Tag Archives: #MarilynJayeLewis

In honor of the Solstice, I guess

I woke-up happy today. Really happy. Probably for the first time in several weeks.

As the year winds down, I’ve updated the site. I draw your attention to the right side of the screen there (if you’re on a cell phone, this occurs all the way at the bottom of the post).

This is yet another demo from my early singer-songwriting days in Hell’s Kitchen, NYC. Early 1980s.  I always loved this song.

This demo, “Click Click Click,”  from early 1984, was recorded first on the 4-track in my bedroom, and then taken to the 8-track in my boyfriend’s bedroom, where he added drum machines and some sort of synthesizer keyboard tracks.

When this song finally got produced in 1986 by a Grammy-winning producer  who will remain forever nameless, he made it into a power rock ballad, a la Joan Jett. This could not have been a worse choice, since I can’t carry off anything whatsoever Joan-Jett-like onstage. The only Joan-Jett-ish thing I can do, actually, is listen with great joy to “Bad Reputation” and “I Hate Myself For Loving You” over & over & over.

Anyway. In my head – and hopefully on the new recordings – I hear more live percussionists than you can possibly imagine. Perhaps a stadium full! We shall see, gang.

I also updated the excerpt from The Muse Revisited. This one is from Volume 1, and is a short story entitled Muriel the Magnificent.

This is the very same story I got into hot water with over at Amazon when I first published Volume 1 of The Muse Revisited  in 2010 and they insisted I delete the whole section about Muriel getting spanked by her father when she was 7 years old.

This pissed me off enormously for 2 reasons: 1.) It was a great piece of NON-EROTIC writing that sets up the whole rest of the story (!!); and 2.) Amazon was already selling it in traditional book form and had been selling it for about 10 years!!!!! Suddenly, they were refusing to allow me to publish it without deleting that passage.

And, yes, dear readers, I finally caved. I censored my own writing to please the behemoth Amazon.

So if you bought Volume 1 of The Muse Revisited as a Kindle eBook, this particular story has been edited to remove anything whatsoever that could possibly be construed as questionable between Muriel and her dad when she is 7 years old. Even though the entire rest of the story is indeed pornographic…

Every other edition of this story, including over at Smashwords, was published in its original version.

The story was written in 2000 expressly for The New English Library Book of Internet Stories; Published by Hodder and Stoughton UK

Reprinted in Best New Erotica 2001, Published by Constable & Robinson UK

And again, I want to take this moment to thank every single reader, editor, and publisher in the UK over the years and currently, as well as, and in particular, the Guardian newspaper over there. You put my work on the map, gang. And have kept it there since 1999. Thanks.

In the unlikely event that you haven’t guessed it by now: This story contains sexually explicit material that will not be suitable for all readers.

On that note, enjoy a wonderful Solstice, folks.  The video below , which helped brighten my outlook on life enormously when I was about 21, should also  help enormously in the Solstice celebrations today!

Okay. Thanks for visiting. You mean more to me than words can say! Take care, gang, and see ya!

 

 

Tiny Rejoicing Heart

Okay, maybe my heart isn’t so tiny.  It’s a huge heart rejoicing over the small things.

I got great work done on the new novel yesterday. Chapter 17 had ended on an unexpected note. And I had no clue what Chapter 18 had in store, so when it finally came pouring out after dinner last evening, I couldn’t have been more surprised or happier. It all just came right out.

And, as has been the case with this whole novel (Blessed By Light – my first erotic novel since Freak Parade, which I think was published in 2010), it is writing itself. And usually has no typos, even. Or at most, one or two. The Muse is in complete control of this one, gang.  Dictating every word into my wide open void of a brain.  And it has been quite a beautiful adventure.

Normally, when I’m writing a novel (this is my 6th, and I have a 7th one also in-progress), I agonize over the arrival of every word, over the formation of every single sentence. But for this whole book – well, I do have to sit and wait and wait and wait sometimes. But when it comes, man it’s a deluge. It just comes. Hits the paper in all its glory with, as I said, almost no typos whatsoever. A  very cool experience – to be dictated to by the Muse.

