Books Read By The Lady- BossyPants. ( I thought it was a book about me, close enough)

Type of review: Essays
Author: Tina Fey Book: Bossy Pants

Read cover to cover. Never a bored moment and I loved the stories in full. I loved the awkward growing stages and getting into the BIZ without being the “beauty” , parenthood when busier than busy . The straight forward talk and the creating process. Was a real fun and fast easy read for sure. I grew to appreciate and admire several people through this book more. Amy Poeler and Tina Fey both . Coming up as women and making it in such a tough man’s world. SHE made the TV show so many people watch. And the coming into the “Women are funny…and people too” on SNL movement right in the movement and time I really began watching it too. The political stance and take on and the different masks she puts on for her work while sticking to being HER. The mommy breakdown over finger nails just made her…I get her. Even without kids…sometimes mine is just that day when I can’t pull the coffee filters apart.

The one thing I would ask this author. Work life balance is a big thing…how do you relax? Husband/wife power struggle with success?
The weirdest place I read this book. In bed. Right after sex.
Thought on book or while reading. Who does your eyebrows because they actually look fantastic.
Who would I recommend. Every woman out there. This is a book for a feminist class hands down. A good book for a high school class ( so many would get it ) and every summer beach bag there is.

Books Read By The Lady- We Learn Nothing ( the title is a calling to me, I am sure)

  Book Review:Essays
Author Tim Kreider: We Learn Nothing

Fantastic…at first. The first half of this I loved , laughed and nodded my head in a very ” yep…yep I get you” style…but have to say it petered out on the second half…one because it was the same stuff just different story but two because I really felt like the author petered out…got bored with the project or something. Something as a writer I know well enough about. Totally a random essay book choice of mine too but have to say…even with the half a book I DID like the essays in the second half…just…got bored, over it, but no regrets as frankly the first half of the book was more than worth it and enough essays to make me happy with my purchase and I did learn a little from the writing style ( I always learn from what is not far off from my own because I feel I am on the right track writing as I wish.)

Recommend: To anyone wanting a good laugh read a few of the essays. Also good for the writer who feels they should be much more successful after their first “year” of writing….shows how much that won’t be true. Don’t plan on it and no…you are not behind the curve. A book you can put down and pick back up at anytime for a short essay read and not all at once.

Place: About five different restaurants on the island and a coffeeshop and at each place someone commented on the name of the book. But no really weird place.
Funny story: While reading this book at Mod Coffeehouse one day a gentleman asked me if I had learned anything . I said no. He asked why not? I was reading a book with a title to learn something. I corrected in my total resting bitch face that the title was ” We learn nothing.” He says ” I see that…so what did you learn?” sigh.

The one thing I would ask this author: How is your liver?

Books Read By The Lady- Cracks In My Foundation

Book Review: Essay/Short stories.
Author Marian Keyes: Cracks in my Foundation.

This is a book I purely bought for the cover and title. Looking for an easy peasy read. One thing is knowing she is from Ireland had me reading this with an Irish accent in my head. Love. Funny. Made every joke even funnier ( it’s an American thing) I loved the stories being so absolutely off the wall and admired the ability as a writer. The essays of traveling as a writer were hilarious. Her frizzy hair issues and high heels all the time. Even while hiking. Also a good book for writers to read as it gave some insight to life as a writer. I truly loved her explanation of being a writer with no children too ( hit close to home on that) This was a great read over coffee at my local hang out in the evenings , easy read, relaxed and had me laughing out loud from time to time…more times than not. Put this on your short attention span, easy read, make you feel better about your own life book list.

Recommend: My thought was my friend , Chris, for the Alien story for sure.
The one thing I would ask this author: Have you ever been to Texas and if so…what frizzy hair story from here do you have?
And did you ride a horse with high heels?
Weirdest place read? The dressing room at Ha Ba’s in Galveston.
Funny Story while reading : I was approached at the coffeeshop by a guy until he saw the title of the book and asked me if it was a self-help book. I replied , yes.


Who can feel this ? Worth a reblog for sure . I have far moved from poetry but I’ve really liked reading this blog. A mind can always be changed.

simple head girl

Pages and images of imaginations,give me peace.
Thoughts and words never break me into pieces.
The nib of the pen is connected to every inch of my soul.

