Spellbinding stories of mystic love and soulful hope . . .

Archive for the ‘kathryn magendie’ Category

Round and Round we go: stop for just a moment, y’all

The magical world of readingI do a lot of listening to (or reading about) writers—both published writers and as yet unpublished writers.

And what I hear is a lot of “what if” and “if only” and “If I could just” and “So and So is doing this and that’s what I want” and “Why can’t I?,” and so on and so forth and blah diddity do dah day. I’m not immune to it, but I am growing ever more Aware of it. Circuitous thinking, round and round it goes, endless. Our desires are always a step ahead of our needs; round that curved corner we can’t see from where we are . . . and we must see . . . we must . . . must’nt we?

Funny thing is, we don’t remember when we were Wishing for that something from before because when we reached that goal, we were already circling to find the next Thing, and that for which we wished for prior has already been left behind and forgotten, discarded.

Don’t get me wrong here, having goals and wanting success is not a bad thing. What I am talking about is our discontent or dissatisfaction with what is happening right now, that thing that we had wanted to achieve so very much, before we actually achieved it.

So, round and round we go trying to grab the next thing, when in reality, we are stepping over all our successes, great and small, along the way. Oops! I just stepped over the goal of starting my project/finishing my project! Oops! I just stepped over my goal of finding an agent/having my work published/getting paid for writing/querying agents-small presses-lit mags/having someone I respect love my work or encourage me. Oops! I just stepped over my goal of my work being published. Oops, I just stepped over my goal of (fill in blanks). And as you circle, you pass people who are running to catch up and pass you as you run to catch up and pass someone else.

I remember a quote by Michael M. Hughes when he was a guest on an author friend’s blog (helluo librorum), and this thought of his bolded in my head: “If you have even halting, tentative success, realize how lucky you are.”

So, whatever the case may be where you are, take a moment to breathe in and out, and NOTICE just where you are Right Now, and then, take just a glance backwards to remember how excited you were when This Happened—that first glow, that first happy realization that you met your goal before you left it behind and began the round and round and round.

Each success should be savored. Roll that thing in your mouth like a big piece of sweet candy –the good kind, not the kind nobody likes –and instead of crunching through it and swallowing it, let it slowly melt before you reach for the next piece.

And remember how there is always going to be someone behind you and someone in front of you and someone running over you or pushing you out of the way, someone who sets up circle-roadblocks in front of you—but if you stop the mad dash round and round and appreciate each experience, you will find some peace.

I know most (all?) every one of us will forget this advice and/or ignore it from time to time, repeatedly, but for right now, we have right now.

—————————————————

Touty Plug of the day: SWEETIE. One of my most favorite books and character(s). It’s the favorite of many of my readers. A coming of age story. Suitable for younger readers, as well. I’m rather proud of this book. I’ll savor this accomplishment like a big ole piece of candy — chocolate!

51j6n1OihJL._BO2,204,203,200_PIsitb-sticker-v3-big,TopRight,0,-55_SX278_SY278_PIkin4,BottomRight,1,22_AA300_SH20_OU01_

A little mountain town in the 1960s, a reclusive girl, 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…

For shy, stuttering Melissa, the wild mountain girl named Sweetie was a symbol of pride and strength. But to many in the Smoky Mountain town, Sweetie was an outcast . . . .

Writing out the Fear . . . .

(I wrote this a few years ago – I need to read it as if it was written by someone else and then listen – yes, Kathryn, listen to this writer/novelist who stomped over her fears; who didn’t let anything stop her from writing what she wanted to write. Who didn’t let depression, anxiety, anger, or anything else keep her from what she loves, and what she is, frankly, good at.)

—————————————————————————————–

10398086_10152474576124176_3232207411175342070_nBefore I was published, whenever I’d read about an author who wrote a book and never wrote another one, I’d say, “If I had the chance, I sure wouldn’t be hesitating. I’d sure be writing to beat the band!” I simply couldn’t understand why a writer who had the chance to have his/her next book published would not jump on that chance with all the glee and energy and writing writer write they had, especially if that book was a success.

