Spellbinding stories of mystic love and soulful hope . . .

Archive for the ‘kicking ass’ Category

Find your power–don’t give it away

ipod photos 081I remember days when I felt I had no voice. When what I thought and what I did were separate entities. I could write a very long blog post about the instances where I felt I had no power, but I do not need specifics here–and most are my own private life-stuff. Most all of us at one time or another has felt powerless against some force that has pushed its will upon us. I also know there were times I felt powerless when I really was not. I either was too afraid, or too naïve, or so used to how things were rather than how they could be that I did not make a change; I did not find my Voice, or my Power.

I so very often gave away my power to someone else. I don’t mean physical power, though I like being muscular and strong and able to take physical care of myself. I mean standing up tall and strong in how you live your life, how you expect others to treat you, and how you treat others. Power does not mean bullying or aggression or mean-spirited natures. Power means standing up for your beliefs; standing up for what you know is right for you despite when someone or some situation may be forcing their/its will upon you for their/its own good and not yours–however, Power is also compromise: you must find the difference between compromise and giving away your power by tapping into your gut and your heart, by having conversations with those involved, by listening just as much as you want to be heard.

Power is not letting past experiences define your Now Reality. Power is not forgetting what someone has done to you, but letting go of what they have done to you and saying, “This person no longer has control over my thoughts. I will not give this person one more minute of my time. They no longer deserve my time. It is no longer any of my business what they think or do or be.” Power is sometimes doing the difficult thing or saying the difficult thing because doing or saying that thing will take you places you never thought you could go–whether metaphorically or spiritually or physically or metaphysically. Power may mean Big Change, and that’s scary. Once we decide to take back our power, it often means we have to make a change, and that can hold us back. I so know this, and so do you.

ipod photos 213Power is when you feel strong and capable and in control of your life instead of the chaos of life and situations and people having “control” of you. It doesn’t mean you aren’t afraid. It doesn’t mean you don’t have anxiety. It doesn’t mean you don’t feel sad or grief or loss. It means you step forward even though you are afraid of the dark space ahead–what if there’s a cliff there? What if I free-fall? Then maybe you sprout some wings and fly. Or maybe you fall on your face and it hurts like hell. There’s risks in taking back your power, your life. I won’t lie. There will be stumbles and mistakes. But how do you know until you try what takes you somewhere you always needed to go?

The more power you take back the more control you feel, and the less anxiety and chaos reigns. I’m all about Chaos–my peaheaded brain flippity flops and zippity zaps all over creation. I’m jittery and wild. I can be impulsive. But don’t let all that fool you–I am strong. I am capable. I know my power. Do I sometimes falter? Yeah, you better believe it–because I’m also human. And so are you. Find the quiet places and figure out just where you need to take back your power and why and how, and just where you need to step back and let things “be” for a while. Your gut will know. You know.

One day, I had a conversation with someone, who said, “I really want to say something, but I’m afraid of the consequences.” I looked at her: this woman who is smart, capable, beautiful, and I wanted to tell her, “You have more power than you think.” But I hesitated. What if I convinced her to speak up and the consequences she was afraid of happened? What good would her power be to her then? Of course, if the situation she is in warrants such care, such fear of reprisal, wouldn’t she be better off out of the situation? So I told her, “You have more power than you think.” And then I shut up. It’s not for me to decide what she must do or say. That is her journey.

10274015_10152437219614176_2351572946895967498_nIf I speak up or if I leave a situation I am unhappy in or if I decide to do this or not to do that or if I do not put up with bullshit or if I do put up with bullshit because at the end of that bullshit is something worth the effort, and as a result negative consequences rain down on my peahead, my power will feel intact because I’m facing my fears; I’m doing what’s best for me or for mine. I’m taking my lumps, too. This does not mean I go about callously disregarding feelings and tossing people and situations to the curb at every turn. It means I dig deep and figure out what I need to do to keep my power so I feel less helpless and choatic. So that I feel strong and sure I am doing or saying the right thing even if my knees are quaking and I’m scared witless. People confuse “courage” with someone doing something they are not afraid to do—courage is taking action even though one is afraid.