So I am staring at the first page of Chapter 19. No clue what’s coming, but I know it will all turn out all right.

More repair guys came bright and early this morning. That full moon had me awake most of the night, so when I finally woke-up for real, the sun was already up and I had to scramble around to get the cats fed and get myself dressed before the guys came walking in the door at 8am to do some work on my water heater and the furnace ducts.

It’s not how I prefer to start a morning, but started it got, and Diane will be here soon anyway with my newly re-upholstered dining room chairs!! I can’t wait. I know they are going to be so beautiful, even though no one , absolutely no one, goes into that dining room except for me and 8 cats…

Then I have to do a counseling session. I’m not sure what it’s about. I don’t think it’s grief counseling. I’ll just show up and find out.  After what I went through with myself this week, keeping myself alive, I know I am ready to help someone else with whatever comes.

Then, as a Christmas gift to myself, I bought a 90-minute tarot reading with a reader in London. A Skype reading. I’m really looking forward to it.

I’ve been reading tarot cards since I was in my teens (which was in a different century, scarily enough!), but of course I am not so good at reading cards for myself, especially when I’ve been in such a stressed-out state of mind. My stepmom used to read the cards for me and she was really good at it. She did it professionally. But she’s been in a nursing home for 7 years, deteriorating pretty rapidly now from MS. So that is over. And that’s another one of those really sad things that is “transitioning” in my life.

But you have to just sort of keep on going, right? Pick up new pieces and see if you can fit them into the puzzle of what’s left of your world. I think he’s going to be a good reader, though. I’ve been following him on Instagram and watching his live videos there for a few months now. I’m really excited to see what comes up.

I think 2019 is going to be a good year. 2018 has been a really good year for me, but I still haven’t sold anything, beyond just making royalties off sales of my older books. I’ve had some great meetings in NYC and out in LA, and everything is still in process, which is good but is also kind of frustrating. So I’m hoping that 2019 sees some actual sales, and also sees me complete a couple more of my projects. Finish both of my new novels, and then complete that other one-woman show I’m writing for Sandra Caldwell. I’ve already got some producers interested in that show, so writing it would behoove a lot of us!

Plus all those micro-short films Peitor and I are writing and producing out in LA. They are just so funny, gang.  Those little vignettes (they last from 8 to 20 minutes, tops) make us both laugh so hard. It feels so good to laugh so hard. I can’t wait until we have scripts we can start shooting from and sending around to film festivals. They are just a real joy to create.

Peitor and I have been close friends for over 30 years now.  What an unexpected delight it’s been to suddenly start coming up with these scripts together that are – again – pretty much writing themselves. And they are so damn funny. In a very convoluted and unexpected way.  It seemed like everywhere we went together in LA, we wound up in a puddle of hysterics over some piece of dialogue or plot twist that would suddenly come to us.

And, actually, on that cosmic note — he just texted me a bunch of photos from Maui, where he’s on vacation with his husband this week.

So I’m gonna use this segue to get off of here and get back to the novel. Have a good day, wherever you are in the world. Thanks for visiting and making me part of your day. Take care and see ya, gang!A recent sunset on Maui… photo by Peitor Angell

A Good Corner Turned

I awoke at my usual 4am nonsense today and discovered that I was in a really good place.  The Muse was even hanging out, sort of hovering around the area of the bed.

I was happy again, and peaceful, and willing to accept and embrace constant change. That’s all life is – just change. A constant pulse. And I’m not a stranger to change and usually don’t resist it.

Falling in and out of love is just more change, really. So now that I’ve accepted that, I’m good.

And now that the holiday  is really barreling straight at us, everyone in LA and NYC leaves their offices so I can just put all the business stuff on hold for a few weeks, and just spend some good, quiet time writing – along with steadfastly refusing to decorate the tree.

My birth mom sent me a really pretty ornament that I will put on the tree, though –  just that one ornament. I’ll be making a statement of some kind, perhaps: Lovely Obstinacy.

She also sent me a bunch of Christmas presents! So far, I have been able to resist unwrapping them. I am usually not very good at waiting until Christmas, though. We’ll see.

