Hello, my name is Mandy and I am an Addict.

Yes. It’s true. I have become an addict. I am beyond mortified. I am afraid to to tell my family. I can just imagine their displeased looks and frowns of disappointment.

It all happened so quickly. One minute I was fine. I had heard of this drug but had never felt any interest to try it. I look back now and see how I could have resisted. It would have been so easy then. Now, I hang my head in shame.

Hello, my name is Mandy and I am a Twitter Addict.

Stop laughing! I’m serious.

I can’t stop myself. I have it pulled up on my computer at the same time I have it pulled up on my phone. Constantly, I hit the refresh button in case I missed a new tweet. My gut churns and my palms get sweaty. I can’t think, I can’t breathe I can only Twitter.

I constantly check my followers. There’s a little side bar that tells me exactly how many I have. I know there are only 8 of them but I open it up anyway just to see if there was a glitch in the program and the number didn’t update if somehow, someway I was followed by a new person.

Of my 8 followers, 3 of them are spammers. I can’t delete them though. They are MINE. My followers.

I feel like Gollum crying out for “my precious, my precious”.

I have begun my road to recovery. I only tweet from my phone and allow myself 2 follower checks per day. I only refresh if I have been away for longer than 5 minutes.

It is my hope that I can soon go a whole day without checking my followers. I hope that I can leave the window closed and only open it when I have something to tweet.

Until next time . . .

Hot guy . ..Yours for the day. What do you do with him?

No, this is not a rhetorical question.  Seriously.  While hanging out a a GR thread thingie, the subject came up.  About a hero.  A hot Alpha, hero with all the right moves and just the right touch of swag. 

MY first thought? Honestly? Totaly M/F/M threesome.  Then I thought, well DH won't so much go for that one so maybe I'll just keep Hunky Alpha 2 (not to be confused with Hunky Alpha 1, who is DH) in the closet.  You know with the other . . .ahem, toys.  (Oh please, like you don't have your own? Pffftt . ..)

But then, THEN, I go to really thinking.  IF I had another man around the house, I'd want a wife.  A wife? Absolutely.  A normal afternoon and evening (who has those?)  goes something like this.

I smile a greeting to the three beautifl children climbing into the mini van.  At last, my day is complete.  My angels have returned.  The ablsolute joys of my li . . .
"Mama!"
"I get front seat!"
"What's for supper? I'm starved?"
My heart breaks.  Not one, "Gee, Mom.  I sure did miss you" or any "Did you have a swell day, Mom?" Nope. Not a one.

I manage to make it home with the little darlings in one piece.  There was a slight delay as we nearly ran off the road because of a vision impairment.  Mainly the orange crayon drawing of me.  In my face.  I don't remember getting that round.

In a mad race to be the first one in the house, all of the van doors are left standing open.  As I make my way round the van, closing the doors, I follow the paper trail.  Obviously, it's clean out the backpack day.  In the yard.  For mom to clean up.  Or the dog to chew.  Then for dad to yell.  At the dog.  At the kids.  At the mom.  Because, ultimately, it was her job to clean it up.  Right?

The paper trial leads right into the house and stops at the kitchen table.  Along with everything else that comes in the door.  It all stops at the kitchen table.  It's not wonder the light bill isn't paid on time.  It's not like it's in the proper To Be Paid folder.  It's on the kitchen table.  With everything else.  Duh.

I make the mistake of asking The Brat what she would like for supper.  To the other two, that means they get a choice as well.  Amid shouts of "hot dogs", "ice cream", "pizza", and "oreos" I decide on what we'll have. 

At this point, what they or the DH want is irrelevant.  They're lucky they're getting fed anything. 

Supper is done, kitchen is halfway clean and somebody needs a bath.  Nobody wants a bath.  They'd all rather remain stinkingly filthy.  Girls.  All three of them.  In a fit of bad parenting, I decide it doesn't mattery.  They are, after all, the ones who will stink and become "stinky kid". 

I am a firm believer in choices.  When it suits me, anyway.

DH has managed to find the time to make it home, have his supper and his shower.  Did I forget to mention it was Tuesday? Tuesday is "new hunting show night" on the Outdoor Channel.  Yeah.  He is no help at all.
I begin our nightly After Supper Ritual.  I shout at the kids to get their things up for school.  I shout at the kids to get ready for bed.  I shout at the kids to get their things up for school, again.  I shout at the kids to get ready for bed, again.  I tell the DH to help me out.  He shouts at the kids to 'listen to their mother'. 

Yes, I am aware that somewhere during all of this I could get up off the couch and actually go into their rooms.  But what's the fun in that?  This way, DH can't hear Michael Waddell and I get to indulge in my laziness.

Finally, the children are asleep and I have five wonderfully, quiet minutes to myself before I have to get up and find the broom and dustpan.  They have feet and are never where I left them.
************

On a night like that, HA1 and HA2 are both SOL when it comes to getting the nookie.  So my HA2 would absolutely have to be the wife.  Because I'm just too tired to be the wife and the sexy mistress.  And somebody has to be the sexy mistress.  That's always more fun.

Two blogs in one day? Gasp!!

I just have to talk about this.

Last deer season, DH and I took the opportunity to spend some alone time together. In a deer stand. Thirty feet in the air. Freezing our collective dangly parts off.

I packed a backpack. My survival bag. Everything I thought I would possibly need for a four-hour excursion in the wilds of Twiggs Co, Ga. Two books (FOUR HOURS PEOPLE, I get bored), three fuzzy, fleece blankets (FREEZING!), two pillows (have to be able to prop up the books and those chairs are hard), and a little camp stove propane thingy powered heater. Oh and a camera. You NEVER go hunting without a camera!

