Saturday’s With Sir Poops-A-Lot: No-No’s Bedroom

I almost didn’t get up this morning. I fell asleep too late last night. Stayed up and watched zombie movies with No-No. Munched on left over pizza crust. Listened to her chat with her boyfriend on her cell phone, too. Mummsy calls him the ‘Sausage’. He’s the reason why No-No’s ribs pop out of place now. Wonder why, too?

I think the hair ball and I followed her upstairs around two in the morning to her room. Her room is great. Mummsy and Daddy-O says it’s a dirty mess for someone who’s suppose to be an adult---what’s an adult? Anyway, don’t know why? It looks perfect to me. There’s stuff everywhere.

Her room is better than Mummy’s hamper. It’s where I get to watch my stupid-hair-ball-brother eat panties and other things like Tampons---told you he’s stupid. There’s always a feast there waiting to happen.

Unlike him, I prefer pilfering through the candy wrappers, chip bags, and empty yogurt containers---fine cuisine. Sometimes I’ll find a plate of morsels behind or on top her bed. Sometimes it’ll be under a pile of clothes. Going to her room is a treasure hunt. A great big glorious hamper along with an all-you-can-eat buffet.

Mummsy says she gets anxiety attacks when she enters it. Daddy-O enters with a big black garbage bag and throws buffet items away. What a waste, too, because I’ll eat it. I like my food to sit for a while and marinate in its juices. Or have it dried to a plate. I can lick and lick and lick. I’m the best plate licker in the world. I’ve had plenty of practice taking care of dishes after mummsy and daddy- o finish their meals.

Oh, well…at least I still get to lounge in her clothes. They’re everywhere. There’s a well scented sock in every corner. My favorite. I like to gather all her socks into a pile and plop right into the middle of them. I take a deep breath in and breathe in their wonderful smell. It’s heaven.

I also like the fact that she sleeps sometimes until noon. Oh, it’s wonderful. Hair ball and I sometimes snuggle around her.

I don’t understand why my parents get upset with her.

Does anyone understand why?

Very truly yours,

Sir Poops-A-Lot

Don’t Mess With the Bunny Rabbit

Wasn’t going to post this morning but I had another strange dream. Went to bed with a sinus migraine. The little spring fairies and gnomes flew into my sinus cavities in the beginning of the week. They’ve been sprinkling their magic dust throughout them. Nice little fairies and gnomes. Evil really. The pollen count in Florida is at eleven percent.

When I came home from work last night, I iced my hand and elbow. Applied some moist heat and downed about twenty-four ounces of water. The last thing I read was a blog on a demented Elmo. I’ll never see that cute little guy the same ever again.

On with the point of my blog….

Upon waking, I dreamed of a snake and bunny fight. Something told me to Google such and I did. Wow! Look what I found.

Yup. Don’t mess with sweet, innocent bunnies, snakes. They’re tougher than you think. Real bad arses they are.

You all have a great day, and turn the tables on the snakes in your life today.

Happy blogging, reading, and writing!!!!

Shelly

P.S. Save a library!

A Vision Board, Mrs. Potato Head, and an RV

The other day I happened along someone’s blog. They wrote about vision boards. What the heck is one of those you might ask? Well, it’s a picture board of things you’d like to manifest in your life.

Today I’ll start collecting pictures of those things, little seeds of faith to paste on my vision board. Maybe I’ll get some glitter pens, too.  I love glitter pens.

Hmmm….What will I put on my vision board?

First, the word forgiveness with a picture of my daughters. Everyone needs that. Especially, if they have crazy family members around them. Not that my daughters are crazy but they do a lot of fighting. Mostly verbal. Sometimes physical from what I hear. It’s like listening to the Jerry Springer show.

Second, a wedding picture of my hubby and me. Just want to stay married. Don’t want to get another phone call in the middle of the night. Just taking precautions. That’s all.

Third, a picture of health. Yup. I’ve got health issues. Tennis elbow. Strained tendon. Adrenal fatigue. Prone to allergies and migraines. I’m a mess. I’m usually scented with Vicks and Bio Freeze. A lovely combination. A box of tissues go where ever I go. I often have thoughts of being Mrs. Potato Head where I can remove and replace body parts when the old ones wear out.

Fourth, a statement of some kind stating I’m published along with a paycheck.

Fifth, a million dollars. A picture or a word will do for now.

Sixth, a picture of an RV. There’s so many places I haven’t seen in the U.S.

Seventh, a picture of Paris, Spain, Germany, Italy,  and Greece. These are places I’d like to visit out of the U.S.

There’s probably more stuff I’ll cram on my board but that’s all I can think of for now. Not to mention, I’ll have to put an invisible force field around it to keep my anal retentive sweetman from throwing it away.

What’s your vision for your future?

That’s all for now folks!

Happy blogging, reading, and writing!

Shelly

P.S. Save a library!

Murder on the Beach, a Nose Picker, and Manipulative Corporate Hounds

 

I’ll start with some good news first. There’s been a change in date and price to

James Swain’s e-publishing seminar. Here’s the following:

The e-publishing seminar at Murder on the Beach Bookstore has been changed to Saturday March 19 at 1-5 pm.
Cost is $99.