Until my own books were published. Then came the understanding of how fear plays such a part in this business.

writer's blodkaAn artist and I were in a conversation about not letting the negativity get in the way of creativity. I said to the artist how we have to have the dark and the light in our work, but we have to make sure the dark is not someone else’s shadow. Much of what you hear after you publish your book is Everyone Else’s Opinion—if you are not careful, you begin to listen to too many voices/opinions. Finding a way to separate the “should not listen to” versus the “this will help me in my journey” is a difficult one.

cropped-emailed-002.jpgAfter my first book, Tender Graces, was released, I woke up with anxiety so fierce that my stomach tied in a snarl of knots. Fear of what someone may say about my work. That I’d disappoint readers. Some of this faded as time went by, but only because I stomped over it—how else could I go back to work? But it came again with the release of the Secret Graces, and then with Sweetie, and onward with my other novels. Will people still love me and my characters? Did I do okay? Are my words reaching anyone? Will I be loved?

Just Do It

Just Do It

My friends, I understand why some writers do not write that second book. An author can become paralyzed with fear. That fear can permeate and penetrate and become so prevalent that creativity is stifled. Imagine writing a book and being compared to other writers—but—imagine writing a book and being compared to yourself! Harper Lee, Stephen King, Oscar Wilde, Gail Godwin, Ralph Ellison, Margaret Mitchell, Elizabeth Berg—all have one thing in common: they wrote a book. What they don’t have in common is some went on to write more and others never wrote another book, or at least one that we know about.

If I had not stomped over my fears, skirted around the dark that is someone else’s shadow, ignored my terror, more work would not have come to me and then to readers. Writers and artists and singers and dancers and actors—all those whose work is out for public consumption and review and deliberation—must find a way to stop the: “I have to be loved by everyone. My work must be adored by everyone. I am afraid of what will happen. I am afraid of success/failure/mediocrity.” And instead, we must do what we love and do it the best we can and do it with love and hope and strength and honesty.

DSC_0052-001Of course, we must also do it in a way that sells, don’t forget that. Art aside, love of books and reading and writing aside, it has to be deconstructed into the business side of things as well. Heart and Brain go hand in hand in this business. What a terrifyingly fascinatingly wonderful sucky horrid confusing business!

dsc04492Am I still worried about the books I write to be released into the hands of readers? Well, yes. But am I letting that stop me? No. Step out from that shadow and show yourself. Be brave and hearty in whatever you love to do. How will you know what you can create until the creating is accomplished?

Well ain’t that some shit, Kathryn Magendie: kicking the ass of my fears.

ipod photos 082I done been here, and I done been there, and I done this and I done that and I done the other. I done thangs I never done before. I done thangs I haven’t in a long long time.

I been where I’ve never been, and where I’ve seldom been, and where I’ve left, and where I’ve said I’d never go, or never return to.

This here woman done seen thangs that made her speechless with wonder. Made her stop right there and say, “Well . . . oh my god.”

This here woman done done thangs that opened her up and turned her inside out bursting kaleidoscopic super-nova–KaBOOM! Ka-POW! Ka-BAM!

And I ate things I said I’d never again eat. I broke many “food rules;” like, never eat pork: I ate bacon and damned if it wasn’t tasty; I ate peaches with the skin on them and the juice ran down my arm and I licked it away; and my rule of never ever ever EVER eat in the middle of the night: welp, I ate cheesecake in bed with my bare hands (no utensils available–who cares!) at 2:30 PM in a hotel and it was GOOD! And I ate turtle pie at 2:30 AM in bed at someone’s house (something about 2:30, huh?) but that time I had a fork, and it was GOOD! And the world kept turning, turning, turning.

Nothing bad came of my rebellion against Self Denial–

So many things on the Kathryn’s List Of Things I denied myself over the years as I tried to control my world: POOF! I devoured those rules–I ate up those rules for breakfast lunch and dinner. I gluttoned myself on Rule Breaking. I stopped trying to control all the wild and strength and excitement and wonder and curiosity that I’d kept hidden from myself and the world. Hello, World–nice to meet you–how you like me now?

ipod photos 093I considered things I’d never considered. I reconsidered things I’d never reconsidered. I walked where my shoes had never been and tossed off my shoes and felt unfamiliar ground beneath my feet. I stomped in puddles. The ground didn’t open up and swallow me.