I crumble and mumble,through pages and prahses.
I scatter and gather my thoughts into Poems.
I cry and shy when I write something that is close to my soul.

I tear,I get up,I give up,I mix up,When it’s so hard to convey,A story I freak up.
I wonder the encounter I had with my dark part,
I’m struck and enlightened by the magic when I write something from my heart.

It’s creative to the world,And close to my soul,
It’s beautiful for the world,But my life in words to me,
My brain is on a break,when my heart connects with a page.

PS- Don’t you all writers feel the same way?

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Writing In Education

At The Atlantic to start a trend here… in my search for education in writing. What are your thoughts on students learning creative writing? I personally don’t feel that it’s for each and every and not exactly something that can be fairly graded due to the such but if fairly graded would be for each individual basis. #education #creativewriting #writing #inclass #englishclass #grade



Since school has started this week I realize…that I am not among those who have to wake up way before the sun comes up and wake up a sleepy teenager who stayed up way too late last night on social media and drag them off to school or put up with young elementary children who freak out when their socks “just won’t do it right.” I get to sleep in…to a blissful 9:am most days. Thank the heavens. No school supply shopping or shopping for clothes to fit a human who has somehow grown four inches in a summer.
No home work at the end of day with some small thing who’s attention span is the size of a gnat. All around living my own life and all that cooking cleaning and my own job thing…heavens no.

I get to come home after work and pack up my notebooks and touch pad and head to the coffeeshop where I set myself down and do my own work….broken up from time to time by an unexpected conversation with a random someone. Then I enjoy a meal in the courtyard of my favorite location with my ever attentive waitress who knows I tip well and then I head to my quiet home and I read until my eye’s can read no more…in the quiet.

Do I ever have those moments of missing out on having children? Sure…all the time…usually about once a month right around when my ovaries release an egg and suddenly all bearded men should be wary of the fact that in about one second I may be humping their leg as they stand in line for their morning coffee at my local shop.

I mean I went through the before thirty , and married, obligation this is what’s next trying to have kids moment. And cried everytime I saw red…yet tears of sadness and tears of relief mixed in always. I recognize now that I had tears of relief even when I thought I wanted children because now when I see red…it’s all full on relief. Five years after those five years of trying and I am all about having passed that moment in life. I now realize that I have made a life style altogether…one that, though would be adjusted if children entered…is best left un-adjusted. I am a writer. I work a day job and put all my extra moments into my passion and eventual full time career. I drink way too much coffee and sometimes I barely remember to feed myself much less some small creature dependent upon me for such things ( a dog always reminds you, not the same thing.)

I plan to eventually travel again …a lot…by RV around the states and then sailboat among the south islands and then by barge through out Europe. And write…and eat and drink and enjoy the sites and the loves and …where would a child really fit among my plans to sip espresso and write in a little nook of Paris? Really? For all that ” oh if I had children we would still do all that!”


It doesn’t happen. Unless you are Angelina Jolie . You dream and plan and have this idea. Like using only cloth diapers….but by your second kid it’s disposable all the way.

By age thirty I had gained a different stride in life. And really life wasn’t about getting married and having kids and doing as the Joneses do. It was…what my life was then. I had built a lifestyle…I wasn’t just floating through life. I wasn’t living my life to pass the time or to get to the next step then. I was at a place were I was living my life as it was meant to be . Single. Fashionable. Doing as I pleased when I pleased. Traveling, writing, spending my days in a coffeeshop or my nose to a book and drinking way too much coffee and spending my money on shoes or fashion or furniture and funs stuff for my home ( or books) and sleeping in or waking for an early run on the beach. Life was as my life was…and frankly kids didn’t really seem the need…and the craving faded until I wondered if I had ever really wanted them to begin with.

I love seeing my friends with kids but I don’t have that ping of pain for not having them…or ping of wondering if I should have them.

I like them…I just like them when I can pat them on the head and move on. Like a dog.

#nokids is my way now. And I like it…so stop asking me when I will have them and when I say I won’t stop saying ” oh…but you will when the time is right.” Ugh…I hate that one.