Looking into this woman’s eyes, I could see that she was not ready to perceive her power in that way. She will see the outcome as disastrous. One learns that there is always something else. There is always another. There is always the next thing. There are some situations that are just not worth the anxiety, or the discomfort, or the sad, or the anger, or the fear, or the stress. For too many years of my life I waited—waited for the right time, the right place, the right mindset. I don’t want to say I “wasted” my time, but I wasted my power!

I wanted to pass my power on to this woman, to tell her to stand up for herself, to give her the eyes to see inward to the power she possesses, but I could not. She must find it for herself.

We have a choice to say in some instances where we feel strongly enough, “Sorry you don’t see it my way. But, I’m standing firm.” And then, if we have to, we walk away, and in some instances, we will walk away with a big fat grin, swinging our arms to the tune of some powerful anthem we once heard.

WHUPOW, y’all!

Workout Writer: How Bad Do You Want This?

10417600_10152480426884176_6460205242015283935_nI’m exhausted! A few hours of non-continuous-multi-interrupted sleep, and an anxious but excited brain (more on what’s causing that later). Today I’m supposed to haul myself to the gym, in the rain, with my tired but anxious excited brain, and do an aerobics then weight training workout for at least an hour and a half. Do I really want to? (ZOMG! I just stared at my keyboard for waaaaay longer than cool trying to find the italics maker—um, Kat, the italics maker is at the top of your screen, where it’s been for the upteen years you’ve been writing on word, and to infinity and beyond. Lawd. And I thought this was Wednesday. And I keep losing my train of thought. And a bird keeps chirping and I both love it and want to throw a rock at it. And my brain has cotton-clouds floating in a sea of mush. One coffee down and it ain’t touching the WAKE UP AND BE ALERT button yet.)

I am light. My body is under my control.

I am light. My body is under my control. But my brain is wackadoodle doo doo

Well, since I’m one of those weirdlings who loves to exercise, perhaps I really do want to—this is the answer to the question above. Yeah. My thoughts are organized, y’all! Haw! But really all I want to do right now is climb back in bed and sleep a few hours and worry about the gym another time. After all, I’m in good shape, right? My body is strong. My heart and lungs are fit. Welp, y’all: how did I achieve that? Not by climbing back in bed and going back to sleep knowing the workout will not be done, since there’re other things I must accomplish today, as well. This reminded me of a post I’d written a few years ago when I was re-shaping my workouts, and my body–it was supposed to be a post for Wednesday, but who cares? Tuesday, Wednesday–meh. Laugh. I know I’ve reposted or rewritten many a post lately, but my world is soon changing again–and in that change comes the flood of words, the vomit of words, the torrent, the Mt. Vesuvius of bellows of writing of words to ensue, because . . . because . . . I can’t even breathe it out right now. Later.

So, my beauties, that day, I was completely exhausted and didn’t wanna workout—thusly, with a few tweaks, y’all—

askyourdoctor—during my run/treadmill aerobics, I wanted to stop multiple times. I didn’t want to challenge myself. I wanted Easy. To go along at this slow steady pace, or better yet, walk, or better yet, jump off and go do something else. I became so frustrated with myself, that I yelled in my head like a red-faced coach, “HOW BAD DO YOU WANT THIS? HUH? HOW BAD DO YOU WANT THIS?” And all of a sudden, I knew I wanted it BAD! I bumped up the speed and tore off on the treadmill.

During one particular song, I pushed off on my leg and hovered in the air before slamming down, and did it again and again. As I hovered there, it felt as if I were suspended about a foot in the air, when in reality, I probably only came up a few inches—but the Perception was I felt myself higher. Does it really matter if I only came up a few inches? Or is the Perception of what I felt I accomplished a just-as-important reality? I like to think the latter, for it inspired me to take it further and farther, to run stronger, to push myself past the point of what I thought was my limit.

HOW BAD DO YOU WANT THIS?

