For as long as I can remember, I've been a sponge when it came to reading. When I was a kid, I'd read anything I could get my hands on. As I got older, it became the time I could spend just for me.
The same was true for my writing. Although it was very different when I first started out, it evolved as I did. But always one thing remained, it was for me.

Several years ago, I was diagnosed with then a little known disorder, fibromyalgia. I use the word disorder even though it is characterized as a real disease, because most people look at you sideways if you dare to group this with something really treacherous. It took several doctor visits and tests to come to this funny little word. One I really hate by the way. It just sounds like the reject of diseases. But nonetheless, here it is. Over the years I have kept this funny little word at bay by exercise like yoga and cardio, combined with trying to eat healthy. Notice I said trying. Just like everyone else, I have my vices. Mine are usually in the form of dark chocolate with nuts, coconut and cherries. Oh and let us not forget the celestial being—peanut butter.

Most of the things that I have experienced over the years I've learned to deal with. Pain can be treated, prevented on occasion and tolerated. You learn to live with the fact that there are no longer days you don't feel it, just days you feel it less. It's stupid actually, to moan about something like this funny little word when there is real suffering in the world. So you internalize.

But there is one side effect that honestly breaks my heart. It's what they refer to as fibro fog. It clouds my memories and then eats at them. There are countless books, classics that I know I've read but can no longer remember. When I write, it has become a challenge to know who my characters are, their names, what I intended to do or how the journey was progressing. I have notebooks filled with things to remind me where I'm going and the place I left off the day before. My desk draw is literally comprised of notes. Unlike a few years ago when I could sit down write, walk away and then just resume, I now have to read back to refresh my mind. Sometimes I need to go back chapters to be sure. It won't stop me from doing what I love, but it sure does try. In addition, I no longer retain correct grammar, which for someone who loved English class is more than an annoyance. It's an embarrassment.

When I work with an editor and they know they have pointed out on other projects the proper use of things like capitalization use, punctuation, etc. it's humiliating to me. Knowing there is a reason other than I just don't take the time or care, but not wanting to say the words out loud. I don't retain the knowledge. It's fine when I'm working with the current edits but as soon as I'm done and I start writing another book it's as if I go on reset and the page is blank again. This funny little word has silently changed my life forever, but it's okay. I keep a good supply of paper and pens.

I was searching through the various posts on my Facebook page today, taking note of all the blog posts and it occurred to me that I haven't posted in awhile. I sat for a moment contemplating this, why don't I post more often? The only thing that I could come up with was, I'm not very comfortable writing them.

Now anyone who knows me will laugh at the notion that writing makes me uncomfortable, that's my passion. But that's fiction. Characters created in my head and given breath by the tapping of my keyboard. Blogs to me are so much more personal. They aren't masked by the voice of your make believe heroine, it's your face bared for all to see.

There was a time when I was being fueled by anger and anguish. The blogs were much easier then, but that's not my life any longer. I'm filled with happiness, hope and an overwhelming excitement for the future. You would think that would make me want to shout and share it with everyone, but come to find out ... it doesn't. Rather, it makes me want to hold those feelings close to me, protected and safe. I could blog about my books, that would be the assumed thing to do. But once again, that doesn't come easy for me. So I guess the only solution would be to mimic something like a Seinfeld episode. I think today I've achieved that goal. Here is my blog about, well, absolutely nothing.

Where to begin? I don't believed this happened and I'm the one it happened to. Let's start with early Sunday morning ... very early.

The shuttle driver picked me up at about 5 am. We had two more stops before we could head to the airport and he informed me that part of the freeway had been closed due to a police investigation. I had no water, no coffee, no sleep and no food. He might as well told me the zombie apocalypse had begun. But much to my surprise and despite having to go back to one of the hotels because a passenger had forgotten her phone, we arrived at the airport only ten minutes later than planned.

