Taco Thursday


So you know what I love?  I mean, love like I’d eat them every single day, three meals a day?  Tacos.  Authentic Mexican tacos with spiced beef, chicken, pork, or chorizo, with onion and cilantro.  LOVE.  THEM.

And none of your Taco Bell kind, thank you very much.  I’d probably eat them if someone offered, but those aren’t tacos.

It’s Cinco de Mayo today, and no, it’s not the day of Mexican Independence like most believe it to be.  Cinco de Mayo commemorates the Mexican army’s unlikely victory over the French forces of Napoleon III on May 5, 1862, at the Battle of Puebla. Mexico had a lot of war debts to European countries and France showed up to collect.

So in celebration, go have yourself some authentic Mexican tacos, or at the very least, a very large margarita


Jealousy isn’t pretty


So I’m jealous.  I can admit that, and it’s not pretty nor am I proud.  I think it’s the time of year, I’m an online English instructor so this time of year is pure hell.  It’s full of grading, logging grades, and begging emails from students who just need “two more points.”  I’m jealous of those who write and that’s all.  I am jealous of those who have unlimited funds to put together marketing plans with all the bells and whistles it takes to promote a book the way it should be promoted.  I’m whining, I know.  I’ll get over it.



So for the past two nights I’ve had dreams that I was pregnant.  Don’t think that’s very likely so I got thinking why I would be dreaming this.  Could be friends who are likely to be pregnant, or could be because I am starting a new book, and in many ways writing a book is like being pregnant and giving birth.

You start thinking about getting pregnant (writing the book) then you find out you ARE pregnant, (you’ve got a rough draft) then you spend nine months carrying it, (revising and editing) then you give birth.  (It’s published and goes out in the world)

Soooo…I’ve given birth to one, and I’m about to be pregnant with the second.  Works for me.  Can I say I’m eating for two???

What’s your day job?


So I was thinking about the hundreds and thousands (millions?) of authors out there who have to go to work every day because writing doesn’t pay the bills.  Or hasn’t yet.  I teach,  and for those of you who do, you know the state of your grey matter after 3:30 p.m.  It’s all I can do to manage to throw something together for dinner, much less fire up my cells past 8 o’clock.   So not much gets done until breaks.  Of which there are a few, but the main summer break is being eroded by professional development as I speak.

I am so jealous of those who don’t have to do a damn thing but get up and write.  I get to pretend for a month or so, but it’s not the same.

April is the cruelest month…


No, it’s not April yet, but it is coming quickly.  I’ve always hated April, almost as much as August.  Must be the “A” months.  No, it’s probably more to do with being in education all my life, on one side of the desk or another, and April means that everything is coming to an end.  And must be finished.

Plus, pollen happens in April.  And my allergies go on strike.

Bring on May flowers.