Burning Bridges

Staci Troilo’s recent blog It’s Up To You New York, New York got me to thinking. I know I’m not supposed to do that without the proper adult supervision but I promise not to make any decisions, only reflections.

In January of this year (2012) I decided to become an Indie aka independent author. The decision was fueled by several factors but the main one being I tend to rebel against [what I perceive as] unfairness. The thing about perceptions is if you take a few breaths and calm down they sometimes change. The trouble is I forget to breathe until I’ve already tossed the match. Yep, I have burned a few small bridges in my day. The last little causeway went up in flames when I refused to write anything that didn’t have my real name attached to it and said kiss my _ _ _ (let’s use the word grits instead.) Ahh, I can still smell the singed hair.

** Bobby Bare’s Winner and Frank Sinatra’s My Way are now overlapping in my head**

I whole heartedly expected to struggle as an independent, that’s what real artists do, right? Right! But if I am honest the struggle is a bit more than I anticipated and the road I am on is not the soft sandy path I saw in the distance. Nay! It is a deep rocky rut filled with tar pits and sharp objects that must be overcome. Here there are few if any bridges for burning.

Oh yes, I am guilty of being a pissy little pyromaniac at times. Though I sincerely try not to burn other people’s bridges it occasionally happens.

Twelve years ago we (my youngest son, daughter and I) worked on the set of a local television series. We never had more than a minor part that usually ended up on the cutting room floor but it was fun. The locations varied, the food was always good and the people were so warm and friendly that every assignment felt like a family reunion. Never mind the pay and meeting a few celebrities I would have gone for free chuck wagon.  Rib eye, meatloaf, tacos, pies and pastries…

(Oops- memory lane digression)

As I was saying the people on set were great but there was this one agent who shall remain nameless and unemployed if God answer’s vengeful prayers. In my own defense I did take a deep breath and wait for the perception to change. It didn’t happen. Greedy is as greedy does.

#1 If you agree to fifteen percent and you take twenty that is stealing.

#2 Everyone knows a speaking part pays more. Only a thief would pocket the difference and issue a separate check with a cockamamie excuse.

#3 Never mind.

It wasn’t only my money or I probably would have said “okay, no prob just point me to the catering truck.” No, it was my child’s money and it is bad business to mess with another woman’s child. Amen?  I didn’t just strike a match to that conduit I set a freaking bonfire. Score one for me. Boo-yah! Start doing the victory dance…  Um – yeah. I think my son is still mad at me for that one. You’ve heard the old adage ‘you’ll never work in this town again’? Well I am here to tell you that can absolutely be  true.

My only regret  is the series ended the following year before I could build a new bridge.

So what does this have to do with Staci’s blog other than basic inspiration and the fact that we are all trying to make it? I’ll let you read her blog and decide. I’m really okay with the fact that I will probably never make it in the New York she speaks of; I don’t have the temperament for it.  But I feel the burn, the stretching of ribs and triceps as I reach for a brass ring of my own and reflect on the burnt bridges of my past.

Weekly Photo Challenge: Wrong

This weeks photo challenge was WRONG, yet so many photographers got it right.

Go figure…

Wrong Size.

With the help of my grand daughter(who supplied the shoe) and my daughter in law who is such a better photographer than myself we managed to decide on an entry. There wasn’t much they could do to remedy ugly feet. Sorry 😦

Did  I mention I can throw a rock a good ten feet or so with those wicked toes. When the foot toss is officially accepted into the Olympics I may very well  win a medal.

Weekly Photo Challenge: Growth

For this weeks weekly photo challenge (Growth) I chose a plant. I’ve watched this Asian Jasmine make its way up the oak tree beside my porch for some time now. This type of plant is usually considered to be an invasive species but that’s not the case for mine. Nope, my little darling has been inching its way outward and struggling upward for over twenty years now.  I love the slow growing, non-blooming persistent little pest because it reminds me of myself somehow.

Old plant – New growth

Yippee Another Quiz! Behind the Rage

The last quiz on Between the Rage and Grace was so much fun I couldn’t wait to do one on Behind the Rage which is the 2nd book in the series. This title was released in March of this year. So without further adieu…

Weekly Photo Challenge (Inside)

For this weeks photo challenge I went immediately to an old jewelry box and looked inside.  I recall rummaging through my grandmothers costume jewelry like a pirate with precious booty.

