Peeling mother

During my writing I’ve been peeling the layers of lies and loves my mother displayed to me. It’s not the first time I’ve done this, but this is the first time I’ve put thoughts to paper for the purpose of possible publication.

Being mature in age, and having very few past acquaintances alive today, makes writing my book easier. I certainly wouldn’t have contemplated writing it were my husband still beside me or many of my ‘boys’ still alive.

However, I’m considering dulling the knife before publication and will mark for my editor the bits and pieces perhaps best left on the cutting floor.

My mother was a skinless, boneless, peahen who’d display her plumage when angry at me or jealous of other women. She was also an elitist; a Wallace, whose family for several generations had either written the laws or paid to have them written.

Which made me an elitist like my mother; a disdainer of rules set to keep the others in line.

The conundrum was I insisted upon my boys obeying my rules, which sometimes offended ‘official’ rules of society, and, boys being boys, the only way to keep them in line was sex. Like someone once said, it’s an easy job if you can get it.

Sex was the third layer of my mother. You’d have to peel the projections of purity and properness before tasting my real mother.

I got to see my mother ‘tasting’ very early on in my life. I’ll add that to my book and leave it to the editor to keep or not.

Most stolen foods in the world, and I didn’t take any of them.

I was reading the recent Report on Business magazine at a local coffee shop when I came upon an interesting statement that cheese is the number one stolen food in the world.

In past years I’ve emancipated towels, cutlery, papier mache animals, and other assorted items. But never anything on the list below. Does not ‘freeing’ anything on the list make me  unique, or just an ordinary woman who saw something she liked and took it?

It’s the latter. Definitely. It’s just me.

Seeing the cheese statement got me wondering what other foods were popular to steal. A quick search on the Internet returned this list:

most stolen foods

You may read the full report from the Centre for Retail Research here.

Reliving lovers

I’ve been frolicking with past loves, reliving momentous moments, and am not sure how much I shall put in my ebook or book.

What attracted me to some of my loves was that all they needed was a little guidance from me and they would be greater. Confidence, that’s the word. They appeared to me to lack that extra level of confidence to make them greater.

It’s not that they weren’t already great in their particular realm of business, and for me every activity was business, whether the man was a doctor, lawyer, CEO, banker, salesman, or entrepreneur. Or some bum on the street whom I admired for his gumption.

I had my style of interviewing lovers who I felt could fit well with my group of boys, and if the potential lover passed muster there wasn’t anything I wouldn’t do to ensure my group accepted him warmly.

Some lovers failed my interviews miserably, became jealous or threatened physical harm. One or two reacted quite physically, thinking brawn won battles when it is really brains. They were just stupid. Summarily dismissed they would look not at them-self for answers, preferring the easy way of blaming others for their misfortune.

The stupid, stupid, toads. They had kissed the princess who could bring them the world but, like a dog with a bone, they snarled and snapped at the thought of someone else sharing their pleasures. Small minded cretins, that’s what they were, small minded cretins!

But there were handsome princes who passed muster, discovered more about himself and his understanding of the world through my guidance, and those wonderful lovers, those wonderful forces of nature and business who understood you could mix business with pleasure quite marvelously, those are the delightful creatures I’ve frolicked with these past few days.

Introspection

What I have discovered while writing my stories is that I must have come across from time to time in some of my business and personal relationships as a conniving, man-eating, black-widow spider. Which is simply not the case.

In those instances I can only say that the male acquaintance/client in question was simply stupid, and left me no option but to dismiss him from my group. I offer him hand-peeled grapes and he gives me whine and jealousy. The fool.

Writing is therapeutic.

OK. So I lied.

I’m back. I’ can’t help it. My inbox burped some ‘likes’ for this blog and I had to peek at them.

Some funny writers out there. Some wonderful artwork, too. A warm ‘Thank you’ to everyone who liked me.

I’m leaving now and am going to place my mind back in my writing. And I’m closing my mail program while I write. (I secretly wish, of course, to later open it to find a barrage of likes.)

My social networking; when will I find time to write?

I have joined Goodreads, Twitter, Facebook, Linkedin, and for publishing/distributing my works I’ve chosen Smashwords.

It has taken me most of this morning to setup accounts. I was hugely excited when I received my first follower. A woman!

I have few women friends because all of my working and private life involved businessmen. The few women I did meet were wives or girlfriends of my clients, and few of those girlfriends or wives regarded me with anything above hatred or extreme suspicion.

If I did anything which would alter an existing relationship between a client and his wife, or a client and his girlfriend, that would be to improve their relationship. I never had any interest in taking their husband or boyfriend away from them. What would be the point of that when I could do it so easily?

Now that I’m on these ‘social networks’, and perhaps it’s my age but I find communicating digitally to be anything but social, I can see where an author, or anyone for that matter, could fall into the trap of ‘networking’ constantly to the detriment of their writing.

Advance warning to readers: If I’m not writing something here, or on Twitter or Facebook or Goodreads or Linkedin or wherever, it isn’t because I don’t want to hopefully write a pithy sentence or two, but because I am roaming fond memories while writing and time is of no meaning to me.

The Tarot reader

I’m writing erotic bits and pieces in Scrivener about some of boys in my life when I suddenly thought of the time a friend and I visited a Tarot card reader.

This was in the 1960’s, the time of ‘free love’, and one of my current boyfriends took me to a Tarot card reader. He was expecting her to say how much I loved him. I know this because I asked him why we were going there.

The Tarot card reader, rotund and smelly, sat at dimly lit table at the back of a restaurant in New Westminster. We sat down and my friend said he’d like to know her (meaning me) future. I told him I could speak for myself, and asked the old woman to tell me if my love life included him. She asked for the $5.00 and my friend paid her.

She passed me the cards and asked me to shuffle them, which I did. She then created a pattern on the table of the top cards. She looked at them a while, then looked up at me and said “You hate men.”

My friend and I made fun of her decision and left. Now, many years later as I reflect upon my life and write about it, I know she hit the nail on the head. I loved men, but I hated them at the same time. Love and hate, what strong passions they are.