OK women, rejoice!

I am Woman…hear me roar!

Okay, now I’m showing my ’60s soul.  You younger women might not believe this, but as late as 1965, the prevailing attitude in America (or at least the midlands.  Everyone knew both coasts were crazy liberals,) was that girls got married, raised kids, and worked a low paying job to buy the family luxuries.

Then came the sexual revolution.  Women started demanding equal pay for equal work.  They insisted on control of their own bodies.  They challenged the idea that a woman couldn’t balance a high-powered career and motherhood.  We burned our bras, asked guys for dates, and wrote bitch with a capital “B”.

The change was slow, but persistent.  In Oklahoma, it was almost glacial, but change did come…except in politics.  OKC has long been a bastion of “good ol’ boys” politics.  IF a woman ran for an office, it was something like the school board or county commissioner. 

But Tuesday, the world turned topsy turvy.  The primaries left us with two…TWO female candidates for governor of Oklahoma!  Is the sky falling?  Are pigs flying?  With two women running, we have a win-win scenario.  No matter who wins, the next governor of Oklahoma will be a woman.

And I’m in a real pickle because I like both candidates.  I’ve voted for both candidates.  Uh, I did tell you I have no party, right?  Who do I vote for this time?  First, I’ll see what each woman brings to the ballot, and if they’re still equal, then it will depend on the Lt. Governor candidates since I never split my vote on the top two spots.  Just asking for trouble.

What does this have with writing?  Not much.  But with a writer, you never know.

Gone. . . But Not Forgotten

My muse has gone on vacation,  just wish she’d taken me too!

The hotter the weather the more my pasture dries, cracks, and turns brown. So has my writing. I thought by creating an oasis perfect for reconnecting with nature, my muse and I would churn out short story after story.

Nope! Nada! Zip! Zilch!

I found a tape with Julia Cameron explaining The Writer’s Life. Wouldn’t need any sleep aids if I listened longer than a few minutes. I tried–really, I tried to comprehend, but decided that hitting my hand with a hammer would be kinder to my muse. And more productive as I have to chart my own path without advice from others.

So, as the heat continues to grow here at Twisted Creek, think I’ll try to drown my muse by diving.


Sorry, I’m not Lynn. It’s her day to post, but when you can’t get the Internet to pull up – no matter how many ways you fuss at it, sweet talk it or threaten it  — what’s a person to do? Call a friend, of course. 🙂 So you’re stuck with me today.

Last week I blogged about campaign tactics because I didn’t think I’d be posting again until after Election Day. That’s what I get for thinking. {snort}. Since then I’ve gotten several more automated phone calls. At least I think they’re automated…I don’t pick up so I never know if there’s a live person on the other end or not. Today alone I’ve gotten 8 political messages on my machine. Which leads me to the next part of my post –


Don’t care who your candidates are, what your political affiliation is. Exercise your right as an American and make your voice heard. Otherwise, you have no room to complain if you don’t like who winds up in office.

Go put on your red, white and blue and head out to your polling stations. Hut, hut! Double time it, y’all. (Yeah. Okay. I’ll shut up now.) hehe

Possibilities Lost

Bob and I got dressed up yesterday morning, I put on makeup and jewelry and heels, and we had a nice lunch, followed by a nice drive to a tiny little town about 90 minutes away called Kansas. The countryside, once we got completely clear of Tulsa, was beautiful — lush green, hills and fields, cows, flowers. It would have been a perfectly lovely day, except for our destination.

We were going to a funeral. Deaths are always tough. Even if the loved one lived a long healthy happy life of eighty or ninety years, there are still people who will miss them and grieve for them every day of their lives. But when the loved one hasn’t lived that many years, hasn’t experienced that much of life, it’s especially hard.

My cousin’s daughter was 21 years old. She was beautiful, smart, funny, independent, willing to like and believe and do what she wanted in spite of what others might think. Her family and friends overflowed the church, filling the foyer and stretching down the halls, grieving for the light that had gone out of their lives so suddenly. An accident at a campsite, 2nd and 3rd degree burns, a young life lost.

As I stood there looking at the faces around me, I wondered what had the world lost. I’m all too familiar with the family’s loss — my sister’s only child, Kevin, died four years ago a week or so after his 17th birthday.  With him, the world lost a kid who was talented on the drums, who made entertaining movies, who believed nothing was so bad that you couldn’t laugh, who added something to a gathering just by being there. Would he have pursued his passion for filmmaking, entertaining the world instead of just his friends? Would he have married, had children, made silly movies just for them? How many lives would he have changed?

How many more lives would Keisha have touched, given the gift of more years? What wonderful things would she have accomplished? How much poorer is the world for not having her in it? We can only guess, and I feel sure my guesses fall far short of the reality of what could have been.

Rest in peace, Keisha Rainbow. You are sorely missed.

Kudos To A Friend

Today, I had my first cataract surgery.  My friend, Joyce DeBoard, volunteered to be my designated driver.  When I talked to her about it, I figured she’d drive me there, take me home, go do some errands before coming to get me for my follow-up visit.  Two or three hours…tops!

Instead, she picked me up a 6:00 AM, drove me to St. John’s, and waited for me while I had the surgery.  She was tickled when the room had a recliner where she could nap, but when I came back to the room, they made her give it up.  Did she whine?  Nope.  What a bud!

Then she drove me to the Eyemart where we ordered a change in my left lens from script to plain glass.  Instead of driving me home, she took me to her house so I wouldn’t be alone.  She already had her guest room ready, complete with her back AC on so I could take a nap.  She even kept her cats from bugging me.  What a pal!

Then we went to lunch before heading back for the post-op check where I discovered if I kept my left lens as plain glass, I would be officially legally blind, unable to drive.  So back to Eyemart with script in hand only to discover they couldn’t do my glasses until tomorrow.  Joyce immediately volunteered to drive me again.  Are you freakin’ kidding me?  By the time she got me home, she’d been driving me around for 12 HOURS!

But that’s how Joyce has always been there for me.  She doesn’t read romances, but she’s the one who took my official photos.  She doesn’t sing, but when I and the rest of the Broads put together a singing tape, she was our staunchest supporter…and made sure we had food to eat during breaks.  And when I was diagnosed with my hypoglycemia, she came to house and helped me clear out the “bad” food and go buy the “good” food.

Joyce DeBoard is the true meaning of “friend.”

Finding Your Voice

One of the hardest things for me to find was ‘my voice.’

It took me until I reached my late 40s to find my physical voice—as in standing up for myself, whether from a stranger or family or friends. When I finally got out of an abusive relationship, my writing improved (as did my living situation), due in part to the loving support of family, friends, and what would become RWI.  

My writing voice sharpened as my writing skills did. My taste in reading for pleasure narrowed though. Now that I knew what ‘it’ was, I became more selective with what I could and more importantly, what I couldn’t read! Sad, I know.

I’m judging some unpubbed contest entries right now. The ones whose authors have found their voices, I can fly through. I still try to comment on why I liked a passage/scene/phrase as that’s what I would like to know. The authors who haven’t quite gotten there require more energy – sometimes I don’t want to give it my all, but if someone hadn’t taken the time with me. . .  Giving back helps me in the end.

I have no quick fix answers on finding your voice other than write, write and write some more.

Oh, and be open to suggestions from those who take the time to comment.

Are You Human?

I rarely watch TV but I’ve gotten hooked on a couple of shows: Eureka, Warehouse 13, and Stephen King’s Haven. Being a fan of the paranormal these are right up my alley.  But I’m really looking forward to Saturday.  Why? Because the second season of the BBC’s supernatural drama Being Human starts this weekend. 

I love this show.  What’s not to like?  You’ve got three roommates, two guys and girl, twenty-somethings, all trying to make their way in this world.  The only problem?  Mitchell is a vampire who’s trying to swear off blood. George is a neurotic werewolf and Annie’s a ghost, who just recently passed. She’s still trying to figure out how to cope with being dead.  Mitchell, George and Annie all try to live “normal” lives as humans, except few people can see Annie besides George and Mitchell. George has a girlfriend who suspects he’s keeping a secret from her, and Mitchell is being stalked by a group of vampires who just can’t seem to let him live his “life” his way.

By the end of season one, George had to decide if he would stand with Mitchell to defeat the leader of the evil society of vampires or leave his friends to begin a new life with his girlfriend, Nina.  This season Mitchell, George and Annie will face Kemp, a religious zealot, who has some pretty strong ideas about where creatures like them belong…and it’s not in Heaven.

If you haven’t discovered Being Human, you can check it out at http://www.bbcamerica.com/content/369/index.jsp

On their website you can also take a quiz to find out if you’re a vampire, werewolf, or ghost.

I’m a vampire.