Flying monkeys move on…

Shelly’s in a rare mood today. It’s a bad one. Unusual for her. Monday night I received a call from the managing dwarf of the salon. “I need you to come in tomorrow at one. Since I won’t be getting a day off this week, I’d like to get half a day off. So I really need you to come in. And…..blah…blah….”

Yeah. Right. (Mentally Shelly is standing with her hands on her hips by now with her eyes glazing over.)

You see, this past weekend stylists were told that all of us would be working six days this week because of some unforeseen shop drama. Wasn’t happy about it but okay. I prefer being warned, and did notice the schedule change noted such. Everyone would be working six days. The manager seven (she makes much better pay than me). No problem. Got to be fair.

So, I go in yesterday at one. I notice the schedule. The managing dwarf manipulated the schedule along with the her assistant monkey down to five days. It irks me. Don’t like being lied to or manipulated. I’ve got a writing life to attend to.

Not to mention, them holes I wrote about several posts ago, are more like empty water dams and valleys. Those are my real concerns even though, yes, I need a paycheck. All seven dollars and fifty cents an hour of it---shift manager pay.

I wished I didn’t have to bite my tongue. Wished I could be like the guy driving next to me yesterday on the way to the slave pit. Found him with his finger straight up his nose. He bored into it good. Twisted it a couple times, too. Thought maybe he was trying to pick at his brain instead of trying to retrieve a booger the way he was going at it. He didn’t seem to care if anyone watched him.

When he finished boring into his nose, he flicked what he’d found into the air. Boogers for all.

That’s right boogers to all corporate hounds. That’s what I’d like to say. Boogers to you!

But I’ll be nice. I do have my own pocket full of sunshine.

Anyway, I know some of my hair clients keep up with my blogs. So I wanted to say, you all make my job great. You all rock. Thank you!

And to the rest of you, happy blogging, reading, and writing!!!

Shelly

P.S. Save a library!!!!

What a Wonderful World

Despite all the bad news like storms, earthquakes, wars, rumor of wars, unrest, unemployment, government shut downs---- Really? Oh, please. And, whatever is going on in our own personal worlds family feuds, overworked and under paid, grammar issues, plot issues, getting published issues….remember this:

The world is what we make it.

Happy blogging, reading, and writing!!!

Shelly

P.S. Remember to save a library!

Blog Hopping and the Technologically Challenged

What in the world does it mean to ‘grab my button’? I know it’s not anything like ‘grab my arse’. Yup. That’s right. I’m technologically challenged. OMG. When I visit other blog hoppers blogs I see these buttons. Lots of buttons. Flashing buttons. Pretty buttons. Sometimes scary buttons.

Under each little picture-grab-my-button-things there’s a box filled with computer chatter. What the frig am I supposed to do? I haven’t a clue. Tried clicking on the button to save as picture. Doesn’t work. What am I doing wrong?

Yup. I ‘m doing that blog hopping thing. OMG. It’s making my eye-brains cross and my head itch.

Wednesday I signed up with Blog Frog. Filled in the information form. Gave my e-mail and a password to sign in. By Thursday I’d gotten at least twenty or so BFFs to follow me. All I had to do was click on the ‘Follow’ button below their pictures. OMG. Couldn’t do that without signing in. Tried to sign in but it wouldn’t let me. Tried signing in twenty times and IT. WOULDN’T. LET. ME.

So I thought, I’ll sign in under Facebook. Now I’ve got two accounts. OMG.

Somebody HELP ME! My brain is melting or, it’s already melted.                  .

Anyway, happy blogging, reading, and writing!!!

Shelly

P.S. Save a library!

The Great White Watery Abyss of Torture: Sir Poops-A-Lot

I must write this before mummsy and daddy-o awake from their slumber. And, my little brother comes galloping down the stairs. He ruins everything. Stupid little hair ball. Don’t know why mummsy insisted in bringing him home for me.

Anyway, onto my story.

Monday, I was sitting on my favorite chair besides mummsy. She was typing away on her keyboards muttering to herself as usual. Every now and then she’d look at me and ask my opinion on something. I’m the smartest between me and the hair ball. One can’t be too intelligent when they roll in dirt and eat mummsy’s panties. The little creature has no taste in fine cuisine.

Back to Monday. I proceeded to answer mummsy’s question. I speak telepathic, you know. She must’ve been happy with my answer because she scooped me up into her arms and kissed the top of my head ( I like it when she does that ). After a few kisses, her sniffer got stuck on the top my head. “You smell like a dirty sock hamper,” she said.

The dirty part insulted me so I wiggled myself free from her arms and went immediately to my house. Socks? Hamper? I love those things. They smell delicious. Dirty, I’m not. Cute and fluffy, I am. Hmmf…

“You need a bath,” she said.

I left my house after I heard those horrible words and retreated to the dining room, then to the living room, and then to No-No’s room looking for a safe place to hide. By then, my bones shook. They rattle loud. I thought about using the toity but that’s where the great white abyss of watery torture abides. It’s mouth is always open, waiting for me.