She sent me a really beautiful card, too. It kinda broke my heart. I could feel that she meant every word of it. And I loved that it smelled like cigarettes. I could picture her writing it at her kitchen table, smoking a Pall Mall and thinking of me. I liked that a lot.

I won’t tell you what I got her, or why I got it, even though I don’t think she reads my blog, but you never know!

On a similar topic:

A book arrived in the mail yesterday. It was sitting on my front porch with no indication of who sent it to me. I don’t know if it’s a review copy and someone would like a review, or if it was a gift to me? Regardless, if you, or someone who looks a lot like you, or someone you know, sent me the book, please let me know!

It’s a really cool book! It’s called: Rock and Roll Woman: 50 of the Fiercest Female Rockers, by Meredith Ochs.

And as a testament to I don’t know what, both ex-husbands sent me Christmas gifts this year. I was really touched. Really. I love to be thought of enough that someone actually gives me a gift. But I have to wonder – is this a way of saying how happy they are to have me very far away now at Christmas? You know, like, they’re so happy about it they want to give me a gift to commemorate it: Thanks for leaving! It made a world of difference in our home!

I’m kinda just kidding, but kinda not.  I simply cannot imagine surviving being married to me and then wanting to send me a gift on top of that.  For any reason whatsoever.

However.

All righty. Laundry is almost done. Coffee is down to the dregs, so I am going to begin writing around here. I’m on Chapter 17 of Blessed By Light. My guess is that I have about 80 or so pages left to go.

Have a really terrific Saturday, wherever you are in the world. Know that I love you! I’m happy you’re here, crossing my path in life. Take care and see ya!

All right already, I put up the darn tree

And by “putting it up” I, in fact, mean that I took it out of the box and plugged it in.

I’m not gonna decorate it! I’m not even gonna straighten the fake branches! I’m too damn tired! [grumble grumble grumble]

Christmas tree, fresh from the box!! While it doesn’t smell like pine, it does smell like Teen Spirit!

Before I forget, in case you’re wondering why I have a photo of Louisa May Alcott at the top there, it’s because she was a cousin of mine – through her mother, on my birth father’s paternal side. I’m really proud of that.

Plus, I think Louisa’s dad was truly  awesome, even though I am not a blood relative of that line.

So anyway – yes. All this non-Christmas spirit of mine is because I fell out of love. Not so much “fell” as was thrust, or shoved out of it. I’m devastated but I’m getting better.

I simply have the worst track record with men.

Loyal readers of this lofty blog no doubt recall that I recently had fallen back in love with Mob Guy #2 only to be told by a very austere and important friend in NY that he was not going to allow it because me and mob guys and potential problems with the FBI always end badly.

He even intervened, as it were, regarding that really cute electrician who wanted to sleep with me back in October! He said, and this is a direct quote: “Marilyn, you have the poorest judgment of anyone I have ever known.”

He was right. I had to give him that. I tried to totally behave myself for about a nanosecond with the cute electrician who was 20 years younger than me and the father of a 2 year-old, but then promptly fell totally in love with someone that I knew was going to be a disaster.

I did try to avert it. But then I gave in. And then I got my heart broken into a bazillion pieces.

But you know? What are you supposed to do? Just not be alive? Sit at your desk and write all the time?

I tried both of those options, many times, and still come back to wanting to be in love before I die… For real “die”, I mean. Not just be one of the emotionally walking dead. (Okay, I was totally and thoroughly in love with Mikey Rivera, the guy I wrote Freak Parade for and about, but 7 years into it, that ended really, really badly, too. And I’ve been totally and thoroughly in love with two different women over the years, and they both “liked me a lot.” Heavy sigh… )

And multiply all that with all those people hitting me up on Instagram and Facebook – I really was at my wits’ end yesterday. Yesterday was the day wherein I officially could no longer take it. Another close friend, through texting, convinced me to actually leave the house yesterday, instead of isolating myself and/or killing myself. (It really was a really rough day, gang.)

And oddly enough – I had a nervous breakdown on December 13th 1974. Now, you don’t just have a nervous breakdown in the space of one day. It builds, it explodes, it magnifies, it crests, you try to kill yourself, and then dozens of years later, you sort of “get better.”

