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Archive for the ‘General Poo Dee Dah’ Category

Tuesday Morning Coffee: getting your groove on or back or sideways or however a groove works – haw!

When Angie’s nekkid husband comes in (but we didn’t get to see him – lawd!) and Ann says she flaps around her house like a bird – well dang — and I receive texts that Ann interprets as inappropriate (because they usually are – teehee). But we do manage to stay on topic, a little anyway.

And yes, I have neglected my blog and for that I offer up only discombobulated grunts. One day my life will fall back into place, but won’t that be boring? haw! My life, right now, is all about exploration and discovery and wild rides and meeting new people and seeing new (and old) places and experiencing things I’ve never experienced because I’ve been afraid or busy or made excuses or was hiding — now, well, WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE HAAWWWWWWWWWWW! watch out, Kat (or watch out, World – maybe I should say!). All many of these experiences will go into my new novel. Yeah. WHUPOW!

Work-out Writer: When it’s like sex

katmagendie:

I miss these old “work out writer” posts and think I shall resurrect them. This one is one of my favorites – “The work out writer: when it’s like sex” . . . .

Originally posted on Kathryn Magendie:

breath -- breeeaath -- breeaaatth -- BREATH

breath — breeeaath — breeaaatth — BREATH

Workout: You anticipate the workout, what it will feel like, how good it will be. Your brain flirts with the idea of what you’ll soon experience. You dress in what you know will entice you to the gym, put you in the mood. You hop on the treadmill, and begin slow, slow, slow, warming up, your body begins to Pay Attention, something exciting is about  to happen. The music pulses in your ear, the beat just quick enough to cause your synapses to fire off, your blood to move, your heart to quicken. Arch your back, feel your spine tingle, mouth slightly open so breaths can essss-scaaape.

As the music pulse upbeats, so do you, a little faster, a little more intent, your breath begins to pant, your body oh so aware—you oh so aware of your body and what it can…

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Oprah says, “Don’t Be Attached to the Outcome . . . .” AHA! What about you and your “Goals?” . . .

katmagendie:

Lookee what I found – and this is something I really needed to re-read while going through all my stress and worry and changes and anxiety and chaotic though and insomnia – Kathryn, take your own advice, okay? Okay!

Originally posted on Kathryn Magendie:

$T2eC16ZHJHYE9nzpebcPBQwlkrIDOQ~~60_57When you have done everything that you can do, surrender. Give yourself up to the power and energy that’s greater than yourself  . . . and then don’t be attached to the outcome.”

When I read this last night in the January issue of O (Oprah) Magazine, I had one of her “Aha!” moments. For “attaching myself to the outcome” was exactly the thing I’ve always done. I’ve always been goal-oriented, driven, conscientious, competitive—nothing wrong with those traits, but when “attaching myself to the outcome” of my work, I create a never-ending river of rapids where, despite what I believe, I am not in control, and in fact outside forces and circumstance are completely in control of me as I hurtle from rock to rock, place to place, every so often my head above water, but so often I’m barely able to catch my breath.

In my…

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My sweet SWEETIE novel: amazon’s monthly 100, lucky me.

sweetie by kat magendieYes, yes; I know lately my posts have been more about my books than usual. It’s something I have shied away from, but when I do that, my readers tell me, how do they know when I have a deal? Or a new book coming out? They have to stumble on it, or Amazon sends them something, or my publishers promote it. And lately, for some reason, Amazon has been focused on giving deals on my books. First The Lightning Charmer was $1.99 (it is still $1.99! I just checked. They keep extending it!), and then Family Graces was $1.99 (not any more), and now my Sweetie novel is on their Amazon Monthly 100 deals for, guess what? Yeah, $1.99. Must be the magical number. It means incredible savings for my regular readers, yes, but what it also means is that new readers find author’s books when Amazon does these deals. So, while I am not  making a lot of money, I am gaining readers: and that, my friends, is mighty wonderful. Few authors go into this for the money, and if they do, they soon realize that this better not be the reason! *grin*

Sweetie has been one of the most talked about of all my novels. I’ve received more mail on this book than any other. Though I will not go look, I have been told people “argued” on Amazon about the ending: many loved it and some didn’t. Despite any of those who may have not liked the ending, it has a 4.4 star rating, so I am guessing most loved the ending and the book *yay!* I took a chance with that ending–but, it was the only one that worked, the only one that was true, that it could ever be.