Inside the Jewelry Box

Mine is filled with trinkets of cheap metals,  faux pearls and inexpensive stones but they are treasures to me and every piece holds a dear memory of the bestower.  This weeks theme also inspired me to share a prose from Interior Verse (which is free via kindle right now) titled The Chest of Hope.

 

The Chest of Hope

The Chest of Hope

It’s just a small brown wicker basket not built to hold much and a bit tattered from over handling.

Its beautiful warm browns have dulled and faded with age on the outside but inside the natural luster still shines. Its top is held in place by make do leather ties because the first woody hasps were worn in two and now dangle loosely without purpose.

What hands made the airy coffer?  I wonder as I stroke the thin smooth fibers.

Was it one as handsome as the tight weaves frayed by time?

Though dust has long since claimed his finger prints-

I know that he was a weaver; I imagine that he was a dream weaver…

Diligently intertwining each cane thread with my hopes in mind…

A place to store my breathing dreams so that they could be kept safe and close at hand, amassed in a beautiful fibrous reminder.

A quaint little chest of hope I will one day hand down to a child, a grand child or perhaps even a great grand child when I have used up its contents.

When I have taken the dusty lid off one last time and felt deep into the corners to make certain I haven’t left any ideas untouched.

I imagine when I offer it up to him or her they will look at me like I’m crazy (and I may well be) then they’ll tear the lid off expecting to find a treasure of sorts before saying with disappointment, “It’s just an empty old basket.” It is then I will share with them the wishes and ideas that were stored and later born of that basket. How they were kept safe till I could see them come to fruition. And one more time I will imagine the handsome dark skinned man who meticulously weaved the wonderful piece…a place to store my dreams because dreams need room to breathe.

Then I will show them how to place their own aspirations into the old auburn chest with caution to keep them safe, to nurture their hopes and give them time to mature.

And if my last wish were to come true I will see them realize the birth of their visions.

Follow Me to Fame (The Numbers Game)

Everyone who is anyone has a twitter account, right? Well that’s what the promotional experts say. I want to be somebody, after all I am trying to sell books. But (for me) it’s not just about the selling I actually like people. I like to interact with them from time to time. I understand that is an outdated concept so call me old fashioned.

Anyway I opened a twitter account and for the most part I have met some interesting people and enjoyed getting to know a little bit about them and the work they do. A few of them just run naked down the twitter isles yelling buy my_____.

I suppose I am like any other tweeter who wants to be famous; I get a warm fuzzy feeling over new followers. As a matter of fact I check my mail first thing every morning to see if I have a new follower. This morning low and behold I do and there is more than one!

Yippee! I am pumped. From their profile [at least what shows up in my inbox] they look interesting. They’re acclaimed authors, bloggers, writers, photographers, anchormen, comedians, media moguls etc… so I hurry over to twitter to have a better look. I could click follow from the inbox but that would be too impersonal. I must go over in person and say hello, make them feel welcome and thank them. I mean, my gosh! These awesome upper echelons with thousands of followers want to follow a nobody like me?

My fingers are trembling against the keyboard as I log in. I nervously wait those 2.2 seconds for the page to load and all the while thinking Yes! Oh lardy yes, I already know I am going to follow them too!

Then the ‘hmm’ moment. I glance to the left at the double digit numbers that are the same as they were a week ago. That can’t be right so I hit the follower’s tab and guess what? They’re not there!? I’m devastated! My awesome followers have disappeared. How can that be? How could I have offended them before even saying hello?  Is this a cruel joke? Should I search them out and ask them what changed their mind? Should go back to my inbox and hit follow???

I seriously consider laying my head on the desk and crying but I can’t stop laughing long enough.

The numbers game that is being played to make one look important just strikes me as funny. To look good on twitter, to seem ‘sought after’ the number of people following you must be significantly higher than the number you follow. So how do you do that? You follow someone just long enough for the notification to be sent and then you un-follow them. Most of them will never notice because they’re too busy running naked down the twitter isles hoping you will buy something and follow them to fame.

[heavy sigh]

In closing let me say, thank you for that beautiful millisecond we shared but sorry Joe, Jim, Lisa, Dianne and all of you other fabulous, possibly famous, most popular peeps on the world wide web. I’m gonna sit this one out.

Book Quiz: Between the Rage and Grace

There will be no red markers or downward adjustments to your GPA I promise. There will be no raising of hands and no roll call, you shall remain carefree and nameless. This quiz is just for fun.

