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.



Closet full of memories

Most women of my age have had a few lovers in their time, and each article in my closet holds precious memories of the places, events, and each man I loved. I did love each of them, the men I mean, even though some were fools who couldn’t or wouldn’t understand what I was offering them.

The picture is relatively recent, which explains the circle, so that if my ebook/book becomes popular I will retain some privacy.



Here is a youthful picture. I went through quite a few pictures before settling on this one.

older by tree

This step into technology and writing is exciting, challenging, and worrisome.

Will anyone like what I write? That’s the ‘please love me’ inside everyone. It’s about acceptance, the “Am I good enough?” inside me when I was young and later found I was.

The worrisome part is will I be able to satisfy ‘them’ and me? Like meeting a new lover, there are expectations, dreams, desires, and questions. For me it was always the striving to do my best, to be the best, to fulfill all expectations, dreams, desires, without question.

Now I’m older. I no longer have my husband. Yet I still crave the feeling of and for intimacy.

Will I be able to build an intimacy with readers of my book? Will I be able to put the truth so real they will feel it themselves? That’s the worrisome part. Will I be able to satisfy them?

I created a Twitter account. I don’t like that limit on the words. It’s binding, restricting. But it is a challenge, and I do love challenges.

You can follow me on Twitter here.

I’ve been liked! That was quick.

I feel like an ugly duckling who has just found friends.

I don’t know any of these people who liked me, but it appears they also have blogs and somehow found mine, read my first post and liked it.

One really caught my eye, for it wasn’t political or religious. Not that I’m against discussing politics or religion, but this one had poetry.

I’ve enjoyed poetry since I was a little girl and have a library filled with poetry books. I have spent many an evening or afternoon reading poetry with a friend or my husband. I found it comforting to lay my head down upon my husband, close my eyes, and travel majestically along his words.

He’d stroke my hair or my arm or leg at times as he read, stopping now and then to hold some food over my mouth, teasing me by rubbing it softly across my lips to stir me from my visions.

I do so very much miss his presence. He understood my wanderings. He understood me.

The poetry blog that liked me is here. Visit it sometime.


At my age no one can truly hurt me, emotionally or financially, for I carry that hard protective shell formed by layer upon layer of learning’s now past.

I say that because it took me a long time before deciding to write a book and a blog about certain lessons in my life.

A friend had given me 50 Shades to read and said, “This could be about our lives, or some of our friends. We should write something and see if we can’t make a little money too.”

Just the thought of prostituting myself once more for money turned my stomach, but after thinking about it all I came to this conclusion ‘What can anyone do to me now that hasn’t been done already?”

I did a little research, bought a program called Scrivener, and a few weeks back started placing memories within it.

I had many teachers in my life, a wonderfully rich life overflowing with fulfilled dreams. I’ve had harsh lessons too; the worst being the death of my only true lover and friend, my husband of 30 years.

I buried his ashes near this tree in the back part of our property. Our property. That seems so strange to write now that he is dead. But in my heart it will always be ‘our’ property.

Memories buried here

I have to stop writing.