Some of the questions I receive on Sweetie are: “Are Sweetie and Melissa lovers?” This always surprised me, for the book isn’t about sex or sexual love–it’s about friendship and loyalty, and family in all its forms. I cannot place Sweetie and Melissa as lovers or not as lovers–it is for the readers to decide who they are and who they became after I wrote the last words. “Did Melissa ‘find’ Sweetie at the end?” I never answer this directly, for it would take away the magic. But, okay, what do I really think? Yes. I think Yes. I believe. Yes. I’m also asked: “Did you experience something like what happened in that weird revival tent? It was so vivid and real!” *laughing* No! I made it up! And thank you to those who asked that and said it was so vivid and real! And, “Sweetie can’t feel physical pain? What’s up with that?” This is a real condition, but I didn’t want to make the story “just about” that or the center of that by focusing too much on it or, again, taking away the “supernatural quality” of Sweetie: it’s hovering there; it is a part of who Sweetie is; it is why the town is afraid of her (that and her strange mother), a town that believes in superstition and magic and the supernatural.

Some blurby stuff on Sweetie:

1743500_553542498076585_1943216434_nSWEETIE, a crossover novel for adults and older teens. Kat Magendie writes about the dark bends in the hollers of the soul, most usually the soul of high coves of Appalachia, coal country, West Virginia, or North Carolina, but it could be the soul of any of us on this whirling ball of deep spirits and spit . . . Sweetie is the haunted child of poverty and superstition in her mountain town. Tough for a reason, wild for good purpose, and doomed like her family, if the righteous decide it’s time to clear out the hoodoo troublemakers. Melissa is the opposite, good girl, good family, except for the core of courage that turns out to be a match for Sweetie’s. Odd best friends. And maybe doomed.”

“A little mountain town in the 1960s, a reclusive girl who feels no pain, an unlikely friendship. Melissa will come to understand that just because Sweetie feels no physical pain, does not mean she cannot be hurt  . . . 

Lyrical and poignant gothic southern storytelling. Sweetie is a wild girl, rough, almost feral, yet brave and endlessly honest. When Melissa, a shy, stuttering town girl, befriends Sweetie, the two enrich each other’s lonely lives. But there are some in the Appalachian community who regard Sweetie and her peculiar heritage as sinister…

As always, I appreciate your support. This thing I do is nothing without my readers. You just can’t imagine (unless you too are a novelist) how it feels to know people are reading your work! And if they love it, well, this is the greatest feeling of all. I have so much gratitude. 

Ten answers without questions . . . .

Keep your eye on the prize, y'all

1. Well, since you asked—more than I want to admit.

 
2. Yes, I have, and it hurt like the dickens.

 
3. When hell freezes over, you jackass.

 
4. I might, if I have enough vodka tonics racing through my veins—teeheehee. Oh You!

 
 5. Because if I don’t, the voices in my head take over by shouting and jumping up and down and punching me in the brain and playing football with my synapses and it ain’t pretty, and in fact, is rather disturbingly weirdly fascinating.

 
6. I will if you will.

 
7. There is no evidence. You can’t prove it.

 
116-0018. Yes, they are real; they have always been real; they will forevermore be real; they have been real since 5th or 6th grade and they will be real when I die. Everything from the tippity top to the bittity bottom is Real and Mine. Please stop asking.

 
9. A lot more than you think *coy smile*

10. Three big huge earth-shattering ones, but I was alone. *winks*

Saying goodbye to Professor Dawg . . . .