The little hair ball laughed at me. Torture him, I thought. He’s the dirty little beast. Not me.

After a good thirty minutes of running and hiding, mummsy caught up with me.

Hair ball laughed again and called out, “Pansy-carrot-eater!”  What’s wrong with carrots? They’re good for you, and I love them. He’s a beast, I tell you. A  little beast.  Don’t know why mummsy brought him home for me.

She picked me up and did one of those ‘ha-ha-ha’ and ‘I’ve got you now, my little pretty’. I hate that when she does this. It makes me shake more.

When we got into the room of torture, she closed the door. It sealed my fate. No way out after that.

After, she set me on the floor and grabbed my brush. Now this, I like. Especially on my belly, I melt into the floor, loosing all control to this wonderful instrument. I could lay there all day and let those sensuous bristles pull at my hairs. It gives me chills when I think about it. But at the same time it’s terrible. It’s deceptive, making me think all will be well, putting me into a state of ecstasy only to be dropped into a pit of watery torture. It’s like the last meal before you’re executed.

Once I’m inside that thing, she chains me to it. Dumps water on my cute little head. Scrubs my face with some white soapy thing and pulls at the hairs around my eyes. Next, she pulls out a blue bottle of smelly stuff that reads: Essential Oils. She squirts it all over me and scrubs me with this brush-thing. All the while telling me,’you’re going to be so pretty and smell so good’. I beg to differ. Socks and hampers smell delicious. This stuff smells like ‘bug spray’.

After, she soaps me up, hhis thing from above spits out water. It pelts my entire body. Water every where. It runs down me. Into my eyes. My mouth. My nose. I cry for help but she ignores me.

Is this what they call water-boarding? Watched a special on T.V. one night while daddy-o and I munched on pretzels. This is against all living things.

What do you think? Should I start a petition against what mummsy calls a bath?

Very Truly Yours,

Sir Poops-A-Lot

The Irresistibly Sweet Blog Award

I want to shout out a ‘Thank you’ to fellow blogger, Katrina DeLallo. She’s awarded me the, Irresistibly Sweet Blog Award.

Something I wasn’t expecting. Thank you, again, Katrina. Anyone can check her blog out at: http://katrinadelallo.blogspot.com/ .

Anyway, here’s how the award works:

1. Thank and link back to the person who gave this award.

2. Share four guilty pleasures you have.

3. Pass the award to six other sweet blogs.

My guilty pleasures:

1. Going to the Hallmark card store to read every Shoe Box Greeting.

2. A Starbuck’s Vente De-caf Americana with cream. It goes well when reading the Shoe Box Greetings.

3. An organic dark chocolate bar this goes well with the Shoe Box Greetings and the De-caf Americana.

4. A cup of Twinnings Green Jasmine tea. This calms my stomach down from too much coffee and chocolate. Like to drink it when I read other blogs, too.

Six Sweet Blogs:

1. Robert Stedman @ http://donthatehubby.blogspot.com/ 

2. Christine Grote @ http://randomthoughtsfrommidlife.wordpress.com/

3. Jodee Luna @ http://www.jodeeluna.com/

4. Patricia Herlevi @ http://pnwauthor.wordpress.com/

5. Christine Ann Lucas @ http://theblogentourage.blogspot.com/

6. Eve Gaal @ http://thedesertrocks.blogspot.com/

Once again, thank you with happy dances,hugs, and kisses, Katrina DeLallo, for the award. And, to all of you reading this blog, don’t forget to check her blog out. She’s really cool. I learn something new every time I visit.

Happy blogging, writing, and reading!!!

Shelly

P.S. A friendly reminder to save a library!!!!

Gray Hairs

One gray hair. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Well, I’ve counted at least twelve in the front. They stand straight up in the morning and salute me in the mirror. They’ve got a mind of their own and don’t follow my brown strands. They ignore the direction I comb them. They ignore the way the curling iron turns them. A conspiracy is blooming on my head.

A couple years ago I colored my hair. Red. Until one day I broke out in a horrible itchy rash. Yup. Allergic to the less toxic salon stuff. So I’m going gray. Oh, well…it’s not so bad. Really. At least I have hair and won’t be going bald from evil chemicals.

Besides, gray is beautiful. Right? It’s a part of life. Right?

 

He’s cute and gray.

 

She’s beautiful and gray. But I bet she has a line of make-up artists and hairstylists following her around. Oh…bet she’s got someone following her around with a fog machine, too, camouflaging wrinkles, you know.

 

She’s totally accepting it. I believe she still believes she’s twenty-something. Look at those long gray hairs. Wow! Wonder what she’s itching in there, too?

Have any of you accepted your grays?

Anyway, happy blogging, reading, and writing!!!

Shelly

P.S. Remember to save a library.

Paperback Writer

Today or, rather this morning, I thought I’d share a memory. When I was nine I wrote a ton of vampire stories. Every where I went I carried a pad and pencil, and wrote. If I would’ve continued I might be Stephanie Meyers instead of her being Stephanie Meyers. Something like that.

One day mom burst my bubble and to this day her whiny voice chatters some where in the back of my mind.