Two For Tuesday ( on Tuesday this time)

Artist’s At Sea

Of course this is a like for the fact that…I love a good writers residency but also because of the fact that Joe and I have both been talking of refurbishing boats ( barges and sails) and doing some time out on the water…me writing ,of course. But this is also a new angle than I have seen for residencies as well as the look around the cost of real estate mentioned in the video. Basically when it comes to art…nothing stops. Again, an inspiration. Should this succeed perhaps in the future it will be something I would apply to as well. I am looking forward to their success and their final showing of the works accomplished at sea by these writers. The fact that much leg work is accomplished before the start of Kickstarter ( and not just starting with the “oh hey…I have this great idea”) is also a testimony something on a higher playing level.

Enter MUSIC into the Kickstarter search category and you will come up with an obviously popular place to go for getting the job done….at least the funds to do them, with a whopping 47,864 project hits.

There is also a lot of crap to swamp through. And how many music studio’s need to be out there?! You still have to bring on the good music and the cost of running a studio…this…won’t make you famous. And why not collaborate with others in the music industry who already have an existing studio? And then record your music? I am not anti-studio but wow…the swamping that I did today a lot of “Der…hi…I’m a singer and I wanna open my own music studio.”

..and so I gave up on music…

Learn Film

Ok finally something MORE than sparked my interest. Not only have I been reading article after article of women in the film industry these days but…at-risk young women getting a chance and they seem really well put together already…so….a most definite choice for my Two For Tuesday pick of kickstarter mentions.

An honourable mention goes to this gal…because I REALLY loved her artwork. This gal.


My Life. In A Box.

Me in a box.(Short fiction)

I opened the storage door and stood looking in. The items I would go through and decide what to keep and unpack to move to my new home…the new apartment that I was moving into this weekend with my fiancee, the man I would marry next weekend. I sighed, realizing that not at all had I put any thought to what this task would take…would actually mean. I sorted furniture that would and wouldn’t work…donation pile. New place pile. I went through the things that would be , now, the life that I was officially leaving behind, my twenty-two years of…ME. In a box. As I pulled out the box that held my journals. My deepest thoughts of teen years and the pages that had gotten me through college. Therapy. I sat and read through the pages , often tear stained as I would write and my parents would fight. As I read my words upon pages the memories came alive for me, the sounds of their voices rising. Keeping my siblings calm and from crying. Sometimes having to run out to the neighbors to call the police when…we just got that scared. The times when our mother didn’t come home …and the day that she said goodbye and walked out the door. This hot day I finished clearing out the storage and moved everything to their new homes .Some to the donation center, some to trash and some to the new apartment.

Days later I was home from work , showered and changed from my waitress uniform. Having the evening alone since C was working the night shift at his job. I made myself a cup of hot tea and started thumbing through some of the stacked boxes that I had brought, and not yet un-packed, from storage . Coming across the box of journals again I pulled one out , curled my legs underneath me on the couch and started my walk down memory lane…a lane I wasn’t sure I wanted to walk but one which I felt I was…saying goodbye to. I thought that perhaps I had walked so very far from that location that my life was a whole other person and I was reading a book of someone else’s story. And yet…the strong emotions I had felt then…welled up in me now. I opened the journal I’d picked up which inside the pages I had titled ” The year my mother left me” and began to read words that I wasn’t sure at all I wanted to read but like a car accident being passed on the freeway I couldn’t pull my eye’s away.

” Dear mom….I hate you. Simple as that. I hate you because you left and I hate you because I don’t feel that you don’t love us. I hate you because I know you love us and you still left us. Mom…you left me. Here. Without you. Mom. I hate you.

Dear mom, I lay awake at night imagining you coming home…and what I would say when you did. Each time I imagine something different. My anger…my sadness…my hurt. My utter betrayal that I feel. Some times I imagine slamming the door in your face and shutting you out of my life forever…but sometimes I imagine your arms around me , crying as you tell me how sorry you are and how you will never ever leave me again.

Dear mom…I forgot how you smell today. I hate you more. I hate you so much. I hate you.

Dear mom…your baby, my sister , turned one year old today. You missed it.

Dear mom , I learned a new meaning of the word I used to hear dad call you, Cunt. I learned that you aren’t worthy of the word because it is attached to Goddesses and you are not a Goddess. You are nothing. Nothing. Nothing. ”

I closed the journal after reading entry upon entry of short letters to my mother that…I never told her, sent her or gave her. I showered again and curled up in my warm bed and when my fiancee got home and curled up against me and held me I wept, he just held. And again I was the lost and sad teenager. She still managed these many years when I thought that I was past that, to crumble me.