For those of you who don’t visit my facebook page, I have the sad news that Professor Dawg, who often accompanied my writing posts and workout posts, has left us. We had to let him go a few weeks ago on the vet’s table–I was in Oregon and didn’t get to say a final goodbye; though I’d been saying goodbye to him for a few months before his death, as he’d been ill. He was a good dawg and a good friend. He will be very much missed.

Goodbye Jake . . . Professor Dawg. I won’t be able to use Professor Dawg’s photo here any more after today – it would just break my heart.

my workout buddy

my workout buddy


This woman's face in my hair is not a touched up photo - it really did just show up in the photo - about a week before he died.

This woman’s face in my hair is not a touched up photo – this woman’s face really did just show up in the photo – about a week before he died.


Professor Dawg

Professor Dawg

Work-out writer: when blog is ignored to meet novel deadline, no apologies are given – cause I’m old enough to say “well dang” and let it go

ch130421doing same thing and expecting different results – anyone see yourself here? haw!

zoo-sign

4366-adult-funny-birthday-card-spell-it-out-birthday-provance

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International Earth Week on Karen Elliott’s blog

You can look forward to …

Monday, 4/22, Lizi Beard-Ward, Louisiana, USA

Tuesday, 4/23, Tom Carter, China

Wednesday, 4/24, Kathryn Magendie, North Carolina, USA

Thursday, 4/25, Jean Michel Leclercq, France

Friday, 4/26, Angie Ledbetter, Louisiana, USA

Saturday, 4/27, Susannah Friis, Australia

photo

later y’all !

Work-out Writer: After the big cussin’ hissy fit, we may see a truth we tried to deny

He was an ass . . . but . . . . was I, too?

Jerkface, sumbitch! Huhn!

Workout: Saturday while on the treadmill doing a new, and particularly high energy part of my workout, some jerkface came over, waved his hand in my face, and then bitched me out for stomping on the treadmill. I couldn’t even respond—I was so furious, a sailor would blush at what caught in my throat and I had to swallow down.  All the rest of the weekend, I was pissed off, and within that anger came a little depression and anxiety: what would I do? That newer part of the aerobic workout kicked my ass but good and was something different, made me sweat, helped control my stress and take down my jitteriness a notch. I kept seeing his face; kept seeing his hand waving in my face; kept seeing me punching his face until it was a bloody-ass pulp (um, yeah, not proud of that thought, lawd!)

I didn’t even look forward to my next workout, for I thought, “It’s all ruined. My joy is ruined. My workout is ruined. Woe is me.”

*woe is wittle me*

*woe is wittle me*

Meanwhile, I’d conveniently forgotten how many people said I inspire them, how they enjoy my joy. I’d forgotten that the addition of this stomping was fairly new, and in a quiet little dark corner of myself, I knew I shouldn’t have been doing it—it just felt so good I ignored everything and everyone else. I was being stubborn. I wanted want I wanted. I didn’t want to give it up cause it was just so cool.

omg - I was being an asshole, too!

omg – I was being an asshole, too!

But, when I allowed my rage to subside. When I stopped thinking, “That sonuvabitch jackass mo-fo, rude asshole!” I heard what he said, not how he said it. And folks, yeah, I sure was being disrespectful to others and the equipment at that particular addition of my high-energy workout. Admitting that made me pull up my big girl panties and acknowledge I was being an asshole, too. I don’t excuse his delivery system, for he had no call for the way he treated me, but hidden in his Big Ass Stupid Face Assholedom was some truth.

This morning, as I stepped on the treadmill, someone said something so positive, reminding me that I wasn’t a bad person, I hadn’t always been so out of control, and I felt my joy slipping back in. Instead of stomping like an over-crazed idiot, I found something else to do that kicked my ass even better and more efficiently, and without worrying about hurting myself, and just as wonderful, I was still respectful of the machines and others.

WHUPOW!