“No one will ever publish your stuff. What? You think you’re special? Get over yourself. You have to know people in order to become rich and famous?” Mom said.

Never said I wanted to be rich and famous, I thought. Although, it would be nice but its not necessary.

So my friends, I’ll share one of my favorite songs with you, “Paperback Writer”. I play it once a day to lift my spirits and drown out mom’s voice.

Remember to save a library!

Happy blogging, reading, and writing!!!

Shelly

Save Education and Freedom Of Speech, Soon To Be Extinct

Don’t know exactly where to begin this morning. So many things are bothering me. Especially with the country I live in. America. One by one, a freedom seems to be disappearing. Our most important ones being education and freedom of speech. They pretty much go hand in hand.

Without education you can’t have freedom of speech. The elite know this. Without resources to educate oneself, people will believe anything they’re told. I mean, look at our kids, they’re hooked up to the latest tech toys. Television. Computers. Cell phones. I-pods. How can they possibly think for themselves? They can’t. They have to be told what to do because they lack the creativity to figure anything out.

When a fifteen year old tells me they don’t know what nine times nine is, that’s scary. It’s even scarier giving them charge over a cash register. They can’t count change back the traditional way. OMG. Sometimes they can’t even count it back the easy way when the register clarifies the amount for them. Really?

It irks me when a young person tells me they don’t read because they get bored too easy. Hear it too often. My God, most of them don’t know the difference between ‘there’ and ‘their’.

When my youngest daughter attended public elementary school, the teacher allowed her to write her spelling words the way she heard them. Any effort I made in correcting this, failed. Today she can’t spell to save her life.Not to mention, reading bores her. Wonder why?

Our kids are plugged into too many machines. It’s progress they say but at the same time our kids can’t think straight or, for themselves. Do you think that maybe one day those machines will tell them how to think? Yeah, there’s a good possibility.

Listen to this:

 

Not only this, but subtly and slowly, we’re loosing our public libraries. Lack of funds, they say.Loosing our law libraries, too. Well, the books that is. The books are being replaced with Nooks, Kindles, etc. Library systems are being dominated by the cyber world.

What does this mean? Without tangible books the poor in society have less chances to better themselves. They can’t afford Nooks or Kindles.

I follower blogger, E.J. Wesley. He’s the man to follow when it comes for up to date information on e-publishing and what’s happening with regard to the machines taking over the world as we know it.

Check him out at:http://the-open-vein-ejwesley.blogspot.com/2011/02/why-do-we-need-libraries-bonus-how-to.html

As for the law libraries, no books means you are stuck with browsing West Law. Ever done that? Try it. Not so easy, my friends.Since I’m a paralegal and am certified as a West Law user, I can get through it but for the rest of you, good luck with that. And, you’ll be charged I’m sure. Need to investigate that more but I’m pretty sure there will be a fee to use it. What a great way to keep public information private.

A couple more things before I end this post. HELP SAVE A LIBRARY! Check out ALA, American Library Association: http://www.ala.org/ala/aboutala/offices/pio/campaignsal.cfm

And last, even the Martians know how valuable books are:

That’s all for now folks!!!!

Happy blogging, reading, and writing!!!!

Shelly

Feeling Dizzy

Does writing an action scene make anyone else out there dizzy? Right now the room is spinning from a car chase scene I’ve been working on since Friday. Can’t tell you how many You Tube scenes I’ve watched. Nor can I tell you how many maps I’ve scribbled trying to relate the positions of each car and semi. OMG. Woozy and nauseous. Really. I think I’m going to be sick. Whoa!

I’ll share a little bit of what I mean.

The semi behind slowed more and flashed his headlights three times. I slowed down, too, watching the length of B.J.’s semi pass me. I hoped Cynthia to be close by. She was. In the right lane.

A horn blowing “Whistle Dixie” came from out of nowhere between us. The creep and three stooges. Crap.

From the passenger side mirror reflection, Max drove. Fantabulous.

Cynthia revved the bug’s engine getting my attention, and sped ahead. The idiot pulled along side me in the middle one. I slapped my foot on the gas pedal. The back tires peeled across the pavement leaving black smoke behind.

Some how I maneuvered the car behind Cynthia’s. The creeps raced behind playing that stupid redneck horn. Oh. My. God. Really?

A horn sounded from the blue semi. It caught up driving along side the monster truck flashing its headlights again. I didn’t know what the que meant but I did see a sign warning me that an exit existed one mile ahead.

The length of the semi passed me and pulled in front of me. Okay. Now what? This made my brains itch, and I had to go pee. A possible poo, too.

“Pull into the left lane,” Gram said. “Then brake hard.” Gram braced herself for any impact. Didn’t know it might affect her spirit if I smashed up Max’s beloved car.

I did. The car spun around two times and stopped, I felt like my mom. Mom drives like this. Can’t count how many times I peed myself in her car growing up.

I looked over my shoulder. A good thing no cars were coming from behind. Well, not for miles. If mom could see me now, she’d be proud but maybe not.

