Thanks everyone as always!!

I was tagged by Kristin Miller to list 10 things I’m thankful for, but they have to be writing related. Okay, deep breath, I’m giving it a go.

1. I have two writing BFF’s that I have known for a couple of years and without them, would never have gotten where I am. They listen to me bitch, moan, groan, complain, and of course, help me celebrate. They are my plot buddies, the ones who tell me I’m crazy, or who just lend an ear when I need to cry. Ruth and Dayna I could not live without these guys! I love you both!

2. When I first started writing, I joined an online writing community, and without the amazing support there, would never have sold the very first thing I wrote. Romance Divas is the most amazing group of people you could hope to meet online.

3. Gotta get my hubs in the top three! LOL His support means everything. He “gets” it, I can talk to him about plots and characters and he has never laughed at me. He helps me brainstorm and work out problems, and listens when I bitch. What more could a girl ask for! ;P

4. YA Highway’ers. OMG. When I got asked to eat lunch at the cool girls table, I almost died. They like me, they really like me! LOL A more awesome group of girls would be hard to find. And they are all so uber cool too. That makes me cool by default!!

5. My muse. I have to give her a shout out, because without her, I’d be walking in circles talking to myself. Oh wait, I do that BECAUSE she gives me ideas, but never enough information to write the whole story. She likes to make me figure it out for myself. Which sort of defeats the point don’t you think? I mean really.

6. My day job. I love my job. I really do. Its flexible and pays well and I am able to pick up my kids when they get out of school and we come home and I have several hours a day that I can write. (In theory I admit) But my job enables me to pay the bills, and not worry so I can concentrate on the fun things. Like writing.

7. My Agent. Gotta give him a shout out because, even though my debut book didn’t go anywhere yet, has given me feedback and encouragement to rewrite another that I love, and to really push the boundaries of the one I’m doing now. And I love it! He takes “good” and pushes to make it “great.” I am so very thankful for that guidance and support.

8. My laptop. I know. But I bought it last year specifically to write. I gave my old one to the kids. Now they can play games and I can have my very own computer where all my books are stored, and that won’t be destroyed by viruses from game downloads. Most importantly, I have a computer with a S and W. Yeah, has anyone ever tried to put the letters back on a keyboard? I mean, like, all of them? Not.Easy.

9. My family. Seriously. At every family get together they ask how my writing is going, when they can buy my books, and what I’m working on now. I just wish I had something to show them that hard work really does pay off! One of these days. (And they have all volunteered to follow me around to do book signings so it looks like a crowd! LOL)

10. The Internet. For giving me the access to all the above! Including number 3! LOL (Okay, excluding number 9 technically) Technology is an amazing and wondrous thing.

So there you are, 10 writing related things I am thankful for. Now I tag my two girls, Ruth and Dayna.

I’m a mom. My boys are 5 and 8. I’m also a wife. And a day job worker. And a writer.

Sometimes it feels like my hobbies include doing laundry, mopping the floor and scrubbing toilets. (I live with 3 people who pee standing up, nuff said)

I guess if I had to pick something that I love to do besides writing, in the spare three seconds of each day that I have, I’d have to go with remodeling. At any given time, I have half a dozen projects going on, ranging from painting kitchen cabinets to replacing the faucet in the upstairs bathroom (Which by the way still is not done and we’ve lived here for 4 years. Who needs running water?)

I rarely ever actually finish a project either, which drives my husband insane. The last time I wanted to do something, I had to promise I wouldn’t move on to anything else until it was finished. (Painting the kitchen cabinets and putting on new, beautiful brushed nickel hardware.) I agreed. Umm yeah, 4 months later and I have one door left. One. That door stands in the way of me getting to start anything new, damn him. I suppose I should just paint the thing, slap on the handle and be done with it.

Then he can’t say no. And I really do want to refinish the wood floor in the entry. Hmmm, there is a long weekend coming up….

Thanks for reading and commenting!

Thanks for reading and commenting!!

Today’s topic is what do we read outside the YA genre. It took all of five seconds to realize how very boring I am!

Truth be told, I rarely read anything but YA. There is such a wide variety of sub genre’s that any mood I’m in can be satisfied with a Young Adult book. I took a look at my bookshelves and 95% of what’s there is YA, from Meg Cabot and Melissa Marr to Christopher Golden and Holly Black. (Not counting the intermixing of my kids books, which range from Mercer Meyer to Dr Suess.)

Now aren’t you glad you stopped by? These are two minutes of your life you’ll never get back! LOL Oh wait, I just remembered, I am reading something right now, a book on how to organize your life. So far all I’ve learned is I should make even more lists than I already do. Then make a master list of all my lists. Except I really think I should back up that master list, because what if it gets lost? Then I won’t know where all my sub lists are! Then I won’t know what to do next! I’m exhausted just thinking about it, maybe I’ll start this tomorrow.

See what happens when you read outside of what you write! Pandemonium ensues!! LOL

I knock on the door. “Everything okay in there? Can I get someone for you?”

“Help me,” she whispers.

Goose bumps pop up along my bare arms and I take a step back. Why did her plea make me think about that scene from the stupid slasher movie Aimee made me watch last weekend? Like people really get chopped up by maniacal serial killer clowns in public bathrooms. She probably just needs a tampon or something.

“Can I get you something?” I try to focus on the girl and not worry about being murdered next to a toilet.

“Help me, please,” she cries out and I hear a thump from inside.

Great, what if she passed out and hit her head on the john. After a quick debate over whether I should text Aimee to come to the bathroom and help me or not, I give the door a push and it swings open.

It slams the inside wall and bounces closed again and I freeze, sure I didn’t see what my eyes think they saw. I push the door open again, slower this time, heart slamming against my ribs.

My feet move on their own, taking commands from my brain without checking with me first. Which is totally okay with me. When my butt hits the solid counter I grab hold like a life raft. My lungs scream at me to inhale, but I can’t remember how to breathe.

Apparently someone slipped me a roofie tonight and I had no idea and now I need to go home. Do not pass go, do not collect two-hundred dollars. Just get right the freak to bed.

The girl is there, that isn’t the problem at all. It’s the thing sitting on her chest that makes me seriously question my sanity. The Formica is cold under my fingers as I inch towards the door that seems a thousand miles away.

Ragged black wings wrap around her shoulders, claws digging in and holding her still. The size of a really big monkey, it clings to her chest, dark as night, and she just stands there. The thing swings its head in my direction and sunken, bloodshot eyes glare at me. It opens its mouth and hisses, sharp teeth glisten in the bad lighting.

I scream, throwing myself toward the exit. Before I can take more than a step, it leaps off the girl and lands on all fours with a thump in front of the door. Blocking my escape.

The bathroom is cement walled with only a small window set high above the sinks. No way I can make it up there and out before it gets me. I scream again hoping someone in the club will hear me, but with the band at top volume, there wasn’t much chance.

I really didn’t want to die in a public bathroom.

My fingers close around my cell and I press two while trying to keep my eyes glued on the monster not five feet away. ‘Come on, Aimee, pick it up,’ I plead, but the ringing stops and I get shoved into voice mail. What now?

Do I leave her a message: “I’m trapped in the bathroom with some nightmare winged monkey. Help!’

I flip the phone shut and try to come up with a plan B. All that comes to mind is putting a few more feet between us, so I back up until there is no more space and I’m wedged into the corner.

Mental note: Plan B sucks.