Writer: Sometimes when we’re given critique/edit suggestions from our editors or beta reader, or whomever, that we don’t like, we may be tempted to say “Oh, they just don’t get it; they don’t understand what I’m trying to do; they SUCK! I ain’t listening. If I change this, it ruins everything! If I take that out/put that in/alter that, then what?  Waaaaaaah! Sumbitches!”  We push any rational thought aside, cuss, holler to the four winds of the universe how unfair they are, and how they just don’t get us and our work. Want to smack them three sides to Tuesday. We may want to give up, give in, be depressed and defeated. Put aside the work and walk away.

Well, shit . . . huh. I guess I see what you're saying . . ..

Well, shit . . . huh. I guess I see what you’re saying . . ..

However, if we still our minds and think of the bigger message, even if it’s embedded in a delivery we don’t appreciate, we may just find some truth in that critique/edit. We can pull on our big girl panties, or big boy undies, and acknowledge how we are being intractable, childish. We can pull back and look at their suggestions/comments, see if really they do have something to add to our manuscript, after all. Then, we find a way to work the manuscript into something that still gives us joy, makes us excited, and works ever so much better to make the work kick-ass.

images (1)

I actually do have a can of this!

WHUPOW! Open up a can of whoopass and get going!

Ten ways Exercise Makes for Better Sex:

our bodies are wonderlands . . .

our bodies are wonderlands . . .

1)      When you feel better about your body, your confidence level rises. It’s that, “Yeah, you can look, because I’m taking care of myself. Let’s leave the lights on!”

2)      Endorphines do more than make you feel energetic and happy, they can also rev you up for sexual pleasure. The more of those endorphins you have racing through your body, the easier it is for you to be aroused, and to reach orgasm. Yeah. Endorphins give you that “runner’s high” but they also give you a sexual high. Would I lie to you?

position the ball between your feet and hold hold hold! squeeeeeze . . .

position the ball between your feet and hold hold hold! squeeeeeze . . .

3)      Your strength and endurance rises as you grow stronger both aerobically and in muscle tone. Stronger muscles  gives you the strength to try different positions, to have the endurance to keep going until you reach your ultimate goal, or to, um, well, no way to say it but: thrust more energetically *teehee blushing* As well, strengthening your smaller muscles, the ones you can’t see, helps with sexual pleasure, orgasm, and for women, the ability to tighten and release for stronger orgasms. Ready to hit the gym yet?

Ka-POW!

Ka-POW!

4)      Regular exercise keeps you and your body and all its wonders working better well into your old-agedom. Good sex isn’t just for the young. Keeping fit in the gym will keep you happier in the bedroom. There’s no reason why you can’t be having better and stronger orgasms even in your 50s, 60s – 70s? I ain’t lying!

5)      If you are regularly exercising, you probably are having more sex. Why? Cause you feel great. Cause you feel powerful. Cause you feel better about your body. Cause you have more control. Cause it keeps you fit and young and raring to go in all areas of your life and that includes the bedroom. Cause exercise means you care about yourself. Cause you are hyperaware of your body and how wonderful and beautiful and powerful it is, and what you can do with that body and how much pleasure you can bring to someone else, and to yourself.

kiss . . .

kiss . . .

6)      Exercise sends blood flow to all the yummy places. Do I need to spell that one out? Naw.

7)      The act of sex itself burns calories. So you burn calories at the gym, then you burn calories in the bedroom, then you start to notice your clothes fit better; you’re developing a bit of a strut; you’re feeling sexy, alive, powerful.

stoke the fire . ..

stoke the fire . ..

8)      Though this has never happened to me—and I can’t decide if that’s a good thing or not—there are reports of women having core-gasms. Yup. Orgasms during certain exercises. Huhn. Well I’ll be. Dang!

9)      It’s possible for testosterone to be released during exercise—and testosterone isn’t just for men, y’all. Testosterone increases sexual Want. But, as well, exercises also may help to keep our hormones on a more even keel, and the better we feel, well, the better our lives are, and again, that includes bedroom activity.