Years later and almost thirty and I was walking down the aisle to my second husband. Weirdly what was on my mind was the week prior unpacking another storage unit as I had done many years before. And I saw that old box of journals. I didn’t read them this time…my focus was on the box of all the love letters , cards and notes and trinkets from HIM. I had a note or letter every day since our first date. I couldn’t help it..I opened the box. I didn’t know if I should throw it away or keep it…moving on into a new marriage…I…didn’t….know.

I spent an entire afternoon reading through every note and letter and felt so incredibly strong the love that they were written in I felt afterward as if I had cheated on my soon to be new husband after an afternoon basking in the love of my first.

I had hidden the box , taped up, in the attic of my new home and put it out of my mind…until now…as I walked toward my second chance at hopes dreams and promises . The box was marked PAST and I had struggled with throwing it out or keeping it. Was it right to keep? It was two years of my life…two years. As I had struggled with those journals I now had struggled with this box of letters , I couldn’t bring myself to throw out my history. My ME.

Divorce number two and I packed up the last framed picture and sealed the box….and I added the box next to the box of journals and the box of HIM and I wondered if these boxes of my past were something that I should keep or something that I should …let go. Were they holding me back?

Here I was in my thirties and these boxes held my childhood dolls and artwork pictures, my teenage journals and my first love, my life of growing up. My second marriage which had been to my best friend but had still failed…the pictures of us smiling and holding hands were a far cry from where we stood in each others lives now. The tears and pain that stood between us. But those pictures showed a true and happy time and were five years of my life…my love , my best friend and a time when I lived a life so different from today. But all of these boxes are what made me what I am today. I can see how they have shaped me, how far I have come. How different I am , how much stronger and how much I came from girl to woman through the life that these boxes held. I lugged these boxes from storage to storage or apartment or house as I moved over the years. In the pictures that these boxes held was a young blond smiling child to a surfer young twenties to a graying writer of her thirties. In the words written where questions of the universe I held from age three…all of my WHY’S? and often through the lines and years…the eventually the answers, often not seen at the time. My life. In a box. I sighed on this hot July day , sweaty and tired from this last move, and pulled the big rolling door down between me and my past.

Should I just throw all of it away? Let it go? I wondered as I walked away.

I was driving down I45 on the way to work one rainy morning when I got a phone call from my storage unit, odd for them to call so I answered my cellphone.
They say a fire burned through and…all…my things…they are gone. The boxes. The journals. HIS letters. The pictures of my second chance. My past. All of it…gone. Even farther than that…the only pictures I had of my grandparents…of my childhood. All of it. burned down and gone. I cried. I yelled and I continued driving in the rain which now came down in torrents and I banged my hand on the steering wheel crying for my loss. I felt I had lost my memories. And then…funny thing…I pictured my grandmothers face and heard her sweet gravely voice singing to me softly and I remembered how I made it through my teenage years and how much I felt loved reading HIS letters each day that I got them and how handsome a couple number two chance and I made but I also felt…relief. I didn’t have to one day make the choice of ” should I keep this or let it go” again. I felt that the answer to ” is this holding me back?” answered …with a sigh of relief. The answer to my question of these boxes was answered for me. I had cried in mourning but now…I felt free as there was no box that contained ME. I now lived outside the box.

Not on my list of strong women.

Today someone, who has known my mother somewhat through a friend of hers, asked me if I spoken to my mother (since being back from jail and knowing the world of change I have gone through as well as some major health issues ) he has sighed and said ” are you ok?” at times. Today he said ” that is so far behind you” on the jail thing. But today he asked about mom. I said no. He sighed and said ” I am sorry to hear that.”

My mother is not who made me. I am not my mother. The strong women in my life does not have my mother listed on it. I survived without my mother since the time that she failed attempted suicide when I was small enough to be a baby left laying in her arms…found just before it was too late. I have survived without my mother since I was nine years old and she left…walked out the door. Left me, my brother and three sisters…one only just a year old. Her baby. A woman left her baby. Where did she go? Turns out to work in a bar and end up pregnant by another man. She came back eventually after months of not knowing if she was even alive and certainly not understanding how she had left us. She never said she was sorry. She was never sorry.