Take what I said above and apply it to your writing life, or your musical life, or your artistic life, or your work life, your home life, your Life. How bad do we want what we think we want the most? How hard are we willing to work for it? How often are we willing to feel uncomfortable? How often are we able to face a disappointment and still go on? And how much are we willing to push ourselves past the point where we think we must stop? And when we push off, hover in the air, feeling powerful and strong, do we let that wonderful Perception spur us on to do more and better and stronger? Or do we say, “Eh, I was really only inches off the ground. No big deal. Other people can jump higher. Eh.”

How bad do you want this?

images (1)Bad enough to sweat and push and sprint and, as well, sometimes to feel pain and set-backs and exhaustion but pick yourself up and do it again. And again. And again.

I’ll tell you what giving up or giving in gives you: Not a danged thing but regret. And the flipside of that is this: you can work your ass off and still not reach all of your goals, but I can guarantee you’ll have accomplished more than you ever dreamed you could if you do not give in to negativity and fear and doubt. You’ll have jumped up, hovered higher than you ever thought you could soar, grow stronger, faster, more determined. Note the accomplishments and savor them, for even the smallest goal reached is A Goal Reached. Why do we disregard even the smallest of goals? They weren’t so small when we were arching towards them, were they?

How bad do you want this?

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!

Stop! Five “don’ts” when you are feeling vulnerable (and five “do’s”):

All righty then. From the list in the “never say never” post below:

  1. writer's blodkaDon’t drink too much. Okay, allow yourself that one night where you slug down some vodka and dance around the living room to techno trance (for the first 30 minutes) before feeling  sorry for yourself and throwing a mug against a tree and railing against your fates and . . .  and then just don’t . . . don’t allow yourself to drink yourself into a stupor where you curl into a ball in a chair and sob and fall asleep and wake up with your mouth dry and your pea-headed brain full of cotton and then unsteadily climb into your bed where you wake the next day feeling like crap on a stick that’s been beaten against a tree. Don’t. Find another way to cope. For that alcohol habit is not one you want to find yourself embedded in. No scenario has you drinking too much and then going, “Sure am glad I did that! I feel great now! All my problems are SOLVED!” Yeah  . . . no. And especially do not drink and text . . . .
  2. Don’t text whiny self-indulgent messages to anyone but your most trusted BFF (or post Facebook updates). No one wants to read that shit. No one wants to see your dark depressed underbelly. Believe me dangity do, that if you DO text/message/FB update with your whiny ramblings, you will forever regret it. Yes you will. YES YOU WILL! Do whatever is necessary not to bare your darkened squishy brain ramblings to anyone other than that trusted bestie. Later, when you are back to your strong kickass self, you will rather that you had not let people see a side of you that you’d have rather not—you will forever wonder if they now see you differently and not in a completely positive self-respecting I know my worth way. Remember, once again: NO ONE wants to read that shit—not even your BFF, but the contract of BFF’dom says they have to, so they have to suck it up. Only them, and you’d do the same for your BFF.
  3. well, sheee'it

    well, sheee’it

    Don’t further isolate yourself by further isolating yourself. Give yourself a little time–a week? two? three? four? oh oh-five? six? oops . . . seven? erk . . .  to push all the nasties out of your system, and then it’s time to stop wallowing. Get out with friends. Go for a drive. Invite someone(s) over. Workout. Smile at people. Talk to people. Be aware of your surroundings and remember where you once found joy. Remember that things are not all BAD, just different, and if there is some BAD, then remember it will not last forever unless you give the bad POWER—don’t give away your power. Find excitement in that different—isn’t this what you wanted? *Did you think this would be easy?*

  4. However, pertaining to Number 3, don’t spend time with people you don’t give a rat’s big ole ass about or who don’t give a rat’s big old heiny about you, just so you won’t feel alone. Self-Worth! Say it to yourself, in your head and then aloud: I know my worth! I am worthy! Look about your psyche-house until you find your self-worth and self-respect – are they under the bed, all dusty and rusty? Pull them out, dust them off, and let them back onto your life. Say it with me: I am worthy; I know my worth. You do not NEED people or company or that “friend” or that man or that woman or that crowd—be with the ones who give you joy, or are fun to be with/around, or you complement each other’s psyches or whatever. “I am worthy; I know my worth.”
  5. *I Kiss You*