I drank too much a couple of times and lived to tell the tales though they shall remain secret. I became angry enough to break something that wasn’t even mine, at least twice–and that felt AWESOME! Though contriteness followed the breaking it still felt awesome.

Sleep was lost–lots of sleep was lost, but I didn’t care because it was on-purpose lost sleep.

Oh but I kissed without restraint.

And I laughed–a lot. I cried, but not where anyone could see; well, maybe someone did see but they understood the whys of it all.

The new novel was opened and I gazed at my words and I wrote many more words and I created new characters and I knew that I’d always do this even if, or though, I will not, or may not, ever make any really good solid money at it. I will write the words and the words will empty from me and then I will fill up again. Empty. Fill. Empty. Fill. Empty. Fill.–a metaphor of the rest of my life – fill fill fill empty fill fill fill empty FILL FILL FILL FILL FILL! OMG FILL ME UP, LIFE!

ipod photos 081Give me more life. Give me more love. Give me more people. Give me more food. Give me more new experiences. Give me more family. Give me more friends. Give me more lover. Give me more more more of the universe one two three blast-off!

There were the days that blazed brilliant. And there were the days that I drug my ass around in a daze.

There were old friends and new friends. There were people, and more people, and more people–and I did not hide (much).

For the last few months, I lived one hundred years of my life full out for nothing–full out for everything–full.

All the years I was the aging Rapunzel locked in her tower (where she’d locked herself by the way), I finally stepped out into the world and blinked and then ran towards everything I’d ever been afraid of–and some of it I am still afraid of but I’m kicking the ass of my fears. Kicking the ass of my fears. Kicking the goddammed ass of my fears.

Kicking the ass of my fears, y’all.

ipod photos 213

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!

Oh yes yes yes – sex sex sex! Burn me to the core vs hard core . . . .

The Lightning Charmer coverWith apologies (or maybe only just gentle warnings) to my family (poor long-suffering brothers, mom, and son!) I am writing about Sex today. Or, at least the sex in my latest book, The Lightning Charmer.

You see, y’allses, my other  books really did not have sex scenes in them—with the exception of implied sex or heavily metaphored sex Virginia Kate has in the Graces novels .  So, some of my readers, and family, may be going, or in some cases are going, “Well, dang!”

Really, though, folkses, the sex in The Lightning Charmer is tame compared to things we see on HBO/Showtime, or some books out there; it’s not as graphic or as HOTTY HOT HOT (as least this is what my editor tells me, and she knows allllll about that, don’t you, Deborah Smith NYT Best seller? – haw haw *grin*) as it is in some Romance Category books, or Erotica. So, what makes people message me and say, “Omg, this book is hawt! I’m fanning myself” . . . ?

007Is it the suggestion of something otherworldly that fuels the fantasies? Is it the leaving some things to the imagination, and some things not? Sure, there’s a couple of on the edge of graphic sex scenes—there’s angry sex, there’s a  not too graphic scene of oral sex, and there’s masturbation scenes both implied and a little bit more than implied (I counted at least four, maybe five of these—hmmmmm, Kat? Teehee). But still, they aren’t written like Erotica or even like a Hot Romance. And there’s no mention of throbbing body parts at all—there is subtlety mixed in with the real. There’s no  “He pile-drived his throbbing member into her quivering waiting love canal” Omg, I just burst out laughing – haw haw haw! Yeah, I can’t write that way because it makes me laugh! And what we do not want to do when we are writing sex scenes is to laugh. What we want to write is whatever makes us feel HOT, oh so HOT, oh so so very very hot—where we want to shut off the computer and, and . . . get busy. Where we are squirming in our chair every time we read these scenes. Where we are going, “I.Want.That.Now.Please.Please.Please.Please.Please.” For some it’s this and for others it’s that and for me it’s the idea of something so out there that I am imagining it would be AWESOME!