So that’s my professional definition of it. (Of my life, frankly!) But I thought it was odd that yesterday was another one of those December 13th’s.

But I’m better today. Moving onward. Sitting at the desk, preparing to work some more on the new novel before tackling the needed revisions on the CLEVELAND show bible.  Somehow it’ll all work out, right?

And in other good news… my first ex-husband sent me a link to an article in the Daily Mail yesterday, assuring me that Keith Richards is sober now and will be sober for the upcoming American tour!! Not only that, but Ronnie Wood finds Keith easier to get along with when he’s sober. (Or when Keith is sober, I should say.) (And I will add that notoriously hard-rocker Ronnie isn’t a man that should be throwing any “stones”, if you’ll excuse the pun.)

I found that just so delightful. I mean, it’s great that Keith is sober at age 175 (oops! I meant “75”), but the fact that my ex-husband, whom I’ve been separated from for 35 years and who is no fan whatsoever of rock & roll, remembered how much I love Keith Richards.  That really brightened my day.

And in other rock & roll news, I thought Nick Cave‘s comments on the Israeli Boycott were courageous and brilliant. You can read them here if you haven’t already.

Okay. I believe it is Friday today, folks. So have a really good one. And thanks for visiting! I love you all to pieces. I sure as heck do. See ya!

Okay – Exhausted Now!

But it was a really great trip.

I got so much done! Did so much – took TONS of Lyft cabs. And I had to just sort of stay open to everything, energy-wise, in all the various meetings and interactions with people (some were total strangers until now, whom Peitor introduced me to) and it opened up some unexpected avenues, for both the TV pilot and the theater projects I’m doing with Sandra.

Plus, Peitor and I formed a production company to write and produce micro-short  films and theater pieces – all comedies.

And now it’s just more waiting for answers re: the TV pilot…

Even though I now have to tackle the re-writing of the show bible, I want to sort of relax, take advantage of LA shutting down now for the season;  work on Blessed By Light ( my novel) some more because that is where I am truly happiest, and ponder how to come up with the energy to put up the darn Christmas tree!

This is my first real home – ever in my life. My whole life, I have been dreaming of Christmas in my real home (which until now, I’d assumed would come in the afterlife), and now that it’s here, I’m too exhausted to drag everything out of the closet.

I am still in love, deliriously so, although it is hard to be in love and live so far away (and be in love with a man who is so incredibly busy) because it leaves me alone with just the contents of my mind most of the time, which is never a good thing, folks. You can trust me on that.  It remains in the forefront of my brain. It’s like keeping little insects under a microscope, or something. You know, the way I cannot turn my thoughts off.

On another note… Diane broke her wrist, so the re-upholstering of my dining room chairs took awhile, but here’s a slightly blurry idea of what they are looking like!! I’m so thrilled! I think she’s bringing them by tomorrow, in time for Christmas (even though I probably won’t have a single soul here to visit for Christmas, my chairs will look great.).

And the very day I was leaving for LA, the insulation guys showed up to start the work on my house! Thank goodness Diane was staying here, because I’d been waiting for the insulation to get done since May! It took them 5 days to complete it all, but, wow, what a difference it has made.  And on the 5th day (yesterday, while I was gone the whole day), the workers did something really cute. They not only vacuumed my downstairs, they plugged in my new CD player (pictured here, on my kitchen table) —

CD player that looks like a jukebox, plus tons of leftover Halloween candy that you’re welcome to have because I don’t eat it

— They also played a Tom Petty CD!  They chose a really old one – songs from 1976-78, which of course captured my heart because I also love those old songs! It was still in the player when I got in at 10 PM last night. I just thought that was so cute.  And they left their invoice/receipt on my kitchen table, with a note scrawled on it that said, Merry Christmas, Marilyn. Good luck with all you do.