I looked back ahead. The monster truck still kept pace at the end of the blue semi. One of the skanks waved their arms from the passenger side flipping me the bird. What an intelligent thing to do. Before I knew it, they did a hard brake but didn’t spin. Instead, they backed up in high speed.

“Hit the gas, child!” Gram yelled. “Move it all the way over into the right lane. That exit will be here before you know it.”

I did, barley making it to the right lane. The monster truck’s back end got about a foot from the Impala’s bumper. It looked like it could back over top of me.

“Oh. My. God.” I said. “That was close.”

“Well, it’s not over yet.”

Cynthia made it to the exit ramp. A cloud of smoke puffed out of her exhaust pipe.

Let me know if it makes sense. Did I keep it simple?

I think I need to go lay down now.

Happy blogging, reading, and writing!!!

Shelly

A Message From Sir Poops-A-Lot

I hope to paw this out before mummsy and daddy-o wake up. In this house computers are off limits to the dogs. That’s what they call my brother and I. Dogs. Sounds like a bad word or something. Don’t you think?

Anyway, I’ve got a bone to pick with my parents. Why do they insist in humiliating me (sniff..sniff)….They make me use grass, dirt, or pavement for my toity. And this morning its unbearably cold in this house. So I know its going to be freezing when they take me out this morning. How could they? What a terrible thing to do to someone they say they love. I don’t understand.

I don’t see them using grass, dirt, or pavement for their toity. Wouldn’t even dream of making daddy-o use those things. Couldn’t see him squatting over grass to do his poops. Mummsy on the other hand, might…only if she had to. She’s the practical one between the two.

But really, why can’t I use the bathroom upstairs to do my poops? They do. Must be nice to sit on that nice white bowl-thing. I get as close as I can. It’s not my fault I’m handi-capped and can’t reach it to wiggle my hiney over it.

So what do you guys think?

Very Truly Yours,

Sir Poops-A-Lot

Book Review: Hungry For Your Love

This is what’s on the back jacket (the most important stuff):

Romance ain’t dead…it’s undead. In this thrilling zombie anthology, horror fans will finally get their fill of zombie-on-zombie action, zombie-human love, and zombie smut. Because why should all the vampires have all the fun?

The book was edited by Lori Perkins. She’s the editorial director of www.Ravenousromance.com and president of L. Perkins Agency, a New York literacy agency that specializes in horror, fantasy, erotica, and pop culture. She is the author of four non-fiction books and has edited a dozen anthologies.

On with Shelly’s review:

I picked up this book for $14.99. Bought it for the love of Stacey Graham. Found it interesting. Sometimes found it hard to get into. Couldn’t imagine sweetman as a zombie. My Virginia would probably freak and completely shut down if a zombie d… entered her.

Like the little diddy above says, its about zombie-on-zombie action, zombie-human-love, and zombie smut. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, if you’re into dead decaying bodies having sex, read it. If you’re into dead decaying bodies having sex with humans, go for it. If you’re into kinky-zombie sex, hurry, get yourself a copy. Maybe your Mojo will live on, too.

My favorite anthologies involved humans getting all hot and bothered after they blew out some zombie brains or, the one only sweet zombie romance minus the sex parts. Here’s a list of my favorites:

Romance Ain’t Dead by Jeremy Wagner: This ones about a wife whose head gets bonked by a speed boat during a midnight dip. Hubby and the family doctor perform Voo-doo and bring her back as a zombie. The perfect Stepford wife for you fellas.

Eye of the Beholder by Stacey Graham: This is a sweet romance of two zombies meeting. The main character is worried about how her suitor sees her. So, so sweet.

Captive Hearts by Brian Keen: This one’s about revenge. The main character, still a human, feeds her boss’s body parts, one by one, to her quadriplegic zombie husband (employers beware…treat your employees with care).

Apocalypse as Foreplay: Loved it! Two humans get hot and bothered while battling an army of zombies.

Inhuman Resources by Jeanine McAdams: Too funny! Main character is hired only to find out she’s lunch (This is why potential employees need to interview their employers).

Last Times at Ridgemont High: A high school boy finds himself trapped in a high school with a human school teacher and a cheerleader. Everyone else has gone zombie on them while they get it on.

That wraps up my review for now. Check out my interview of Stacey Graham.

That’s all for now folks!!!

Happy blogging, reading, and writing!!

Shelly

 

Meet Author, Stacey Graham a/k/a Zombie Queen

 

I’d like to introduce ya’ll to Stacey Graham, one of the authors from “Hungry for Your Love,” a plethora of zombie romance anthologies.

Miss Stacey is a busy beaver. Mom of five daughters. Claims to being the best granola chef in the world. Ghost hunter. Writer. Funny girl. Her works on submission are the following: Zombie Dating Guide, Girl’s Ghost Hunting Guide, Zombie Tarot, de Bourgh’s Revenge, and The Haunting of Longbourn.

Was glad to catch her between ghosts, zombies, and five busy daughters at her feet. Some how I managed to get a few questions answered. 

Here we go:

Me: Since you're the Zombie Queen of love---well, you are to me---what sparked your interest to write about Undead love? Did you date a few?