    *I Kiss You*

    Beating yourself up? Don’t. Stop it. Yes, even if you’ve done the above. Give yourself a big fat break for being human. Beating yourself up will only make things worse. Even if you are the one who made the decision to dive into dark terrifying unknowns, who cut ties, who said, “I do not want this anymore,” why are you punishing yourself?  Why are you saying, “Oh well, this is what I get. This is what I deserve for shaking things up.” Nope. Not reality. Be your own BFF for a while. Use this quiet solitude time to discover just what kinds of guts you have. Recognize how you are doing exactly what you wanted and needed and considered for quite some time—and did you really think it was going to be easy? Hell no! Not much worth doing and having and obtaining ever comes “Easy.” Be kind to yourself. Love yourself. Give yourself some credit for Going For It, whatever that is, despite the initial feelings of grief and terror and stark-raving-madness.

DO!

  1. Do find gratitude—every day. Every morning take a deep breath and consider just what you are grateful for. And throughout the day, remind yourself what you are grateful for! Don’t forget to let out that breath. Ha.
  2. flexibility - yeah, it helps . . . uh huh

    exercise outdoors when you can

    Do get out and breathe in some fresh air; and definitely get some exercise. Your body and your brain will love you for it, and you will feel GREAT. I promise you this. If you have never exercised, then take a simple walk, and then another, and then another, and one after that, and another after that, and feel your body grow strong and your brain feel centered.

  3. Do live in the NOW, not some future. Remind yourself throughout the day to calm the voices in your head, stop for a moment, and BE IN THE NOW. What scents are surrounding you? How does your skin feel when you touch it? How do your lungs feel as you fill them with air? Your feet as they connect to the ground? Find the NOW, the present, this very moment in time, and savor it. The future will come soon enough and it’s rarely exactly how you envisioned it.
  4. Do reach out to your BFF(s) and your family. You can allow yourself a few whiny self-indulgent messages to the BFF (and maybe, MAYBE a trusted close family member), but after that, work with your besties and/or family on solutions to how you can transition from Old Life to New Life. There will have to be some grieving of the old life, even if you were ready to move on.  So . . . .
  5. photoDo allow yourself to grieve. If you don’t, then you are only denying what was once an important part of your life, no matter whether it wasn’t all healthy or perfect or wonderful or enlightened, it was still YOUR LIFE. Grieve the old as you step into the new.

 

A Whole Sackful of Crazy-let it out a bit of a time, Kat, and they'be be none the wiser -hahahahahahahaahahahhaNow. Go kickass.

The phrase “I will never . . . .” is a coiled snake ready to bite us on our asses

Snake_strike_coiled_HIHow many times have you used that phrase only to have it come back later and bite the shit out of your ass? Now, that doesn’t mean the biting isn’t going to be a good thing—maybe you needed to be bit on your ass to propel you in to some kind of motion. Maybe you’ve been stagnant, bored but not recognizing that, or meandering around aimlessly, or unhappy with a situation but in denial.

007Maybe you said “never” with the fever and fervor of THIS WILL NEVER EVER CHANGE and have just been bitten on the ass and aren’t sure if that bite will propel you towards something better, or just as good, or towards—THE SCARYASS UNKNOWN! *cue dramatic thunderous slightly dark music*

Or perhaps, my friends, you told someone, “I will never,” and you didn’t really mean it. It isn’t that you lied, it’s just that you could not face up to the truth inside of you—buried there deep, where only the snake biting you on the ass could cause a draining away and revealing of your truths. You said the words because to admit the other words would cause pain and turmoil and disruption and feelings of failure and that SCARYASS UNKNOWN looming. You said them so the other would believe and not be hurt, yes, but also to force yourself to believe so you wouldn’t do the hurting.