Beforehand though, I was in my bathroom primping and beautifying myself. Elder Child says, 'What are you doing? You are going hunting!' My response, 'I am quite aware of this darling child but if I actually shoot something, there will be pictures and I must be pretty for pictures!' Elder Child isn't much of a primper so she rolled her eyes and left. Middle Child TOTALLY gets me, she just grinned. ( I love her best!)

Okay . . .back to our regularly scheduled program. DH and I are sitting in this atrociously high deer stand when he bumps me, quietly, to get my attention from the steaming hot sex manu . .er, novel I'm reading.

"What?" I mouth. (You're not allowed to talk)
He points  to the area below us.

Moving, ever so slowly, her bed bobbing up and down as she fed and watched for danger, a doe moved from the wood line.

"Awwwweee." I say. For which a I receive a sharp look from DH. I've either been too loud or have offended his male pride. This is food, woman. Ug. You know. Alpha, cave man type stuff.

We watch this pretty little thing as she ambles up closer and closer. Keep in mind now, that I do have a gun. I haven't shot one in 10 plus years, but I do know HOW. DH gets excited.

"Lift your gun slowly." he whispers.

"HUH?" Sharp, cutting motion and a finger over his lips. Gently, he takes my hands and raises them, and the gun, to the shooting window.

"Oh!" quiet giggle.

In perfect mime movements, he tells me what I'm to do.

We sit, quietly, for hours(okay, not really) waiting for this doe to come close enough to shoot. Finally, taking a deep, deep breath, I switch off the safety, take another deep breath and hold, and hold, and hold it and . . .Perkirrrrshhhh. (that's the sound a bullet makes leaving a rifle. For you undeducated folk.)

Yep. I shot her. She went down. Several yards back into the woodline, but she went down.

I couldn't BREATHE! I was so excited! I had just killed my first deer!

The rule of thumb in hunting is that you never, ever get immediately down after a shot. You have to wait to give the animal time to completely die so that you don't have to Rambo it. You know, the whole wrestle it to the ground and cut it's throat thing. Anyway . . .

We sit and we sit and we sit. It's almost dark at this point. I can't see the words on my book anymore and the excitement from my kill has worn off and my dangly parts are completely frozen and I'm wondering if sensation will ever return.

DH and I are discussing the merits of getting down and tracking the deer when out steps a buck. He's not a monster Booney (Boone and Crocket is a scoring system for large antlered mamals) or anything, but for me, he's pretty cool AND he's the same one we have been getting pictures of from the trail camera.

DH looks at me. I know he's wondering if I want to shoot it. Why not, I think. In for a penny, in for a pound.

I slowly raise the gun to the shooting window, indicating that I want to shoot. I watch and I watch and I watch. Finally, when there's barely enough light left to see I pull the trigger and he goes down. Right where he stood. Yay me!

So, in one afternoon, in one fell swoop, I have managed to bag two deer. A doe and a buck. The buck scored a 117 in the B&C scoring system. No, it's not big. A 150 is big and the stuff of wet dreams for rednecks the world over.  My 117 is perfect though. It's mine.

That's me, the DH, and the Brat.  Oh and Bucky's rack. :-)

DH being a taxidermist, there's no question that these things will be mounted, unlike the fish (but that's another story).

Fastforward 8 months . . .I walk into the DH's shop last week and look what was hanging on the wall!! Bucky! Barbie will soon join him. Yes, I named them. Having names for things makes it easier. I don't have to say "My deer . . no the doe, not the buck." See?

Here he is . . .He's not finished, still in the drying stages, but I'm awfully proud.

Editing

Okay, so this whole editing thing is really making me crazy. As in certifiable.

On a good day, I over analyze the "what do you want for supper?" text to the hubby. Did I offer enough suggestions? Did I sound like I was telling him one thing over another? Yadda, yadda, yadda.

So this, this editing of a story that I poured my entire heart and soul into? Crickey. I don't think I can handle it.

Chapter One was trashed and COMPLETELY re-written. Put into the Recycle Bin and permanently deleted so as not to restore later on. BUT, that's a good thing because the NEW ch one is so much better. I managed to salvage the integrity and "oomph" it up a bit. Yay me! :-)

I've also been doing a lot of research. Who are the best publishing companies for my genre? What are the steps of submitting? When do you obtain an agent? This, actually, is my favorite part of the process. I like to research and it makes me feel important. (I take what I can get!)

All in all, I am HAVING FUN! I feel like I have a whole new set of friends with my characters. I was cooking supper and thought, "hmmm . . .how would so and so handle this? I wonder if she would like it?" or shaving and wondered "does [hero] prefer a bald, groomed or bushy kitty?" LOL! It's great. They have become real to me. The DH gives me only mild wondering looks when I refer to the voices. And how they want out. I've yet to refer to them by name though. I'm saving that one.

Until next time . . .

Hot, crazy mess Batman!

Hot, crazy mess Batman! bow season, hunting, writing
Hot, crazy mess Batman!

Wow. April, huh. Totally crazy, totally irresponsible of me I know. I mean, all one of my loyal followers have been waiting breathlessly, anxiously for my return! Haven't you?

So what have I been up to? Raising kids, raising hubby, pondering the intelligience of giving in to the urge of adding offspring to the current group, writing, reading, and preparing for yet another deer season.

Today, we are 30 days from the start of bow season. Thirty days from the start of my husbandless, single parented, lonely existence. Yay. Not. Seriously. I will manage as I have in the two seasons past, writing more, reading more, struggling more to not kill children.

Right now, I'm editing a completed manuscript that is still titleless. I've just been calling it by the heroine's name. Why can't THAT be the title? Re-reading it, I've surprised myself at how moderately good(i'm trying to be humble, I actually think it fricken ROCKS) I am.

I am afraid of this editing process. Or maybe I'm just lazy.

Until next time . . .