Stace: It was a fluke, really. I had the opportunity to submit to an anthology for Ravenous Romance and zombies were the subject. I'd always thought that zombies had a sense of humor that you wouldn't find in those moody vampires so I gave it a whirl. That short story made it into the anthology and sparked The Zombie Dating Guide -- it's been an Undead thrill ride ever since. I've found that I'm able to get away with a lot more in the zombie realm than I would in strict romance; no one expects you play a straight romance so why not toss in a few eyeballs?

Me: What's it like to market books on Zombie Romance?

Stace: There ain't no fan like a zombie fan! Both zombie and romance readers are crazy loyal so it's been a blast to meet both markets. I've been very lucky to be welcomed into the fold on both sides by excellent authors who have shown me the ropes. Luckily the ropes didn't leave much of a mark.

Me: What are you currently working on?

Stace: I just wrapped up a Jane Austen ghost story for the Jane Austen Made Me Do It contest. I've been writing about ghosts longer than anything else so combine that with my undying affection for Austen and I couldn't pass it up. Next on the slab is a zombie short story set in NYC.

Me: Where do you see yourself in five years? Hopefully, with your skin still in tact, right?

Stace: With any luck the skin will still be there. It may be stapled but dang it, it'll be there. Let's see -- in five years I'm working toward having The Zombie Dating Guide, The Zombie Tarot and The Girls' Ghost Hunting Guide being published and on their third printing. This year will be a big one for me to get those bad boys out the door; luckily I've been having some luck snagging an editor's eye or two. Now if they'd just stop fussing about getting them back. Whatever.

Me: Since you’re the mom of five daughters how do you juggle all your mom-and-wife-stuff around your writing?

Stace: I'm fortunate that four of the girls are in school from 7:15-4:15p and be at home with a very patient four-year-old. When I'm on deadline, the girls know not to enter my Cone of Silence until I finish at least a chapter. It's always a juggling act since they're active teens but we work together well. Duct tape comes in new colors, did you hear?

Stacey is also a busy blogger. You can check out her blogs at the following:

http://staceyigraham.blogspot.com/ Betwixt and Between

http://www.anarmyofermas.com/p/meet-ermas_18.html An Army of Ermas

zombiedatingguide.blogspot.com

http://coffeehouseofthedamned.blogspot.com/

That’s all for now folks!!!!

Happy blogging, reading, and writing!!

Shelly

Holes

Yikes! I see holes everywhere. Them thar things are throughout my FW (finished work).

I’ve been going back over ‘Secondhand Shoes’. Doing the tweak. OMG. Even though it’s in the hands of an agent I’ve gotta do repairs. Hope I didn’t embarrass myself too bad. Hope this agent person isn’t thinking what an idiot I am or, where did she get her writing skills from? What did she do? Slap a sticker on herself tagging herself a ‘Writer’?

Had an audition one time for a runway show. And the whatcha-ma-call-it person in charge asked me, “Where did you learn to walk?” She tapped her finger on her chin and gave me a look like I was a ghetto-girl. Will never forget that moment. I could’ve crawled under the stage.

Okay. So some of you might be asking, “What the hell are holes? What are you babbling about now, Shelly?”

Shelly’s babbles are about connecting the dots in your story. Let me explain the best way I can. I’ll be using a haircut for this example.

You go to the salon to get a haircut. When it’s finished you might see bald spots---and not because its in your DNA-bald-spots, or, you see chunks of hair that don’t blend with the rest or, the lines aren’t straight. Something like that.

In beauty school, I was taught if you cut the hair vertically, you must check the hair horizontally, and vise versa. This helps to even the hair out.

Guess this means I need to check my writing vertically and horizontally. Guess I need to ask myself what is the purpose of certain characters? What’s wrong with my transitions from chapter to chapter? How can I make them smoother? How do I make everything fit (characters and plot)?

Hope ya’ll know what I mean. If you do, let me know.

That’s all for now folks!

Happy blogging, reading, and writing!!!

Shelly

Publix, Where Shopping is a Pleasure

Wasn’t going to blog this morning but something came over me. The spirit of Robb Logger, perhaps. The need to blog this bothered me in my sleep. Strange dreams chattered and moved all night in my sleeping world again.

So here we go….

I shop at Publix, one of many chain grocery stores throughout Florida. Many believe such as myself that if you shop there for your groceries you’re pretty well off. Well, at least I’d like to think so.

So let me start again…

I shop at Publix, where shopping is a pleasure. That’s what the commercial says anyway---been brainwashed to think so since I was….that’s along time ago. Can’t say I find grocery shopping pleasurable. It takes me away from my writing. Nothings more pleasurable than writing. Well, maybe….won’t go there(it involves sweetman).

What I do find pleasurable…no wait…what I find funny is when I finally make it to the checkout line and the smiling cashier asks, “Did you find everything you were looking for today?”

It’s like being bonked on the head. I look at the nice cashier-person then my soon to be purchased items. Really? Why ask me that now? Can’t they see I obviously have everything I was looking for? What a silly question.

If I didn’t find everything I was looking for, why am I walking to the checkout line with a full cart?

So I thought, “What would Robb Logger do in a case like this?”