I tell you, Muskingum County is just the sweetest place to live. I’m guessing that if I had such a thing as a liquor cabinet, they would have gotten into that, too! But I honestly don’t care. I love it when people feel at home in my house. And so far, it’s been repair guys.  Quite a number of them. They sit down at my kitchen table and chat. Not just about the furnace, or the electrical wiring, or the insulation,  but they chat about all the books I own, and all the vinyl records I still have, the tons of DVDs and VHS videos I still have, and they all talk about rock & roll.

THEM: “I noticed you have a guitar in your closet. Do you play?”

ME: “Yes. I used to.”

And then I leave out the part about my whole world crashing down and how I felt like I wasn’t even alive anymore for the longest time…

But I do like it when people feel at home in my house.

Oddly enough, even while I’m typing up this post, I’m also working on a new  script with Peitor  – via texting on my phone. Yes, 2 intense things at once. At the very same time. So life is a little full right now. I keep going, but I’m really, really beat.

Oh, and my stepmom is really deteriorating in the nursing home. Getting really dire there. I’m trying my best to remain in denial about that. Because whenever my thoughts actually land on her eventual passing, I want to just fall over and collapse. Block it all out.

But meanwhile, I must close this and get myself to the grocery store. An hour’s worth of driving. Such is the price of living in the middle of nowhere.

Thanks for visiting, gang! See ya.

Off I Go!

This is probably my last post before I leave for LA on Tuesday, gang!

Diane will be here taking care of my many impossible cats while I’m gone, so I have a lot of housecleaning and laundry to do before I go.  Plus I still want to try to get more writing done on Blessed By Light.

I am indeed flying American Airlines (pictured above) out to LA. And in exchange for the lowest round-trip fare I ever saw for a nonstop flight from here to LA, I agreed to sit in any seat they deemed suitable for the likes of moi. That should be really interesting. We’ll see how that goes. (HINT: I’m the absolutely last person allowed to board the plane!)

In addition to working on a couple of scripts with Peitor Angell, whose apartment I’m staying at in West Hollywood; and in addition to my meetings with TV producers regarding my CLEVELAND TV pilot script, I will indeed be having dinner with this gal!

Blare N. Bitch, from the road, summer 2018

Loyal readers of this lofty blog no doubt recall this photo from the post I made somewhere around my birthday this past summer, and about how awesome Blare N. Bitch still looks at age 59!!

I wish I had photos of what she was like in the 1980s, when I first knew her in NYC, because man, her hair was awesome!!

I actually do have one Polaroid photo of her that I hope to put in my memoirs if she approves my use of it. I can only say that it was 1985 and we’d been drinking all night at the infamous 7B Horseshoe Bar on E.7th Street; it was 4 in the morning and we were in my room in my hellhole tenement apartment on E.12th Street, and she was smoking a cigarette on my bed when I snapped the Polaroid. I mean, she’s fully clothed and all that. But her enormous hair is just to die for.

If you are too young to know what NYC musicians’ hairstyles looked like in the mid-1980s, I guess you can google it. There’s one of me on my “About Marilyn Jaye Lewis” page above – scroll halfway down. Look for the Oscar De La Renta earrings… I was no stranger to Aqua Net super hold hairspray myself!! (Yes, you’re blaming Donald Trump for the current  climate problems, when actually I was the one who destroyed the ozone back in the 1980s, when I was still a musician and daily trying to get my hair to stand up on end.)

Image result for aqua net hair spray

Well, they were heady days – if you’ll excuse the pun! I’m glad they’re over and kinda not. You know, the decades pass and you start to only remember the good things. There were actually two good things that happened to me in the 1980s – Blaire was one of them! I won’t mention the other good thing because I don’t remember what it was!

Anyway…

So, yes, I will regale you with all the news that’s fit to print upon my return next weekend! Try to keep things to a low roar around here while I’m gone.

Thanks for visiting, gang! See ya soon!

No more for me, thanks; I’ve had enough!

Of life, that is!

Or at least that’s how it feels today. I’m just so worn out.

Yesterday was the 4th day in a row that was being beamed to me directly from somewhere beyond Mars.  By this, I mean, that I awoke yesterday feeling that I had regained my emotional balance; my delicate mental wiring was somehow back in place. I was looking forward to a productive writing day.

