Forever Haunted by the Chicken Wing

So last Saturday, Batman came back from being out of town to pick up his nice shiny new car. On his way home, he purchased a bucket of Publix chicken wings. For those of you who don’t know what Publix is, it’s like the polar opposite of Walmart. Clean. Awesome. And somewhat overpriced. But their deli is amazing.

I’m not such a wing-girl myself, but on occasion, I’ll indulge. I’d eaten a Whopper Jr earlier because I was too hungry and impatient to drive the extra five minutes to the sandwich shop, and being hangry makes you to do things you don’t want to do. Like buy sustenance from a fast-food chain. So, to avoid killing all those on the road with my stomach that sounded like a dragon in heat, I gobbled up the cheeseburger and headed home.

An hour later Batman arrived.

With wings.

I watched him make his plate, adding the buffalo and ranch, and then proceed to the couch to dig into one of Publix’s finest treats. And then, unaware it was going to happen, an intense argument ensued between my stomach and head.

stomach: I want wings.

head: You already ate.

stomach: That wasn’t real food. It was like eating playdoh. It doesn’t count.

head: You’re not even hungry. You only want wings because he has wings and he makes that yummy face so you want to make that yummy face and its really just jealousy. Control yourself.

stomach: I want wings.

head: I thought you wanted to lose weight?

stomach: How are wings going to stop me from losing the thirty pounds I said I’d lose two years ago?

head: You have to start sometime.

stomach: Now is not the time.

head: You don’t need wings.

stomach: I need them.

head: No you don’t.

stomach: Yes I do.

head: NO YOU DON’T.

stomach: Watch me, dick.

“Babe, can I have three wings?

I always feel it’s best to give a good description of how much food I’ll be taking from Batman because I know it weighs heavily on his decision. Normally it’s “can I have a bite?” because I know he’s willing to spare that (mostly because it guarantees him a bite of whatever I’m eating) but knowing his love for Publix chicken wings, I figured I should start off strong with a detailed request before going back and forth on how many I think I’ll be eating.

Even with the amount requested, Batman still took a good ten seconds to decide. YES. TEN WHOLE SECONDS. But finally his head rolled into a nod and he agreed to the three. I get three chicken wings which, according to my stupid head, I didn’t need.

I jumped up and headed to the kitchen, entering the delcious aroma that the BK lounge had nothing on. Grabbing a plate, I scoured the box for the best wings left. Like I said, I normally don’t eat wings, but the few times that I do, I go for the thighs. They pack the most meat and…I don’t know…I just prefer them. Batman, thinking likewise, already selected most of the thighs so I was left with a majority of wings. I grabbed two and was reaching for the third when I saw it.

The unbelievable.

The overly remarkable.

The Holy Grail of thighs.

A boulder of meat piled high, it looked like two thighs–maybe three– converged into one glorious aberration of nature. This chicken must’ve been on steroids; it must have been the Shaquille O’Neal to it’s race; that or pet to the Hulk. I’d never seen such a big chicken wing. I didn’t even know something like it could exist. So thick and meaty… I couldn’t help myself.

“Yes,” I thought, selecting it, “you shall be my final prize.”

I placed him on my plate and turned to the livingroom. Do I eat him first? Save him for last? Maybe I’ll drizzle him with some ranch and-

I must’ve lost my footing or something because suddenly, my plate bounced and like an acrobat on a trampoline, the holy grail of chicken wings took flight.

Time stopped.

My mouth dropped. My eyes widened in fear. All I could do was watch as the pefect wing soared ahead in slow motion, already preparing for a crash landing on the unswept tile by the garbage can.

“NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!” I bellowed, but it was too late.

The thigh landed, proceeded to roll across the floor and then stop an inch away from the dirty trash compactor.

Maybe… maybe it’s still salvageable, I foolishly thought. Maybe I can just wipe the dust off. Five second rule, right? But with a quick calculation of how often I didn’t sweep the floor mixed with all the things I remembered dropping and kicking under the cabinets made me pause. DAMN IT.




Defeated, knowing I lost it for good, I looked up. Batman was staring right at me.

“I was saving that one,” he said.

“It kamikazied.”

“I can’t believe you dropped it.”


He shook his head and turned around. “Now you only get two.”

No, Batman is not a jerk; he’s only being fair. That was my punishment. The punishment I fully deserved because, let’s face it: I failed. I failed on an EPIC level. I let my retardation of not konwing how to walk properly (although I’ve had 28 years to practice) ruin my chances of consuming which was most likely the world’s best chicken wing. Now we’ll never know. I’ll never know. And I’ll probably have to get supervised every time I go to the kitchen when he brings home a treat from Publix.


But even with my punishment of only eating two, it’s been less than a week and he’s brought up that damn chicken wing like five times. “Hey remember you when you dropped my chicken wing? Yeah, thanks.” “I don’t know if you deserve a backrub. You dropped my chicken wing.” “Oh you want to ride in my new car? CHICKEN WING.”

SO, apparently, I will forever be haunted by the holy grail of chicken wings which, ironically, was a chicken’s thigh. No moral or lesson to be learned here. Just be careful with your boyfriend’s shit. And maybe pay attention to your head when it’s telling you to not be such a fat ass.


Number Three Baby!

