People often ask me where my stories come from.
Actually, anyone who knows me knows exactly what my life is like and where my stories come from.
Here’s an example and it will explain what’s been going on.
On January 11, 2010, I gave my resignation at my job so I could move from my home in Arizona to my new home in North Carolina. I don’t really have a new home there, but I would be staying with friends until I could find a new home. My family was going to join me in May once the kids were out of school for the summer.
I gave my notice and I was moving to North Carolina to open our bookstore, Barnhill’s.
Did you really click that link? I’m not there yet! Save it for later. I’ll tell you when. Now pay attention.
Within an hour of giving my notice, my husband arrived home to discover we had been robbed. My first concern was the saftey of my fifteen-year-old son, Joey. He hadn’t felt well that morning and stayed home from school. My husband leaves before me in the morning and didn’t know my son was home sick.
He was still in bed, sleeping.
However, earlier in the day, he woke to discover the kid who lives behind us coming in the back door. They scared each other with Joey yelling, “What the hell are you doing in my house,” and the kid taking off running and jumping back over the fence. Joey went through the house. The living room looked fine and my bedroom door was still closed so he went back to bed.
My husband came home, opened the bedroom door, saw the blinds askew, the window open, and my laptop gone. Apparently, when Joey surprised him, the kid was coming back in the house after taking his first load of stolen goods out.
Word quickly spread through the neighborhood and reports of seeing him carrying my laptop began to circulate. The police came and took a report. Word from the grapevine got back to us that the kid was trying to trade my laptop for a gun or enough money to buy a gun and he was coming back.
Everything that was gone was just stuff. Sure… my laptop had my latest book on it and some personal stuff like our Christmas pictures, but I have most of my book on backup and the pictures are just pictures and video.
The scary thought was that if this little punk had a gun when he broke into my house, he probably would have shot Joey. And if not at my house, he wouldn’t stop breaking into people’s houses and someone would die.
This was supposed to be a happy week for me. After a lot of planning, it was time for me to take the next big step in my life. I was packing and planning my trip.
On Tuesday, my husband remained home in case our visitor returned as promised. He was seen several times and the police were called but they didn’t come out.
On Wednesday, I was coming down the street from work when a neighbor tried to squeeze between me and parked cars. He hit the mirror on my truck and it folded. His broke. He called the police and said I hit him. Hours later, when the police came out, they stopped by just to let me know that he wasn’t pressing charges but he did have witnesses. The “witnesses” didn’t mention they spent every Friday drinking with the “victim” or that they weren’t actually outside or in view of the accident.
After that, we changed our plans. We’re all moving. I’ve been packing. This neighborhood has gone downhill and I don’t feel it’s safe for my children. Yesterday, they arrested the kid, but he will probably be released today. He had one of my rings in his possession and the police impounded it. It’s now being held as evidence. The kid confessed. They’re still going to let him out.
Welcome to my world. I’m leaving.
I know, I know, I know. You guys were wishing I would create a new blog.
Your wish has been granted.
Now you have to answer three questions for me since I updated my blog for you:
1) What do you want for Christmas?
2) Tell me the nicest thing you did this year so Santa knows if you deserve to get what you want.
3) Tell me the naughtiest thing you did this year so I know if you get what you deserve!
Most writers are avid readers. They have a love for the written word that pulls them to paper and pen or more precisely in this day and age, to the keyboard. The computer has become an extension of ourselves and we are as comfortable with it as we are with our remote controls and driving a car.
Other people may have a similar love for movies or theater and take up acting to be a part of the world they love. Would the writer and reader be more visually perceptive than the actors and theater people? Which group would likely have a deeper level of imagination?
I don’t believe there is any right or wrong answer. My husband is certainly a movie person and I swear there are dozens of characters living in his head. My best friend and sister are both the same way while also being creative and talented authors. My husband doesn’t read at all. I read my novels to him. Reading the books aloud also helped me to edit as I read.
Now, let’s talk about you. Are you a movie person? A book person? Is there a hidden actor or author within you? Maybe all of the above? If you’re a mixture of both, do you read the book and then go see the movie? If you see the movie, do you refuse to touch the book? Are you at the point where you watch movies or read books on your computer or on a handheld device such as Kindle, or game systems such as PSP. Would you read a book or watch a movie on your phone?
The line between pen and paper and the keyboard as well as the silver screen and the digital world are all blurring together faster than I can keep up!
Claire Collins is the author of the romantic suspense novels Images of Betrayal and Fate and Destiny, both available from Second Wind Publishing, LLC.
The other day, my daughter ran into my room wearing a long black cape and her brother’s skeleton halloween mask.
She said, “I’m a cat burglar!”
Then she grabbed the fluffy sleeping cat off of my bed, tucked him under her arm, and ran out of the room.
Several things have happened since I last saw you. So without further ado, here’s an update:
Halloween came and went.
I added a new bear to my collection and he promptly took over my favorite place to hang out:
My oldest son turned 19. He still doesn’t have a job.
My next oldest son was promoted from freshman football to varsity football and he got to play in the last two varsity games. He would have played in the final varsity game, but he was sick all week and missed two practices so he couldnt play. We can’t wait for next year. He will be the only Sophomore on the varsity team.