It was not unproductive. I got more done than I’d gotten done in the last several days, but that isn’t really saying a whole lot. I had hoped to have this novel done by the end of the year. At this point, the only way it’ll be done by the end of the year is if someone else takes over the writing of it.

This current novel, which I only anticipate being about 180-200 pages long, was going along at quite a steady clip until I went off to NYC. And then when I came home, I had to focus on the TV pilot, and turn that in, which went great. But then once I was ready to focus on the novel again, I promptly fell in love with somebody.

So then I was caught up in texting deliriously and trying to write a novel at the same time. It wasn’t working out. At all.

And then, suddenly, I have to go to LA and, you know, be of sound mind because there will be witnesses. To my mental state. And then suddenly I’m caught up in this whirlwind of overwhelment of love & confusion and saying, “I have to break this off; it’s not right.” And he was, like, — well, I’m not going to get too private here, but it became 3 days of the kind of texting that nobody wants to do, especially when one of those texting participants is me losing my mind. And then it was like the whole world went splintering off into a million pieces.

Then, back in professional/work mode,  I googled myself because I know producers are googling me and I wanted to see what they were going to see – hopefully not some lurid 100% sexually graphic piece of writing of mine from 10 years ago or something like that.  But if that indeed was the case (it kind of was, unfortunately) I wanted to be prepared.

When you google me nowadays, you usually get about 1/2 a million links in 44 seconds. Well, yesterday, it was FOUR and a 1/2 million links in 44 seconds.  Holy crap. 4,570,00 results. People have been googling the heck out of me. And links from all over the world were popping up. In all kinds of languages.  And suddenly I was finding out stuff about myself that I had totally forgotten.

I used to give a lot of interviews  – TV, radio, print, and online – and apparently I had the habit of being very candid because there are quotes all over the Internet that are really personal, about me, that are being attributed to me, and apparently I said that stuff because all of it was true. There was some stuff about me out there that was erroneous and not true. But still. I really felt like I was suddenly on the alternate version of Earth, where the past 10-15 years of my career  had not yet happened.

It didn’t feel violating at all, just intensely weird. And it totally fucked even more with my stomach because I couldn’t figure out who I was, you know? Who am I? Apparently I used to know every last detail about myself and willingly told it to “the press.”

So I finally took a piece of a little pill in order to calm down, fell dead asleep by, like 8:30pm. Then was awake at 3am and on Instagram, looking at one of Tom Petty’s daughters getting surprised with a birthday cake as she walked into her apartment, fresh from a trip to Paris.

And I thought: as interesting as this seems at 3am in my bed in the dark, why am I knowing this? She’s been alive for 44 years now and I’ve never seen any of her birthday cakes before.

Instagram is so goddamned addicting now that I have my amazing new iPhone that works at warp speed.

But really the only reason I was on Instagram at 3am was because I was wondering why the guy that I had told in an amazingly lush, dense, and indescribably articulate collection of words that it “was over,” was not writing to me.

Yes! I had become that woman! First, in tons of elaborate words that I won’t repeat here, I said: “It’s over.” Then, I said, “Why are you ignoring me now?” Jesus.

But in my defense (which, albeit, is weak), the last thing he had texted to me was “I’ll text you in minute, honey” and then it was 33 hours later and still no reply… On my planet, a minute is 60 seconds. On his planet, apparently a minute is over 33 hours long.

You know that I know darn well I’m out of my mind. If I weren’t, I wouldn’t be an oddly “famous” writer barricaded in obscurity in the tiniest town on the planet, hanging out at the cemetery talking to dead people that I never, ever knew, and writing down the things they’re saying to me so that I can put it in my novel!

After Instagram assured me that my direct messages had not been so much as looked at, and after I watched Adria Petty get surprised with her birthday cake about 4 times, I turned over and went back to sleep. And I awoke at 5am thinking I could handle life, possibly. Maybe. Perhaps. And of course I looked directly at my phone, out of habit, and there he was. Twice. And being very polite.