We do have our “Nevers” that are iron-clad. For example, “I will never kill another human being,” but then, is that true? If someone were going to fatally harm me or mine, wouldn’t I kill the shit out of them? “I will never jump off the Empire State Building!” Okay, that seems pretty safe. But what if I’m up there and there’s a fire behind me and no escape—I  either have to jump or burn up. I’m jumping! Okay. Well. Huhn. “I will never stop loving my son and granddaughter!” There. That’s a never that holds forever true! But those iron-clad “nevers” are few, even when we think they are not.

2051_46867294175_1646_n

Then . . . .

15111_10152228089399176_116688420_n

Now . . . .

“I will never grow out my hair.” “I will never write erotica.” “I will never sit around crying like a big baby because I’m a tough-ass bitch.” “I will never leave *insert something or someone here*” “I will never give up/give in/give to/give back . . . .”

Oh, my friends. The phrase “I will never . . . .” is the universe’s big laugh at you; it’s the coiled snake ready to bite you on your ass; it’s the swallow those words you spoke because, guess what? Never became “oh shit, it’s happening/happened/going to happen.”

Maybe that snake did surprise you. Or, maybe you sat on that badass snake so it WOULD bite you! Maybe you pretended you didn’t see the snake and just stuck your bared ass right in its face and taunted it while pretending you were going about your business all la tee dah.

So. Little things are easy to talk about first. For instance, I remember clearly and distinctly standing at Hart Theater in Waynesville, North Carolina a couple years ago, talking to a theater friend who’d just cut her hair short, and I said (there’s a metaphor here, isn’t there?), “Yeah. I love mine short and will NEVER go back to longer hair. Ever.” Um. Yeah. Guess what? I not only grew it out, but longer than I ever thought I would have. But that night as I stood there smiling and confident, I really truly believed myself. I honestly thought the words “I will never  . . . .” were true and real and were never to be altered. I thought myself completely  happy with my shorty ole hair. I couldn’t see a day when I wouldn’t be satisfied with that look. Oh how we tempt the fates with our ultimatums and declarations!

SEDUCTION COVE CVR6_edited-1 for amazonOr, I remember standing by my mother, my face all sincere and true: “Nah. Not for me. I’m not going to write trashy erotica stuff! I will never do that. I will stick to what I write.” And then, three months later, on a night when I was full of vodka and bad intent and after I’d smashed a writer’s conference mug against the tree outside my little log house and yelled into the night, “I QUIT! I am NOT WRITING ANOTHER WORD! I AM PISSED OFF AT THE WHOLE BUSINESS! FUCK THIS SHIT!” (the snow hid my shame, until it melted – lawd), I preternaturally-calm opened my word document and wrote Seduction Cove and I laughed a vodka-infused laugh, and of course, I ain’t telling my mom. I also said, “I will NEVER tell anyone I wrote it–I’ll keep Tasha a secret.” Oops; didn’t happen that way. Mom, if you happen by here: I’m sorry. Dang. And now my writing world has altered. Where will I take it next?

011

I will never leave this beautiful place

So, my friends. There have been some changes in my life, and more are coming. I’ve spent the last six months or so (actually, the last two years after my father died—something about a parent dying sets a woman on quests and questionings and searchings)—wading through the molasses of change and discovery and heartache and decisions that changed my life and the life of others and etc etc etc – ET CET ER A!

I will begin a series of posts about my “nevers” and my “soon to comes” and my “already happeneds” – and I hope you’ll learn something from them, or be entertained, or nod or shake your head, or ignore it all—but I need to write it. That’s what I do. I am a writer. I write things out. And when I do not, I bother my friends with my whiny angst, or send texts that are full of self-indulgent whines that I later regret (that’s a post in itself). So write I will.

Some topics—and I will never stray from them (hahaha!) are:

  • What not to do when you are alone and vulnerable
  • When you are the one you says, “I want a separation”
  • When you have said you “never” have writer’s block and suddenly you cannot write
  • When you have to leave a place/an ideal/a way of life that you thought was “forever” because you said “never will I leave this place/ideal/way of life
  • When disappointment in people attacks—when you realize the people you thought would call never do, and the ones you never thought would reach out to you do.
  • When the word “lonely” expands beyond and above what you ever thought it could be
  • When you think you cannot, absolutely cannot, face something—but then you do
  • What happens next?
  • At my age! . . . the prospects of dating and all that jazz (and being called a cougar—? Um, what?)
  • Etc.