I have survived since I was pregnant before age twenty and scared to death and left alone with the choice of abortion or no…and then not having the choice and dealing with loss…and being told she hoped that I bled to death.

I have survived without her since the day that I walked down the aisle to my first husband. They say women marry their daddy…I married the exact opposite of my mother. I knew this going down the aisle. I was hoping…holding out for…my family. If I wasn’t given it as a child I would make it as an adult. I would create my own family and we would be ok.

I survived when I later divorced on my own too. My dreams shattered.

I survived now when I came out of jail and walked four miles in the driving freezing rain to nowhere to go. Nothing .

I survived you mom.

The strong women in my life are not you.

So when someone else asks how I am doing. When someone else gave me a job knowing I had been in jail for theft charges. When someone else ( a friend) had opened her door to me and gave me a place to stay that cold wet night and when many someone elses said ” it’s not their fucking business and you are past that.” When someone else who wasn’t even a friend anymore because of a dumb falling out emptied her closets and brought me warm clothes to wear. When someoone else made sure I had something to eat. When someone else says ” I am glad you are back, really”, when you told me I should spend twenty-five years and how dare I be back. And now the same amount of time later that I spent in jail, seven months, when someone else says ” thats far behind you ” and because of my health issues ” are you ok?” But that someone isn’t you. You don’t get to be on my list of strong women in my life.


Two for Tuesday ( On Sunday)

Kickstarter has 1,259 campaigns in the search of “writer” alone. So I decided to start doing Two for Tuesday and chat about two of my choices of projects that I personally liked. Now…there are many that I HATED and I would love to talk about those too…but the thought of crushing dreams hits some little spot inside of me. However..I may just start a “Tip’s ” Section of these too.

Oh heck…why not?

First…these things have me on the fence…perhaps because it’s blown up from awesome projects that take a ton of money to achieve and give ME some sort of entertainment to also covering people’s cries for rent…some are legit, absolutely…and some make me want to scream GET OFF YOUR LAZY ASS AND GET A JOB!

Others make me think “Gawd…one more sob story” When I have my own…and others have me all “Sure you want to write full time…so do I! But in the meantime I write fulltime hours while I also serve tables fulltime hours too. You money mooching mongrels.”

But then then I think…who the hell am I to judge There are several huge companies that now run off of this…and employ people even! And thousands that even hit their goals. And plenty of more that try real hard. And watch…as soon as I paint myself into that damn corner that damn doorbell will ring and I will find some damn reason to be up on there myself with some damn project or another.
So then my guilty side does a little support of those who do it. Criticism and all.

So this Tuesday’s choices ( on Sunday because….I am ahead of schedule and that is a rare damn thing).

These Guy’s have reached their goal in just a short amount of time and a big number. Now they started with a large sum of private investment as well…really backing them up and getting them off with a good bounce to begin with. But I watch this video and I was really quite impressed. I like dorky, geeky (I mean this with all affection guys) , funny and dry and from the video alone I began stalking a bit on all other avenues to see more. This was something I wanted to learn about and watch! So…really cool to see they made their goal and will keep updated on seeing the finished product…keep your eye’s open for this project!

This Project by Katy Rex caught my attention. First…by the cover. I liked the set up, the art and the illustrations ,and, ok so I do buy books by their covers at times ( very few times am I really disappointed) . The video seriously annoyed me at first but quickly got past all the waving and I really liked the idea of the collaboration of artists. The writers and the illustrators as well as multiple writers from many locations. I do wonder how she goes about her research and what lengths she goes to gather her information of such an interesting writer as well as if she will do her justice by her research.
I do think that a novel of Jane Bowles is interesting, attention grabbing and something I would most definitely read. I also think that with all of the focus on sexuality in today’s news that perhaps the shine of “Queer” writers such as herself might be a good angle of the project and perhaps even good for those who are learning themselves that there are “plenty of others out there just like them” . We have Target changing their blue and pink colors of toy sections and Miley Cyrus and Caitlyn Jenner…why not shine a little light on writers ?

So now that I have fully stalked these choices on all parts of the interwebs and kinda want to take a shower myself…for them…you should check out some cool projects, even if you don’t donate to such things. Artists live by words…and fans that read them sometimes put bread and butter in their mouths.