It is the LIGHTNING. The energy. The hot white light. When Laura has a sexual encounter with a lightning bolt, there is that POWER, that searing 040desire, that energy entering her. Who cares that in real life being fucked by a bolt of lightning would not only kill us but hurt like a sumabitch—but in the book, it works, and it is a fantasy that sounds delicious—something powerful and filled with the hottest energy you can imagine, something that hot and filled with INTENT to please, something that fills you with HEAT HEAT HEAT and ENERGY ENERGY ENERGY and . . . oh . . . my . . . gawd! (and I just realized I wrote “fucked by a lightning bolt” – huhn, I didn’t think that til just now . . . lawd!)

ipod pics 012And then there is Ayron. Ah. Ayron. The lightning charmer himself. If he and Laura come together—what might happen with a man who can charm/control lightning? What might sex be like? What might happen if that searing hot light enters them both, zipping through their spines and out their extremities? Or will it happen? Can it happen? Maybe that conflagration is just too much—maybe things just cannot work out that way for them because it would be the end of life as they know it—it would mean nothing else would ever ever be the same. If they can even come together. Sometimes two strong wild creatures can only want want and never have.

ipod pics 014I think why readers (and I don’t know if these readers do not read Hot Romance and Erotica so my sex scenes are hot by comparison) tell me it melted their kindle or burned their hands is because of all the unsaid/unwritten things along with the said/written things. With the possibility of fantasies beyond what maybe anyone has considered before. The way Laura is so very ready for something or someone to calm the Feral Wild Woman nature that is boiling inside her marrow. She must have. She wants. She wants wants wants. She craves craves craves. I think it is this Wanting Craving that readers could be feeling at some core of themselves and through Laura they are saying, “Yes, oh yes, me, too; me too, please please please please oh please!”

Now, if you are reading this and expecting Erotica or a Hot Romance Novel, it is not that, and if that’s what you love and gets you going, then this you may read and go “what’s the big deal?”

But somehow, some way, it is hot all the same. It is heated white light. It is moaning out a want so intense—if the ones reading it have their own want either unfulfilled or once fulfilled and no more, or fulfilled and waiting for what comes next, then the imagination turns feral, wild, wanting.

We are sexual sensual creatures and when I write sex, I hope to tap into that sensual without it being porn or erotica, but instead something that feels real and approachable and full of imagery. What? Oh, you are saying, “Real? But we cannot have sexual encounters with lightning, Kat! DUH!” Oh, but, we can pull that white heated light, that energy, that back arching aching desire into us by the will of our imagination and fantasies. I filled in a lot of blanks in my own head when I wrote, and then read, these scenes. I sure did. Maybe you will, too.

Yes. Yes. Yes. Oh Yes.

Five lies, out of many, that we tell ourselves . . . .

askyourdoctorLIE: I’ll start on that manuscript as soon as I finish this Facebook update.

REALITY: Haw haw haw! You’ll start on that manuscript as soon as you stop sniveling and whining and carrying on about how haaaaarrrrd this is and about how you aren’t appreciated by so and so and such and them and whositwhat. You’ll start on that manuscript as soon as you kick the ass of Fearsome Monster—and Fearsome Monster is difficult to kick the ass of since every time you kick it, YOU are the one who feels the pain. Right? Right. Riiighhht.

Oh, and for some of you out there *Kat gives the personal trainer evil eye* insert “exercise” where starting on manuscript is written. Yeah.  Uh huh.

LIE: If I fit into these jeans comfortably, I’ll stop losing weight. Or: All I want is to fit into my jeans comfortably. Or: My jeans shrunk! No wonder I can’t fit into them comfortably.

cartoonREALITY: If you have any kind of eating disorder/disordered thinking about food/weight, then I am on to you. Oh, I know you mean it when you say it, but I also know those jeans will fit comfortably and then the mind games start up: Well, if they fit comfortably, then what if they fit a little looser ; well, people are telling me I look good, I better not fail them! I better keep this weight off! And in fact, I better lose a few more pounds for a “Safety Net” so I won’t look as if I am failing by gaining it back. If my jeans fit comfortably, I then forget that they once fit tight and I think the “fit comfortably” is now “oh, my jeans should be looser” so I have to lose weight to make them looser and then I may forget how they fit after—you see the circuitous crazy-ass-psycho thinking here? Please god, make it stop, y’all! For those who think their jeans shrunk—I’ll give that to you once, and then after that, LIE LIE LIE!

I’m sure there’s a writing metaphor in there—I’ll leave that to you.

well, sheee'it

well, sheee’it

LIE: Once my novel is published, I will be forevermore happy! I will never want for another thing! I just want to see my book published even if only I read it and maybe a friend or family member or two!

REALITY: HAW HAHAHAHAHAHA HAW HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA *gasping for breath* HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Yeah, okay, right. It ain’t happenin’ – you will have that book published and then you will want something else. And then something else.  And then maybe something else. Will to! Will to! WILL TO!

*See Above Lie about fitting jeans comfortably – hey! I found a way to tie it to writing. WHUPOW!

LIE: I don’t care!

REALITY: Yes you goddamn do.

It's easy to be sucked down - but then again, I wonder what's in that hole?

It’s easy to be sucked down – but then again, I wonder what’s in that hole?

LIE: I’m SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO happy for so and so’s: weight loss, publishing contract, award, accolades, rise to the Kindle Millionaire list, cash flow, new baby, face, body, legs, breasts, lips, ass, writing, husband, wife, dog, cat, house, car . . . .

REALITY: I’ll give you this one, that you really are happy for them,  but with a caveat: though you may be truly happy for this person, there is a tiny part of you that may feel like shit on a big fat ugly ass stick that you have not accomplished these things or do not have these things and may never have these things or most certainly will never have these things or may always want want want and never have have have. And meanwhile, someone is envying you for what you have, and on and on it goes. What I will tell you if envy hits: Own it.  Own up to it. It just could be the thang that spurs you on. But when envy turns to Jealousy, when you are being eaten alive by it, then it’s time to take stock—it’s time to consider the realities: can you have it? Do you really want it? How much will it cost you (not just in $)? And how do you pull yourself out of your Green-Eyed Monster’s Ass?

Hey! He has more seeds than I do! BASTARD!

Hey! He has more seeds than I do! BASTARD!

I always say: A teaspoon (or even a tablespoon) of Envy is a great motivator. But Jealousy is destructive and negative and big ass ugly.

Also, I will tell you: Sometimes going to that person and congratulating them and really meaning it, feeling their happiness, feeling good for them, will make the envy lose some of its power—you face the demon of your own lacking, your own wanting and can’t (or not yet) having.

What lies do you tell yourself and do you or will you recognize the reality?

(*and folks – The Lightning Charmer is now on sale at Amazon and at Bell Bridge Books site. The “official release date” is November 1, so it should be going up for sale at other places, like Nook and bookstores and wherever else books go to find their ways to wonderful readers’ hands. I thank you all for your support. I *heart* you dearly*)

The Lightning Charmer cover

Today at Writer Unboxed: The Isolated Author (by lil ole me)

I am at Writer Unboxed today. If you are not a member, then get ye over there and check it out. Not just for my ramblings today, but for all the kickass offerings there. A wonderful group! They’re on twitter and Facebook, as well.

I was on a panel yesterday in the beautiful city of Hayesville, NC, and was reminded of how much fun blogging and blogs and bloggers can be – I promise to do better here. I do! I do! I do! *grins at you every so sincerely*

At Writer Unboxed today:

_______________________________________

2f95c122-b7f3-4ea9-8afb-ed71deb90477_zps0f985647Today’s guest is Kathryn Magendie, the author of five novels and a novella published through Bell Bridge Books—most recently The Lightning Charmer coming out this month. She’s also the Publishing Editor of The Rose & Thorn (which just recently closed its doors after fifteen years), and former Personal Trainer. She lives in a little log house tucked within a cove in Maggie Valley, Western North Carolina—where all the wild things are.

Of her post today, Kathryn says…

Thoughts of the “isolation” of this job came to me when I realized most every character I write is lonely. Then I recognized that I, me, myself, lil ole Kat Magendie, was deeply, incredibly, sadly, lonely. Well, danged if I didn’t feel right pitiful. I then read other WU posts, other author’s FB updates and Twitter feeds, and realized that feeling of isolation is shared—we’re all at one big banquet table, but the banquet table has partitions so that even though we’re surrounded by people, we’re still eating alone. I allowed myself to feel pitiful for about a week, and then I decided it was time to do something about the isolation. We’re much more than we appear to be, we band of writers, we.

You can find Kathryn on Twitter and Facebook and on her blog. More about her books here.