I’ll be back soon . . . .

Shoveling it (writing it)

snow storm 2014 cove walk and shovel 004

*UPDATE! : Can anyone tell me “what’s wrong with this picture” here to the left? *laughing* — Let’s make that around 10 inches on my driveway. *dumbass me* Yeah, the stick is upside down and the big numbers are not inches. Teeheehee.* There has to be a metaphor/analogy for the writing in this :D

Gawd. What a winter it has been. Ice, snow, sub-zero temps — my cove once dove to minus 8.5 degrees. This latest dumped fourteen inches on top of the driveway I’d just cleared 3 inches from. Welp, good, cause at least I didn’t have to shovel 17 inches. Huhn. Right? Riiight. And, as I wrote on Facebook (where I’ve been uploading photos of the snow and the beauty of Western North Carolina), how does a 111 pound 5’2″ woman clear 14 inches of snow from her longish driveway in less than 2 hours? One GD shovel at a time. I put my head down and did the job. I didn’t whine. I didn’t complain–no really, I did not. For what good would that have done? Just made me irritated and negative about it. I shoveled and I didn’t think about how much was left before me. I shoveled and I didn’t stop except to drink some water and stretch out the kinks. I shoveled and I didn’t think about my worries or my troubles or what lay ahead or what I would do next or if it were boring or if I’d rather be doing something else–nope, I kept my mind to he task. I shoveled and shoveled and shoveled some more. Until, at last, I had a pathway for my Boopmobile to clear out of so I can get out snow storm 2014 cove walk and shovel 028this weekend, and then, just to be sure, I shoveled a bit more–a sort of SO THERE! kind of thing.

snow storm 2014 cove walk and shovel 026I thought, at the end: Okay, Mother/Father/Grandm/f Nature, you bitch – I’m a bigger bitch. I’m a badass bitch. I’m a toughass kickass mountain woman, stubborn, too much pride at times, determined. I had a goal. I completed it. My arms were shaking afterward. My back and shoulders protested. But those things actually felt good because they felt like work; they felt like progress; they felt like I was in the real world doing real things; they felt like, actually, that Mother;/Father/Grandm/f Nature and I were at a truce. Oh, I know Nature can dish out some more if it wants to, and it could take me to my knees. It has done that to many of us–storms, and floods, and snows, and ices, and tornadoes, and hurricanes–and what do we do? We “shovel” out from under it one “shovel” at a time until we are done with the job.

Just Do It

Just Do It

Often people ask me: how did you write so much in so little time? What is your writing day like? How do you keep writing? I am pretty prolific. I have had published five novels and a novella, and published myself through Amazon some short stories, and I’m writing under two different pen names — one is C.W. Pomp, and the other is a secret. And you may be guessing already what I’m going to say after reading the above: I write one word at a time. I put my head down and get the job done. When I am working, snow storm 2014 cove walk and shovel 028I don’t think ahead or how much I have done or how much more I have left to do. I don’t worry about the future when I am working. I am a badass toughass stubborn determined novelist/writer bitch. When I am done, I may be shaking a little; I may let those worries creep in; I may falter because I don’t know how it’s all going to work out or if people will love my work; I could be taken to my knees by disappointment (and I have been!). But, then . . . I sit down and do it all over again, just as if it snows again, I will pick up that shovel and dig myself out from under what is dished out to me.

1461250_496657083765127_1387255473_nNow, I do not want to hit you good people over the head with this – my pride and my sense of “not bugging people” often have gotten in the way of me talking about my books, but, if I want to keep doing what I love, then I have to promote my books at least sometimes, and the sometimes is usually when I have news or deals. I thought The Lightning Charmer would be off its $1.99 sale, but it’s still hanging on – shhh! maybe they forgot to take it off! ha! So, if you haven’t tried my work, now is the time, or if you have and liked my other books, then give T.L.C. a try. I will love you for it – well, hell, I already love you all :D .

three set_edited-best_edited-1As well, my little short stories are on Amazon. I don’t talk about them much because they’re just little story snacks – things you can read quickly. Simple little things. I adore the artwork on the cover.