And I was, like: Okay. Thank you. Now I’m gonna attempt to be sane – or at least do a good job of pretending to be. I’m gonna read up on how the “sane” people look and act and I’m just gonna follow their lead. Jesus. The truly unfortunate part of all this is that I’ve been out of my mind my whole fucking life…

Me, in my alternate world, where everything I do makes sense.

 

The “Doh!”s Just Keep on Coming!

Yes, three years ago when I sold my old house and was expecting to move back to New York, in my zeal to somehow achieve 2 things at once:  throw my entire life away and cling tenaciously to things I will never use again, I did something inexplicable.

Okay. I did an ungodly amount of inexplicable things.  (I was grieving and it was too much loss at once.)

However, the thing I’m talking about here is that I was closing down a 1700 square foot house, thinking I would wind up in something the size of a peanut shell back in New York. So I had to ruthlessly divest myself of just so much stuff.

And in that ruthless divestiture [you’re probably thinking I didn’t know how to use that word in a sentence – Ed.], I threw out every single solitary – incredibly expensive – piece of luggage I owned.  (And mind you, I managed to cling to more incredibly cool cocktail glasses than any single woman should be legally allowed to own and I don’t even really drink anymore, but my cupboards are bursting with fancy barware!)

I did not discover my foolhardiness regarding the luggage until I was preparing to leave for NYC last month and discovered the only things I own that resemble luggage are one very small flight bag and a white, sparkly beach tote. Luckily, that was a crazy-quick trip and I drove to NYC, so I could just throw everything that didn’t fit into one very small flight bag and a white, sparkly beach tote into the backseat of my Honda Fit.

But now I am preparing to fly to LA for 5 days, and I’m only allowed, of course, one carry-on. I have a reputation to uphold in the world beyond Crazyland. I want to be seen as a tall, silver-haired, overly serious woman who thinks too much.  And a white, sparkly beach tote is simply not going to cut it. Nor is there room in that thing for even 1/4 of what I’ll need for 5 days.

So, yes!! I bought this cool thing and it arrived last night!

It doubles as a backpack and a carry-on, and it is full of little secret zippered mesh compartment thingies!!

I just love it!! Even though all the fake stamps & postcards from around the world bespeak of someone who loves to travel, and that is so NOT me. I hate to travel. I hate to see new things and meet new people! I hate to get a fresh perspective on the world and hence on my own existence within it! I hate having an expanded frame of reference from which to write my many glorious works of fiction!

I prefer to just stay at home, sit at my desk, look out the window at my maple tree… However, all that other stuff happens to me anyway.

But I’m super excited to have my new backpack/carry-on! I’m gonna try like hell to not throw it away!

All righty.

I got next to no writing done yesterday, even though I sat at my desk in front of the laptop the entire day. I wrote about 9 lines – and most of those being incomplete sentences that this new novel is becoming famous for.  However, I had the little weasel of love scurrying around in my belly all day, really just making me distracted and sick. So that’s my excuse. Today, I’m better, though. Even though it’s sad to be out of love, by my own choosing; no more delightful little pings of loving texts popping up merrily on my phone.

It just has to be that way. So on we go, ever nearing the completion of Chapter 16 in Blessed By Light.  And it’s a wonderfully snowy day here in Crazyland, so it’ll be nice to just sit here all day and write.

Thanks for visiting, folks! I hope you have a really good, love-filled day, wherever you are in the world. See ya!

Snow falling outside my bedroom window right now

Gosh, what a rough week

I don’t know about you, gang, but my week has been that proverbial emotional roller coaster. Some seriously good highs, some very disturbing lows, some betrayals of trust, even.

Well, you can’t beat that, can you?

And very early this morning, I had to make a very difficult decision, a difficult break, that indeed broke my heart.

Why do I always feel like I’m better off just sitting at my desk and writing and avoiding the real world at all costs? Of course, you can’t really ever do that, can you?

Onward I suppose.

I hope it’s an okay Monday, wherever you are in the world, gang. And I hope that if your heart got broken – or if you actually had to break your own heart, which I seem to excel at these days – well, I hope you find all the love left in the world to ease your pain just a little bit.

Thanks for visiting. See ya.

Image result for vintage drawings of sad kittens