Everyone got sick with some weird stomach bug. I hope it was H1N1 because if so, we all had it and survived and should be good to go for the rest of the year. Right?
My kitchen cabinets have three shelves. Well, one cabinet now only has two shelves, but that’s ok because I don’t have nearly as many glasses as I used to since that one shelf decided it was tired of holding up all of those glasses.
At least 3 times in the last two weeks, I haven’t had more than three hours of sleep because my husband snores and when the weather changes, his snoring gets worse. As soon as I drift off, he wakes me up. Poor guy, he doesn’t do it on purpose, but one of these mornings, he’s going to wake up with tampons shoved up each nostril and a sock in his mouth.
Most nights, I only sleep about 6 hours anyway.
We had record heat. It was ni the 90’s all week. It’s November.
We had our fiscal year end at work and that inculded taking inventory. I worked 12 hour days and weekends.
Somewhere in all of that, I worked, slept, ate, cleaned, laughed, cried, lived life, made decisions and talked to my family.
At least I assumed I did all of that. I don’t remember much of it in the blur of my life.
So, I’m back now, but quite frankly, next week doesn’t look much better.
Finally, do you guys miss my posts or me coming to visit you and leave comments?
Today, my friend and fellow author, Pat, is going to guest host my blog. Many of you may remember Pat from my “Why do you blog” blog. I’m guest hosting over at her place today and I have a fun project, so come visit me over there and say hi. Pat’s Blog
You know how to procrastinate. Everyone does. Think how often you sit in front of the television mindlessly switching from channel to channel just because there is too much to do and you don’t want to do any of it. But stuffing your mind with crappy shows while stuffing your mouth with crappy snacks is not the best way to procrastinate. It gains you nothing but excess weight and unnecessary guilt.
This past year, to keep me away from my work in progress — a whimsically ironic apocalyptic fantasy — I have spent a lot of time perfecting the art of procrastination. In fact, this virtual book tour is a good example of how best to procrastinate. It was supposed to be a whirlwind tour — ten blogs in ten days — but the first person who agreed to host chose November 11, the second chose October 18, the third chose November 21. By the time I filled in all the intermediary dates (which gave me plenty of fodder for procrastination — I couldn’t be expected to work on a manuscript when I needed to query book bloggers, could I?) I ended up with a thirty-five day blog tour.
Bad, right? Two blogs every day for over a month (one post for the host’s blog, one for my blog to promote my appearance on the host’s blog) is a lot of work, but it also means thirty-five days of guilt-free procrastination! Just think of all I am accomplishing while I am not rescuing my poor hero (I left him sweltering beneath a tangerine sun). I get to promote my recently released book, Daughter Am I, a young woman/old gangster coming-of-age novel. I get to make new friends. I get to visit new virtual locales. And all to keep from writing. Not bad at all.
There are so many things one can do while procrastinating, but the best way to procrastinate is to do something constructive while not doing what you feel you should be doing. You can take things too far, though. If I ever find myself doing housework instead of writing, I’ll know it’s time to dig out my WIP!
(The first chapters of Pat Bertram’s novels — A Spark of Heavenly, More Deaths Than One, and Daughter Am I — are included in the free Mystery Sampler from Second Wind Publishing, LLC.)
A friend of mine made a reference to an Electra Complex so I looked it up. Wikipedia says:
According to Freud, a girl, like a boy, is originally attached to the mother figure. However, during the phallic stage, when she discovers that she lacks a penis, she becomes libidinally attached to the father figure, and imagines that she will become pregnant by him, all the while becoming more hostile toward her mother. Freud attributes the character of this developmental stage in girls to the idea of “penis envy“, where a girl is envious of the male penis. According to the theory, this penis envy leads to resentment towards the mother figure, who is believed to have caused the girl’s “castration.” The hostility towards the mother is then later revoked for fear of losing the mother’s love, and the mother becomes internalized, much the same as the Oedipus complex.
So I questioned my friend who has more training in this area than I do, and they told me:
In a nutshell: a woman with an “” is a person who has real resentment issues with certain other woman going back to an emotionally imprinted idea that her father was stolen from her by her mother.
So to you my dear blog readers, I say:
Come, lay on my couch and tell me: How does this make you feel?
I’ve been working.
So, I really miss everyone and I hope you haven’t forgotten me.
I will be making the rounds soon to say hi.
Until then, Please feel free to hop over to my sister’s blog and help her make fun of me. Or maybe she’s making fun of Molly Ringwald. I can’t be sure.
What are sisters for? No really, because I’ve been trying to figure that one out for decades.
If you happen to pull up next to me in traffic, when you glance over, I will be singing.
My kids lovingly refer to me as “Bear”.
The nickname started because I’m just not much of a morning person and if I attempt to talk too early, my words come out more like growling than speaking.
My growl is much worse than my bite but I guess I can be a pretty scary mom. A girl who liked my son refused to come to the house and meet me. She met my husband and the other kids, but I scare her.
My kids know the truth. I’m a big ole teddy bear. My daughter was in trouble for something a couple of weeks ago and I was laying into her in my mommy tone and she smiled, patted me on the head and said, “Mom, I still love you even though you’re yelling at me.”
As a side note, Happy Birthday to the Mad Hatters! I hope they reach Julie’s goal of 250,000 visiters by the end of the day on 9/11.