Okay, that’s enough of the car salesman pitch *haw!*

MUWAH! y’all. Pick up that shovel (sit down and write) . . . get busy.

When you meet the Asshole Author . . . .

imagesOn an episode of Super Fun Night, (and Rebel Wilson is adorable in this–funny and endearing) the Marika character stands in line for hours just to see the woman who played a “superhero” character on television. Marika wants to tell the woman how much her work means to her, how she admires her—she’s even dressed like the “superhero” character. However, when Marika steps up to have her memento signed, the woman is rude to her. Later, Marika sees her alone and tries again to tell her what her work meant—this time, the “superhero” woman is even ruder, and Marika, disillusioned, goes home and packs away all those mementos. The woman Marika thought she would meet was not the kickass superhero, but instead a bitter shitass of an asshole.

And I, too, was that bitter shitass of an asshole. Yeah. Me. Sweet lil ole kickass Kat.

zoo-signOnly a few months after I’d spent weeks by my father’s side, and then still had to bear his (unexpected) death, I traveled to a conference. I was exhausted, still grieving, but thought the time away would be therapeutic—especially since I’d see my good friends there. Most of the eight hour drive was easy enough, until the last hour when, with growing horror, I realized I had a UTI heading my way—folks who have never had one, well you won’t understand how the very thought of this happening at home is bad enough, but on the road? Oh fuck.

By time I arrive where we are to stay, I’m frantic, calling my doctor, calling the pharmacy at home.  I finally find the “emergency” kit with a few days worth of antibiotics inside and gobble two down, hoping that’ll get me started, knowing, too, those antibiotics are going to make me ill–didn’t care–I know the chills and pain will soon start and am hoping to head them off. When I pull into where we are to stay—a group of little “bungalows—“ my phone rings. My friend: the “bungalows” are horrible. Nasty. In the midst of renovations so weird that nothing makes a lick of sense. We’d have to find someplace else to stay. During a peak tourist season. Eight hours drive. UTI. Grief. Exhaustion. No rooms. Oh, fuck, redux.

Ended up five of us had to share a small hotel room. Of the four women I’d be sharing with, one I had never met, and that’s where the asshole author comes in. Eight hour drive. UTI. Grief. Exhaustion. Five women in one little room. Fuck, fuck, and fuck.

He was an ass . . . but . . .  wasn't I, too?

He was an ass . . . but . . . wasn’t I, too?

I was barely holding onto my Assholeyness, when during the panel I was on the next day, the panel moderator introduced me thusly: “And now, former Playboy Playmate model Kat Magendie!” When I tell you the top of my head blew off, it did, for it was bad enough he’d earlier said to me something to this effect, but now on a panel?, in front of other writers and writer-hopefuls? Ka-BOOM! It seems in slow motion now, the way my head turned to him ooooh-soooo-slooowwwly, and it seems the words spewing from my mouth fling and slap him upside his head: “You fucking call me that again and I’m gonna Kick.Your.Fucking.Ass.” Yeah. I said that. On the panel. With wide eyes staring at me from the audience—although I’d like to think most of them thought, “Hey, he deserved it. You go girl.” Lawd.

The logistics of the crowded hotel room I won’t even relay. I will say that the next few days are a blur of me feeling ill, angry, pissy, crowded, annoyed, exhausted, sleepless, and generally hating everyone on the planet and then some.

And in this state is how the woman I’d never met—a woman who’d read my books and was looking forward to meeting the author behind the words—came to know The Asshole Author. (She was also in the audience of that panel that day, too. Yeah. Oops. Huhn. Lawd.)

bat shit crazy

bat shit crazy

While we can tell ourselves we must always be on our best behavior. While we tell ourselves that our face out to the world should be one of cheerful appreciation for our readers and always to be professional and courteous and kind, honestly, there are times when we just feel like shit, or bat-shit cray-cray. When we are assholes. When we want to bury our heads under the covers and shout: GO AWAY!