The “Isolated Author”

We can see the clichéd “isolated author,” one who writes in her fuzzy socks, a bottle of vodka—make that a healthy smoothie, yeah—by her side, creating micro-worlds where tiny-in-our-peahead-but-oh-so-much-bigger-than-life characters frolic and play and bring joy and epiphanies to all the land of readers. Farther pan out and see the writer hunched over her keyboard, ever more pan out and see the study she sits in with books and pens and pencils and chapstick and good luck charms and crumbs littering her keyboard and lap, and farther still to see her little log house, and outward we go ever outward to the Moon. And there we’ll stop a moment and consider just how tiny this author is. Just how inconsequential, miniscule. All the scurrying and living and loving and being around her is muffled and dark because all she experiences is: “tippity tappity tippity tappity tippity tappity *slurp munch* tippity tappity.”

The truth is, the more an author puts herself out there (But of course I mean you guys, too—we’re genderless in the World of Writing), the more isolated she becomes. The more public her life, the more private she must be. It’s an insidious endeavor, one she doesn’t recognize until it is almost too late—when the crazies visit upon her *picture here the Harpies from Jason and the Argonauts, feasting upon the sanity laid out in bounty upon the table until there’s nothing left but scraps of rational thought.*

FOR THE REST OF THE ARTICLE, CLICK HERE

The Lightning Charmer cover . . . . it’s purdy

Welp, here ’tis – the cover art for The Lightning Charmer. It’ll be out this month. Something a little different from my former novels. I’m excited and happy, and I hope my readers will love Laura, Ayron, Betty, the crows, the wolf-dog, the lightning, the sex, the love, the supernatural, the fire — I hope my readers will love it all. *Fingers Tightly Crossed*

The Lightning Charmer cover

 

 

 

A haunted man shadows the Smoky Mountain forest. A lonely woman returns to what she left behind. A legacy unfulfilled calls out to them both. .

The sky darkens, the lightning seeks . . .  

The Lightning Charmer is full of whimsy, enchantment, ancient secrets, and dark earthy seduction.  Magendie taps into those primal secret places we all harbor, with a powerful story of learning where one fits in a world that may not fit us.  Braided with color, humor, and loyalty to family, this is storytelling at its best!  Sharla Lovelace, Bestselling and Award Winning author of THE REASON IS YOU

The spell was cast when they were children. That bond cannot be broken. In the deep hollows and high ridges of the ancient Appalachian mountains, a legacy of stunning magic will change their lives forever.

Laura is caught between the modern and the mystical, struggling to lead a normal life in New York despite a powerful psychic connection to her childhood home in North Carolina—and to the mysterious stranger who calls her name. She’s a synesthete—someone who mentally “sees” and “tastes” splashes of color connected to people, emotions, and things. She’s struggled against the distracting ability all her life; now the effects have grown stronger. She returns home to the mountains, desperate to resolve the obsessive pull of their mysteries.

But life in her mountain community is far from peaceful. An arsonist has the town on edge, and she discovers Ayron, scarred and tormented, an irresistible recluse who rarely leaves the forest. As her childhood memories of him surface, the façade of her ordinary world begins to fade. The knots she’s tied around her heart and her beliefs start unraveling. Ayron has never forgotten her or the meaning of their astonishing bond. If his kind is to survive in modern times, he and Laura must face the consequences of falling in love.

On the radio: NorthwestPrime with Lori Ness

Hey, all y’allses wonderfuls. No no, I’m not flying in oblivion; okay, I am, but I done told y’all I wouldn’t post unless I had news, or something I wanted to say, or just felt like it, or the 8th sign of the Apocalypse happened and I had to gush over it, or . . . . etc etc etc. Cause I’m just that chaotic. yeah.

So, today’s news is that in about 30 minutes from now, at 3:00 PM my time, I’m going to be on the radio at NorthwestPrime.com –

For those of you who asked for  the archived file, it is HERE on NorthwestPrime. 

If’n you want to give it a listen, great.  I’m always appreciative of my readers and any interest *smiling*

Later, y’all!

733918_358280667610103_1586754340_n

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*

Tag Cloud

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 3,851 other followers

%d bloggers like this: