I started to post this one a while back, and now here she is.
This post was inspired after reading an article on CNN about presidents who used the F-expletive. Some more than others. One, which surprised me none too little, Clinton (Bill) was said to rarely or never use big-time expletives.
This humored me. After hearing the use of this word in settings where it surprised me hearing it, I had to laugh thinking back on an unwise literate who surmised that those who used expletives had a limited vocabulary. Untrue. There are those with vocabularies to spare who find comfort in tossing around expletives when the mood sees fit. And yes, I am one of the thoses'.

My Fire Sale Husband

Yes, he's my husband. No, he's not for sale. And yes, you may have guessed it... he's not on fire, nor does he put out fires, or start fires, or play with fires, he doesn't even... oh wait... my mistake. He does put out fires. Well, sort of. In fact, I think I hear him yelling out, calling me right now. I must have left something on the stove. I do that on occasion. Trying to cook him a good meal, and write, like I'm doing now. So, hang on. I'll be right back.
Okay. I'm back. Turned out I hadn't left anything on the stove. Woo! Wiping sweat off my brow now. Checked all the pilots, and they were out cold, and inside the oven was ice cold too. That was him, just opening one of my bills. Oh Lord. I guess I better go on and admit it now.

First, although I placed my interview with @Risque Reviews in the top right side panel of my blog, I sincerely again thank Barb for taking the time to put together a wonderful interview and writing all those nice thoughts about me. It meant a lot; touched me to the core. Here's the link to the interview, just in case it was missed.
As well, thank you DEE @The Water Cooler for Promo'ing my blog. For a change I won something... the Book Zone's Free Promo week... and really appreciate the spotlight.
Lisa Vaughn, thanks for the invite to 'pimp' (lol) my book. Receiving emails like that keeps me smiling, and almost tempted me to retry Facebook. Lisa is the author of The Gifted Ones. One of my all time favorite self-published books!

Thanks to the Blogger's Ball... and 115 *OUCH* degree record high temps, I think I'll get a little inside work done!

If you have a chance, check out some of the blogs joining the ball. And if you haven't already, and reading, writing, blogging, books, and women... whether a novice or novelist... are your thing, then you must join the SHEWRITES community. So much is on this site, though she who is advising doesn't always get to be a part of much. And yes I'm making an excuse. It's my workload didn't I mention!?! But I'm never too busy to reciprocate if you leave a comment.
Enjoy.

RYCJ

After the creepy bedtime stories, and Dick & Jane, the first book I learned to read, my truest first awareness of bumping into Mr. Literature was during the reading of a book in all my days of literature known and unknown I will never forget. The Red Pony by John Steinbeck. Likely my second book? I don't know. I know I was in elementary school, and attest if anything, that book proved just how stubborn I was. I became so infuriated with the Red Pony, stopping at every other word asking my mother, "what's this word," to which her reply, "sound it out," and then "look it up." I can't explain the surge of anger, but to this day vividly recall what hell.
If enraged is but one meager word, then I'll move on to define triumph. I made it my mission, and passion, to learn every word in the dictionary; or rather dictionaries... two volumes long, over a thousand pages steep, and umm... a few pounds each. They came with a set of encyclopedias to…

I knew it was time for a change. Been knowing it quite a while. But here's my problem.
I've always worked off script, unafraid to be different. But I fear telling someone what I want because I'm afraid... & woo how that word makes me cringe... fearing that I won't get what I want... and woo, this one makes me cringe even doubly the shiver... because I also fear I'll be asked to pay for what I didn't want.  It's something like visiting a hair salon.

I'm thinking back on a time when someone was standing in front of me, giving me a bit of advice, not great advice, but sound common sense sort of advice, where I listened, though I couldn't help but think, “does this person think I don't know this?”
Thinking back on all the places I've visited, and lived... the great experiences, the hurdles I attempted and achieved... my aspirations and ground yet to be covered it sometimes dominates my belief. I must be dreaming, I keep telling myself... perhaps the reason I might come across a little, or maybe, a whole lot naïve. The funny thing is, when it serves the suitors purpose (conjecturing here), I'll get told how I need to project this positive, upbeat attitude, again essentials I hardly need reminding of, as meanwhile in the next ear over, it's this optimistic outlook that's often mistaken for naivety. It makes me laugh, “you can't win,” as if what drives me is even a game. It's not. It just happens to…