We’re human. We’re fallible.

After the conference was over, and once I was home and rested, I contacted the woman, and without giving up excuses (I hate excuses), I apologized to her for being an asshole. Would it have been better for me to keep a happy face and never let that Ass side of me to show? Yup. But was there any possible way that was going to happen during that time? Nope. Probably not.

Next time you meet an author, actor, singer, artist, why, anyone at all, really—whatever/whomever—and they are the Asshole from Hell, maybe, just maybe, give them a little bit of a break. Maybe, just maybe, they are having a hard time, are exhausted, are feeling stretched too thin, are feeling vulnerable and scared. Have nothing Photos, Video, few Words . . . "Granny Kat" in Oregonnothing not a danged ole thing left to give.

The words and worlds we authors create, the face we show on social networking, really IS us, but only a part of us. The part we try not to let you see is the fearful, anxiety-ridden, damaged, fallible, child-like innocence that’s been rattled, hopeful, rageful, Asshole, part of us. But oh, it’s there. Yeah. It’s there all right, and if the conditions are just right, you just may have met that Asshole instead of the person you so hoped to meet.

And for that, we give our most sincere apologies. Except for the Real Assholes—they don’t give a flying fuck one way or another.

002I think you know which one I am. Right? Right!

The Lightning Charmer coverThank you for your kind words and messages about The Lightning Charmer! I am forever grateful, and that, my friends, is the truth.

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*

Work-out writer: Music to get you off your ass – excuses just piss me off – time for some WHUPOW, y’all.

askyourdoctorWelp, did y’all think I wasn’t going to come back to this here blog? Nah. I’d never desert it. However, this here’s what I believe: you can be a good writer but that doesn’t mean you can keep up a good blog with tantalizing posts and goldenfire words that draw people by the hundreds–hell, I’m lucky if I draw people by the tens *haw haw!* Same goes for books – you can kick the ass of writing to whoopeetown and back, but if’n you ain’t got a story, then all you have is a bunch of well-written words strunged together–what? strunged ain’t a word? It is now — haw!

So, while I have a good ole time on my Facebook page (and it’s a regular ole Facebook page and not one of those “like” thangs so come join in), I’m not as blabbity here. There are so many other blogs out there that are kick ass and where the blog writer knows just what to do to make it shine. I learned how to tell a story in my novels and am doing pretty well in that regard with my readers (y’all are big ass buckets of awesome!), but I still haven’t learned how to take a blog and make it kick ass. Dang! I’ll leave that to the Blog People on High.

cartoonDSC08450-001So have you been working out? If you are shaking your head no, then come here. Come.Here. Closer. Cloooosssseerr. CLOOOOOSSSEERR. *FWAP!* that’s me smacking you upside your head! Get your ass out there and get moving! I ain’t play’n! And same goes for writing. I don’t want to hear no excuses. Shut up. Excuses piss me off. Yeah. Now, come here. Come.Here. Cloooseerr. Naw, I ain’t going to smack you again! I just was going to plant a kiss where I smacked you, cause I’m sweet like that *MUWAH* I know you like it.

If you are looking for some good heart-pumping music, I am suggesting the 50 Techno Trance Anthems collections. I have three of the volumes and am quite pleased with them. Most have that beginning that starts you off, then builds you to a frenzy, then pulls back a bit, and then WHUPOWS! you again–great for interval training, for which I strongly suggest you try.

I don’t listen to music while writing, so it’s up to you if you use this music for that. But it’s good for traveling, too, or cleaning the house.  These are the three I have – you can purchase them from iTunes for your iPod or shuffle, or from Amazon as MP3 or whatever.

Get moving. Get Writing. Stop whining. Stop complaining. Okay, you can whine and complain sometimes–I know I do!–but if’n you are doing that and not accomplishing shit for shinola, then it’s time to take stock.

Now go kick the ass of the day!

50-Techno-Trance-Anthems-Vol-4 51o2-ZK30CL._SL500_AA280_ 51ZLWzdy4bL._SL500_AA280_

Tag Cloud

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 3,818 other followers

%d bloggers like this: