to decline. Then someone else came around with chocolate cake. Twice. It's like I'm wearing a sign.

So...I'm a little on edge about that. I've been digging into Pinterest looking for more recipes that fit into these guidelines so I won't get bored. I can only have so much salad.

In other news...I'm anxiously awaiting the release of my next book, Take One For the Team. I'm so excited...it's always thrilling putting out another work. I'm already working on the sequel. Check out the synopsis:

.....................................................................................................................................................................

Van Roseland is a single mother who doesn't know what it feels like to relax, thanks to a set of twins and mountain of debt given to her by her deceased fiancé. Her boyfriend Joe is a hardworking, loving man who is perfect in just about every way...except financially. Thanks to his spiteful ex, he's unable to contribute as much as either he or Van would like him to. And Van starts wondering more and more if love is enough.

Grant McCallister has always been more successful in business than he's been in his personal life. He's preferred to just remain alone rather than deal with women who only want him for his millions. But after a chance meeting with Van, he begins to think he's finally found what he's been waiting for and resorts to somewhat shady tactics to get close to her, believing she's worth it.

Before too long, Van is on a roller coaster of emotions as her feelings and attraction for Grant deepen that has her questioning everything, especially her own personal morals. Some of her closest relationships are tested and after a while, Van has no idea what she's doing. She loves her some Joe, but she can't help wanting a better life for her children...

 .....................................................................................................................................................................

Love or money...classic. :)


Aside from that, it's been kind of a rough week but I'm trying to deal with it best I can. I try to keep in mind that things could always be a lot worse and there are people with way bigger and more serious problems than I've got. I'll admit that doesn't always do the trick but it usually does.

I'm wide awake but I'm suddenly overcome with the urge to just sit here with a can of cashews while watching something that will hopefully make me laugh.