I thanked my driver for being both skilled and entertaining and then proceeded to walk into what would become a waking nightmare. I flew Spirit because it literally was the only airlines that could get me to Chicago on time for Friday morning, with a straight through flight. I had previously experienced less than stellar travel with this company and had vowed to never fly with them again but, here I was. The line to check my luggage was extremely long but I had a little over two and half hours before my flight. I felt with a certain amount of confidence that this would be ample time, until I noticed the line for TSA. It blanketed the airport with bodies from one end of the terminal to the other. Confusion was plastered over most of their faces and the rest showed signs of complete submission. After forty-five minutes on the the check in line, I noticed one of the ticketing agents rounding up groups of passengers and corralling them over to her counter. With the agility of a graceful thoroughbred, she whisked through checking each one in with lightening speed. Smiling and cordially reassuring everyone of them it would all be okay. The other three agents were both sour and so slow, I could almost swear they practiced the art of tai chi during their entire shift.

I had about seven or so bewildered travelers ahead of me and I was finally closing in on the ticket counter when I heard a Spirit agent shouting for Las Vegas passengers. She had us all get off the line and come over to an "express" line because our plane would be departing in about an hour. I should of stayed where I was. After standing there for another twenty minutes watching those who had been behind me in the previous line check in and leave, I felt anxiety race through my body. But I made it to the counter with thirty minutes until flight. As I checked in, I asked the ticket agent how could I possibly make it through the security line of hundreds before my flight. Her response, "She didn't know. She just checks my luggage. Now it's up to the airport."

As I made my way through the crowd, I handed my luggage to x-ray and started the green mile toward the end of the line. My stomach was sick, my nerves shot and my confidence in making the flight and getting home was non-existent. To my surprise, when I reached the end of the line, which spanned almost the length of the airport, I saw some familiar faces from the Spirit check in disaster. A husband and wife who at this point had already given up making their flight ... two of the submission crowd.  Needing to use the rest room for about the last sixty minutes, I asked the Mrs. if she would hold my place. Never hesitating, she told me not to worry and assured me she'd be there. Well ... not so much. Upon my return, I could find no trace of either of them. At this point I cracked.

I flagged down a TSA agent who was more interested in speaking with a young pregnant girl than helping me or anyone else for that matter. After I stated my plight and the urgency of my plane leaving shortly, he said he couldn't do anything for me and I would need to go back to Spirit. He instructed me to ask an agent to walk me to TSA and send me through. I noticed while he was speaking, that American Airlines seem to be doing just that. They escorted several of their passengers to the front of the line and through the check in. Feeling a renewed sense of "I just might make it home", I barreled back to Spirit. When I reached Spirit, one of the agents was just getting back behind the counter. I politely asked for help and then explained my luggage was on board the plane, but I wouldn't be. She told me she couldn't get my luggage off. I then sparred back and explained yet again, I wanted to be on the plane and had no intentions of getting my luggage off. She then asked me the million dollar question, "What do you want me to do about it?" My response was I wanted her to walk me up to TSA so I could make my flight. She said they do not do that at Spirit and there was nothing she could do for me. She then proceeded to walk away. I turned toward the sea of travelers mindlessly waiting in the ever growing security line and started to cry. I have never felt so alone and helpless. I'm pretty sure the no sleep and lack of coffee contributed to this little break down, but it seemed pretty bad at the time.

Then it was like the universe (Dad) stepped in and took over because what followed was nothing short of a well planned series of events. The gracious ticket agent from Spirit who was looking extremely tired, came walking by me. I stopped her in her tracks and unleashed a water works semi cognitive description of what had happened and that I was about to miss my plane. She softly and calmly told me to wait and then walked over to the express line for TSA. Lifting the barrier, she waived me over and told me to follow the line of people. I thanked her and took my place. Unfortunately, it was evident that with fifteen minutes left, I still wasn't making the plane. A woman in front of me hearing what had happened, offered me her space in front of her. She was so sweet, but I still wasn't close enough. Then to my right, an American Airlines agent was escorting a gentlemen to the front of the line. The woman behind me told me to follow them and pushed me toward their direction. I took her cue. Unfortunately, I reached the front of the line and nor the American Airlines agent or the TSA agent would let me through. I was back in line in seconds. As we stood there with the clock ticking away, several passengers who had family in wheelchairs were being brought through the line. The woman once again told me to follow them. But this time, I recognized some of them as being in the Spirit line with me. It was fellow Las Vegas travelers. I politely approached them, explained I was going to miss the plane and asked if I could attach to their party ... they agreed. It was pure pleasure to see the look on the TSA agents face when she had to let me through with them.