Of course if you score well feel free to brag 🙂

Here are ten questions from the first book in the series Between the Rage and Grace.

Clickers ready? Go!

 

Weekly Photo Challenge: Movement

I’ve been perusing various blogs and looking at some pretty awesome takes on the weekly photo challenge titled Movement all the while fighting my sick sense of humor to catch someone on the toilet and post that movement. I know, ewwww. Relax, my decent side won out [thank goodness] and I chose a photo of my son tossing skeet.

Two Fisted Skeet Toss


Deleted Scenes

Just for fun I thought I’d share a few scenes that didn’t make the final draft(s).

Deleted Scenes

Between the Rage and Grace

“ER — this is Clara.” The anxious nurse spoke into the phone. After listening attentively to the switchboard operator, she giggled and replied, “Send him on back.”

“What have we got?” Maggie asked, without looking up from the tangled mess of yarn meant to be a sweater.

“Um… a sixty two year old male who says he took two Viagra five hours ago and he can’t… uh… he can’t get it down.”

“Well what goes up must come down.”  Maggie pretended not to notice Clara’s stammering or the red glow lighting her face. She shoved the knitting materials back into the bag and added, “That is the law of physics Clara Bell.”

“Have you ever seen priapism before?  How will we treat it?”

“Prepare the sheaths! Limber thy hips!” The older nurse announced, jumping to her feet with a fist in the air. “And let the games begin!”

**Editor yells “CUT!”**

Behind the Rage

“Mary Magdalene-” he whispered, “are you menstruating?”  She didn’t answer. Slowly he eased the blanket from her motionless body, hesitated briefly and returned the cover. She could see him floating toward the door.

“Wait!” she urged.

Without turning the priest murmured, “I can not. Your condition will make me unclean. I’m sorry.”

Frustrated that the opportunity for revenge was passing, that she would not get the item she needed to bind the perverted priest, she hissed, “Then squawk like a chicken.”

Bwaahk, bwak, bwak. The cleric pressed his hands to his mouth but was unable to silence the involuntary sounds.

**Snip snip snip and the sound of paper hitting the floor**

Unjustified Favor

“Oh, come on Maggie. Why do you have Mr. ‘Mean-ass I can’t stand nobody not even my hateful stinking self’ on my schedule?” Clara asked with an exaggerated frown.

“Because you’re low man on the totem pole.” Linda interjected, “I would go but you know I’m too fat to run from the mad dachshunds.”

“Right! And why do we even have to deal with those two dogs?”

“Want me to tell you how to handle them?” Linda asked.

“Yes, please.” Clara replied.

“Okay. Here’s what you do. Are you listening?” Clara nodded and moved closer. When Linda was certain her coworker was waiting with bated breath she continued, “Approach them slowly, and speak gently so they don’t feel threatened.”

“Okay.”

“It’s easier to contend with one of them at a time – I suggest you work with the slower one first.” Clara nodded again. “Sit down and offer them a treat, a dog biscuit dipped in peanut butter would be nice – keeps their little mouth busy and dogs like peanut butter.”

“Uh huh. I can do that.”

“As soon as one of them, remember the slow one first, as soon as he gets within easy reach grab him firmly by the neck.”

“Why?”

“Don’t interrupt; this is the most important part.”

“Sorry. Go ahead.”

“As I was saying, grab him by the neck firmly. When you’ve got a sure hold on him squeeze with both hands as hard as you can.” Clara’s eyes widened and Linda watched as her jaw dropped exposing an open mouth. She wanted to draw out the details but it was getting harder to keep a straight face. “As soon as you see his eyes bulge, squeeze harder – give it all you’ve got. Do this until his tongue hangs out and his little body goes limp. When he’s not breathing you’ll be half way done with your dog problem. ”

**“CUT – CUT- CUT!!!”**

But editor what if PETA rushes in and throws Linda to the floor and she yells “Can’t you see I’m pregnant.”

**No! I said cut dammit!”**

Where to buy the books

Between the Rage & Grace, Behind the Rage & Unjustified Favor are combined in The Rage TrilogyUpdate; When the fourth book (Cloud Wrangler) was imagined in 2017 we couldn’t call the set a “trilogy” anymore so, the Clan Destiny series was born.

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Weekly Photo Challenge (Create)

My creation was a happenstance epiphany of sorts.It occurred while making dinner just this night…

Summer Salads

Sorry, I ate the fried potatoes before I could snap the picture. All of this creating made me hungry.