STOP THE CARTS! I’m thinking. Thinking carefully.

Okay. If I were Robb Logger I’d come to the checkout with an empty cart and a list of things.

I would take a picture of the smiling cashier asking me the silly question, “Did you find everything you were looking for today?”

I’d say, “No.” Hand her my list. A list of things that no one would ever be able to find. Things from a cookbook written in Japanese. After, I’d ask, “Can you find these things for me? Can’t find them anywhere?” I would probably take her picture again because by now her face would be twisted trying to figure out what the hell my list says.

I can see it now. I’m sure she’d hand it back to me and excuse herself to go get her manager. This would signal me to leave and leave quickly.

When I arrive home, I’d promptly sit at my computer and write about it. Post the cashier’s pics. Yup. That’s what Robb Logger would do.

I really think we should have those rubber bracelets that say, ‘What Would Robb Logger Do’. How about t-shirts? Wish I could figure out my digital camera. I’ve got some great ideas for one.

Wonder if his next book will be entitled, “What Would Robb Logger Do”. I can see it now. Yup. On the best selling cyber publishing list. Maybe the New York Times best selling list.

What do you all think?

Anyway, this week I’m reading Robb Logger’s “Don’t Go There.” Yup. Shelly’s going to post a review and interview with this famous guy, soon.

You can find him at : http://inspiredbycaffeinenicotine.blogspot.com/

That’s all for now folks!!!

Happy blogging, reading, and writing!!

Shelly

A Migraine and A Schizophrenic Waitress

Since Friday, I’ve had a stabbing migraine. Compliments of a high pollen count and the barometric pressure. Florida can be a painful state to live in.

Yesterday, the heavens finally poured but the pressure is still unrelenting.

No-no is now worried that her jaw-bone is fading away.

My eight year old step daughter, Banana, covered my kitchen table, my writing area, with puke, Friday night as well. Poor thing, has had a fever of hundred and three. Motrin and pop cycles haven’t helped much.

When I came home from work yesterday I went straight to bed and fell right to sleep. Dreams were interesting. Thought I’d share one in particular.

Shelly scooted into a red vinyl booth. Her friend did the same on other side. It had been a long time since she’d had one of those greasy Woolworth burgers.

She looked around the restaurant. It wasn’t like the old Woolworth’s diners. Instead of one row of booths there were three rows with shiny dark tables. No short order cook stood behind a bar either.

One couple sat to the left. Another somewhere in the back. A waitress stood, with her back towards everyone, at a coffee and silverware area.

The waitress picked up a coffee pot and two mugs, turned around, and walked towards the two women. She chuckled out loud half way to Shelly’s table, and said, “I know, I know.” The waitress looked to her right side, stopped for about sixty seconds, still looking at her vacant side. “Really?” she laughed more.

Shelly raised her brows and tapped her friend’s hand across the table. “She’s talking to someone.”

Her friend turned around. “Who?”

“Beats me.” Shelly shrugged.

The waitress clanked the mugs together, turned, and proceeded to walk toward the women’s table. She put the mugs down, clicked her gum, and poured coffee into each one. “What can I get you ladies?” She let out a laugh, jerking her body forward, set the coffee pot onto the table, and slapped at her bottom. “Now, you stop that! I’ve got work to do.”

Shelly and her friend looked behind the waitress. They saw no one.

“Sorry about that.” The waitress straightened her pink uniform. “Are you ready to order?”

“We don’t have menus and we’d like some water instead of coffee,” Shelly’s friend said. “Some silverware would be nice, too.”

“No problem, ladies.” The waitress fixed her apron, popped her bubble gum, and picked up the coffee pot. She looked behind her and said, “Come on, honey.” She took off toward a set of double doors.

Shelly and her friend were left speechless and stared at each other.

Another round of laughter came from the kitchen doors. The waitress came out with a tray full of food. She raced by the two women. “I usually have a great sense of humor,” the waitress said. “But, you don’t understand, honey. I need to work right now.”

Shelly and her friend stared at the waitress. She came to a complete stop at the booth across from them. They watched the waitress do a jig and roll into a round of belly laughs. “Oooo…now stop that!” The tray fell to the floor with a loud thud.

A beepbeepbeep sounded beside Shelly’s head. Time to get up.

Another one of Shelly’s dreams. A migraine induced one.

That’s all for now folks! It’s another hair lopping day.

Happy blogging, reading, and writing!

Shelly

 

Sabotaged

The last two weeks of my writing life’s been difficult. If it’s not my relentless work schedule getting in the way, it’s my brain stumbling over words. Or, how do I describe this and that. Or, it’s sweetman sitting at the kitchen table clipping his nails or munching on chips loudly. Or, it’s No-No going off on one her hypochondriac rants. Or, it’s Honey Bear bringing his cat ball (loud bell inside), slamming it into my lap to play. Or, it’s sweetman stepping into another warm welcome from Sir-Poops-A-Lot---listening to his tantrums.

The following describes the other night at my house. Number five has a lot to do with the chaos I go through, I swear.