I had found out from other Las Vegas flyers that the flight was being held for an additional sixteen minutes. After running through the airport and jockeying between gates because Spirit mislabeled them, I made it to the departing gate with one minute to spare. As I expected to walk through the tunnel to board the plane, I couldn't help but breath a sigh of relief; until I passed through the door and onto a platform outside. It was freezing and the wind was picking up.They escorted all of  us down a large flight of stairs, through a bridge-way and then up the stairs to the plane waiting on the tarmac. Afterward, we found out that they had been so backed up, if they had pulled in to the slip it would have been another hour until take off. Our short excursion through the outer depths of the airport, was worth saving that hour.

Once in the air I had my coffee, a bottle of water and a muffin. I loved the city of Chicago. I had the best time at the Expo and the Con and met some of the most wonderful authors. They each made
this trip so memorable. But I can say with complete confidence that I will never land in O'Hare again and Spirit can go on with one less passenger ... forever!

1. Tell us about your Latest Book/Book about to be released? Release Date? And can you give us a teaser?

I know I'm not alone on this, but sometimes it can feel like it. Do you find as an author, that you're constantly stressed out? Worried about book sales? Social media contact? Promo? Never mind the chaos in your brain with all the people and stories running around. Finishing the one you're currently working on in a reasonable amount of time, and hoping that it's better than the last one and by some slim chance, you have grown leaps and bounds as an author.

All these things consume me everyday. Each morning I wake up and run what I have to do in my head after the day job is over. Sometimes, I'm so obsessed over getting sales up, I actually don't even look at my current manuscript. Getting published was one of the best accomplishments in my life and also my life changer. I remember the days when I would write something, and then throw it in a folder and tuck it away. It didn't matter if anyone saw it, what they thought, or how popular it may or may not become. It was just mine. But once the treasure chest was opened, there was no turning back.

I love what I do. It's my escape, my creativity, my fuel and my passion. But with all those things come worry, anxiety and doubt. Maybe one day I will be able to let go of the latter and just enjoy. However, today is not that day. Prozac anyone?

Have you ever found yourself in a place that seems oddly familiar and yet different at the same time? It's like the feelings you are dripping with are pulled from a place deep down in the core of your memory. But the catalyst to start the explosion of angst is fueled by a different fuse. The end result always being the same ... A big boom.

There is no perfection, no absolute. Just a series of what we're willing to or can tolerate. If you have one great thing, then you give up something else. If you have eh with something, then you get mind blowing with something else. Life is a constant play of ying and yang. I've always saw the yang as the downer of the two, so I think the secret is to find out which yang you are willing to keep and call your own and which you couldn't possibly deal with on a daily basis. Once you figure this little diddy out, life becomes your version of happy.

I for one, have not figured this out yet. And so my search for life's acceptable haves and have nots goes on. The journey can be fun at times, but most often it's a world wind, mind numbing path to self reflection and constant doubt. It's okay though, there's chocolate.

A quick thought before I get ready for the day job on this lovely Monday morning ... I know most of us who write have jobs outside of our author career. We have to in order to eat. But on days like today, how do you explain to someone that you're in your writing place, and you need to sit down and put words to paper? Figuratively of course.

I know there isn't a boss out there who would say this is a valid excuse not go in and yet, the dilemma is real. Writing isn't like a faucet that you can simply turn off and then on again when the days over. The moment hits you, the idea is flowing and the burning in your brain needs oxygen. An hour, two, three, or an entire day passes, it could be completely extinguished. I seriously mulled this over today because I am in my writing place and want so passionately to stay home and create. But alas, the logical side fought and won out. I can only hope that whatever sparked this energy in my brain this morning, will somehow rekindle itself later today.

Happy Monday everyone, may the day be a creative one.

I'll keep this brief, I'm fitting in my blog between breakfast and morning shower.

I'm just curious really, how many of my author buds have at least a gazillion people running around in their head? It get's so exhausting at times. There is not enough time in the day, days of the week or months in the year, to accommodate all of these characters. I started keeping several very brief one page outlines, of who they are and where they want to go with their stories, but the list just keeps growing.
And don't get me started on the screenplays, for which I am an infant seeing the light of day for the first time. But I still take the challenge to add to the growing mountain of paranormal, romance, scifi, human interest, dark comedy, sequel to the last book, time travel didy I write next.

Help!!!!!!!