10)   Exercise lowers stress. If we’re stressed out, then the last thing we may want is sex. Exercise is a great way to lower those stress levels to make us feel more open to sex with our partners, or, well, all by our lonesome—wheeeeeeee!

So, get yourself to the gym, or if you prefer, work out at home. You’ll feel great, and your sexual health/life/ energy will greatly improve. I promise.

Work-out Writer: Muh-muh-muh-muh-my Persona(s)–The Bionic (writer) Woman

finding strength

finding strength

Three times a week I put on my work-out clothes, take my gym bag of goodies, and head out to Waynesville Recreation Center, whereupon I put on my running shoes, climb upon a treadmill, and work my ass off—running, skipping, jumping, flailing, hopping, and jitterying about. The music is blaring in my ears (which is a joy, for I don’t have a chance to listen to music as much as I’d like). I am facing forward, seemingly in my own world as I do what gives me great pleasure—

dsc09814I thought I was an island of me, until people began to approach me. GMR calls them my “fans” and it makes me laugh, the sorta-kinda-irony of it being I am more well-known in that gym than I am as an author here in my little town, or at least it seems that way. Even outside the gym, I am stopped and told, “Hey! You’re that woman in the gym! The one on the treadmill!” I don’t mind. What makes me happy about it are the things they tell me—that I’m a bionic woman, superwoman, that I have so much energy, that I am—and this one really makes me happy—an inspiration to them to work harder. When I am gone away from the gym when I travel, they seem to miss me, asking about me, asking where I’ve been. I feel missed. I feel thought about. I feel substantial. When I’ve worked extra extra hard, they notice: “You sure tore it up today! That treadmill must be broken!” I grin at them and say, “I sure did, didn’t I?” What they don’t know is how they are inspiring me to work harder–because they notice, because they see me, because I don’t want to let them down. I want to be the person they think I am. I want to be better and better and better.

DSC_0022Far as I know, none of them know I am an author. They all know me as “that bionic woman on the treadmill.” It’s a persona I have come to love.  Those who see me on that treadmill, and then on the matt-work afterwards, see my dedication, my passion, my energy, my love for what I do. They see how hard I work, how I kick-ass and then give a little more, and then more, until I have no more to give, and then I try to push just a tiny bit more. They see me sweat, hair flying, body tensing and releasing over and over, the explosive action of my plyometric movements, the intensity of the workout. They see all of this because it is right there in front of them.

DSC_0174If only my readers could see me as I create—see the outside and the inside of me, the workings of me. For my writing is manifested in the same kind of way—through energy and love and passion and hard work and kicking ass and then giving just a little more and a little more until I am exhausted but happy, happy danged ole happy, and then I push a tiny bit more. They could see me staring ahead at my screen, fingers flying over the keyboard, my brain filled with activity—tensing and releasing as my synaptic firing flings words and characters and setting onto the page. All for you.  But you cannot see that, my dear readers. Unlike my “fans” at the gym, I sit alone, out of your sight, working so very hard for you. What you do not know, just as the “gym-fans” do not, is that you are also inspiring me to work harder–because I don’t want to let you all down. I want to be the person you think I am, and more. I want to be better and better and better. I want to give you joy when you read my offerings. I want to make you think, and laugh, and cry, and wonder, and wander, DSC_0175and I want you to ask for more from me and of me–because I have more to give, so much more.

our bodies are wonderlands . . .

our bodies are wonderlands . . .

Because I love it. I am passionate about the writing, my books, my words, the language, just as I am about being fit and healthy and strong. I want to make you happy. I want to make you proud of me. I want to inspire you. I want to be known as the Bionic Woman of writing. I want you to miss me when I am not around.

When you pick up one of my books and read, imagine me—metaphorical sweat dripping, hair flying, body tensing and releasing over and over, the explosive action of my plyometric movements, the intensity of my workout. The passion. The love.

For you.

Our minds are wonderlands

Our minds are wonderlands

The work-out persona and the writer persona are so very much the same.worker

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