Shelly sat at her kitchen table around seven o’ clock. She’d cleaned the kitchen, walked her dogs, and made herself a cup of tea. It had been a long one at work and she’d anticipated this moment at her keyboards all day. A story for her next chapter chattered at her all day. She had to write.

Tinkletinkletinkle…Something small and noisy plopped in her lap. She moved her hand to grab it. A golf-sized ball. A cold, wet nose nudged at her hand. Honey Bear. He wanted to play ball.

Shelly rolled the ball into the living room where her hubby watched television.

The little cotton ball on four legs ran back to the kitchen table with his ball wanting his mommy to throw more.

She sighed, and said: “Honey, can you play with Honey Bear?”

Her hubby walked into her writing area. “Sure,” he said, picking up the fluff mound, turning around, he went up the stairs.

Shelly’s finger tips tapped the keyboards at first, warming up, and finally danced across them. Her mind raced back to her story file. “So much for a cup of tea,” Mel said into the air.

Someone stomped down the stairs.“Mom,” No-No said. “I think the doctor messed up my hip.”

Shelly looked up from her keyboards and watched her daughter plop into a chair across from her. She bugged her eyes at her daughter. “I’m working, right now".

“But I’m in pain. I think I’m going to be crippled for life,” her daughter said. Tears filled her eyes.

Shelly sucked in a gob of air and looked down at her computer screen. She can banter while I write, she thought. I can do two things at once. Her fingers pecked away again.A flicker of light floated behind her. Don walked toward her, a silhouette.

A crash sounded from upstairs. “He did it again!” her husband shouted from the stair top. “Where’s that dog? Where’s that dog?”

Shelly looked up from her keyboard and rolled her eyes.

“You don’t believe me!” No-No cried. “You don’t love me. You never did.” Snot dribbled down her daughter’s lips onto her chin.

Shelly didn’t respond and looked back at her keyboards. Her fingers raced across them. “It’ll be okay. You’ll see.” His free hand rested on her shoulder and he put the small votive on the counter in front of her.

An army of feet plodded down the stairs, human and animal. Sir Poops-A-Lot raced to his box. Shelly’s husband ran behind. “Bad dog!”

She breathed in and kept punching at the keyboards. She leaned back into his chest, warm and safe. The baby inside her stretched out for the evening’s slumber and she moved Don’s hand to her belly. “Do you feel that?”

“You’re a bad boy!” her husband shouted before he took a seat at the table. He went on and on about dog poop.

No-no went on and on about being crippled.

Shelly tried to get her story out while her family fussed over stuff. The inner and outer chatter didn’t mix. She exploded inside and both her hands slapped the table. “My writing is another job! Seriously!” she shouted.

Yup. Another day in the life of a writer.

Happy blogging, reading and writing!!

Shelly

Number Five Rules

I know, I promised a book review and an author interview. Still waiting to hear back from the author. That’s my life, unpredictable.

Oh no, Toto and Flying Monkeys, too!! Okay. Fly monkeys, fly. Go on now. Get on with yourselves. Let’s move on as Rob would say.

The number five is my number. Let me explain or, rather clear up some stuff first.

Five is the number of travel, adventure, motion, instability, and unpredictability. Hence, five daughters. Talk about chaos. Just imagine five little girls giggling and screaming throughout your house. Now imagine five teen-age daughters around a certain time of the month.

They say, the number five represents the goddess, Venus. She’s the goddess of love. Hence, five daughters, again. Plus, I’ve had a well seasoned life. Five committed relationships including my little sweetman.

I was born in 1965.

My favorite sibling is five years younger than me.

At the age of five, I was the biggest brat ever. I lied. I stole from the school bookstore. I beat up the boys. I even unraveled every hemmed dress I owned. Mom fixed that. For five hours, I sat beside her and watched her stitch back every hem back in place. Stood in corners a lot and got the spanking of my life from my stepdad. The age five was a turning point for me in the behavior department. Being good was better than being bad.

My oldest daughter was born in 1985. What a pivotal moment! She was three weeks early.

Any job that I’ve kept for a long time was either on Fifth street or avenue. If not, it was on the fifth floor of a building.

I’ve lived on thirty-fifth street and Mendocino street ( research suggested that named street had something to do with five).

Five is the number of travel. My husband and I travel quite a bit. Israel. New York City. Hawaii. Jamaica. Mexico. Colorado. Texas. Our own state. I used to commute to work for five years---talk about a relentless travel experience.

I wake up at five am every morning no matter what.

The number five has meaning, and not just to me.

There are five vowels. A,e,i,o, and u.

We all have five fingers and toes---well, maybe we all do.

In the Jewish and Arab communities, the hand with its five fingers is used as an amulet of protection. I even own one---keep it in my kitchen.

There is the five books of Torah. Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, and Deuteronomy.

The Muslims pray to their God, Allah, five times a day.

In Christianity, the number five represents the fifth great mystery. Grace or redemption.

The Roman numeral V is the number five.

Five also represents the hoo-hoo, the vaganga, and what I’ve named my Virginia. Hence, the five daughters, again.

Okay, enough of that.

Do any of you have a number you can relate to? Does one pop up continually throughout your life?

Let me know.

Happy blogging, reading, and writing!!

Shelly