Just wanted to post the THIRD book cover:


Another job well done by my *fabulous* cover designer, Joleene Naylor. You rock! (any indie authors looking for some awesome cover work, check out her site here)

And now to go back and do all the final edits. And then the really-final edits. And then the last look over. And the last-last look over. And one more skim for good measure.

And then downing a bottle of wine before I publish in September.

Yes, that is the process.

Don’t judge me.



So, okay. WHO has a review with a follow up author-interview?


Sorry… *wipes sweat from crazed happy dance*…but I had to. Can I just say OHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGOD because that’s how I feel right now. Insanity mixed with a healthy dose of disbelief. This has been a good week. Like, an amazing week because 1.) I understood most everything I did at work and 2.) my books are currently free on Smashwords until the end of the month so I’ve averaged at least one sale (sometimes 2) a day which beats the last few months of epic nothingness and a choir of crickets. Oh and 3.) The Best Slice of Pie, a new book review blog reached out to ME. This happened about two weeks ago but Monday they sent me a questionare. Like, an author questionare. You know, the kind I’ve read a dozen times over and secretly envied the author who wrote them. And I finally got mine, an ‘interview’ applicable solely to the first book in my series, Escape from Harrizel.

*runs around doing happy dance again*

The sweat is definitely worth exercising my happiness over this tiny little step that projects me just that much closer to the dream of saying ‘fuck you’ to a cubicle and ‘hello lovely’ to my recliner forever.

Look at it. Waiting for me to sink and start writing.

Where the magic happens. Bam.

Where the magic happens. Bam.

It’s weeks like these that keep me going, reminding me that, okay, today is just today. But tomorrow can be something totally better if I work at it. And I am so glad I did. Because this feeling is AWESOME.

Want to read the review? Of course you do. You can find it here, along with the author interview (my author interview) here.

*happy dance ensues again*

Sorry about that. Sheesh. It must be a disorder.

I’ll have to look into that.

Pintrest. Good God.

So…. Pintrest is wildly addictive.

I should know. I’m addicted.

It probably explains why I haven’t posted since 7/10 which is… Good God, two weeks ago. Wow. Besides writing, I’ve been pouring over pictures of dream kitchens and wedding dresses and funny sayings about how I like to say ‘fuck’ alot. This is what life has become.

I use to say I’d never get on there. Not to anyone in particular, but to myself. I don’t have enough time to sort through pictures of pretty things or ideas for future events because all free time is writing time. Which it is. Unless I’m at work, like I am now, and need a break from staring at numbers. So I switch to pretty pictures and fall into the abyss of endless images. THERE IS NO END.

If you want to check out what I’ve been up to, you can find my new obsessive disorder here.

You’re starting your own boards now, aren’t you? Or adding to your own.

Yeah. You’re welcome.

Push, Push, PUSH Through It

So I’ve been reading alot of blogs lately where writers talk about the struggles of sitting down and actually doing it. Writing. You can want and plan and strive and even intend to pour out all the ideas floating around in your head, but when that moment finally comes and you’re ready to start working, the inspiration goes. Or, the push to do it, I guess. EVERYTHING else suddenly becomes of the most dire importance. Everything else needs to be done immediately. “The trash needs to be taken out? I’m on it!”Huh, what’s that? You need me to go to Walmart to stand in line for an hour to buy some bread? Baby, anything for you!”

Guys, come on.

The easiest thing to do is make excuses. We all do it. We’re all probably really good at it too.  Believe me, there are times when I get stuck and I’m just looking for something to do. Anything. Anything would be better than forcing myself to keep going, to work through whatever plot/character/dialogue issue I’m having. Because that’s hard and hard things suck.

I was working on my first novel a few years agao (not EFH) and was just starring at my computer one night. I hadn’t written anything for maybe half an hour. And what I did write, I went back and deleted. “How do I go forward?” I thought. I’m stuck. And I’ve been stuck.  I don’t know where to go next but I don’t want to stop.

So I weighed my options:

1.) Quit. It sucks but at least it’s easy. Find another project and start again. Maybe that one will work.

2.) Push through it. Just keep writing because even if it doesn’t sound wonderful and it’s not the direction you want it to go, you’ll discover the right path when you’re going down the wrong one. Push through it and at least you’re moving forward; at least you’re making efforts to find your story in this sea of confusion and doubt. Push through it and you’ll get past this; you’ll reach the other side.

You’ve got to push, push, PUSH through.

This has become my mantra whenever I get stuck and it’s helped me Every. Single. Time.

Now, I’m not immune to the severe frustrations of writing. I want everything to be the final draft the first time I write it. It’s in my head; I can see it. I want it to be done that first run through because if it’s not… then I’m not a good enough writer, right? If I don’t get it on the debut try then… what… I should give up? There’s this great quote that I always rely on when I want to smack myself for feeling like a failure because what I’m writing is absolute rubbish:

“If I waited for perfection, I would never write a word.” – Margaret Atwood.

Thank God for common sense. Of course! Why would I think I’d get it right on the first shot? And who does that? Martians, that’s who. Definitely not us imperfect humans. We’re meant to work and work and work for it. We’re meant to push and push and push until we’re there. Writing it work. No one denies that. But you have to decide if it’s worth it. You have to know if the juice is worth the squeeze (The Girl Next Door, anyone?  Yeah!).

I believe it was Thomas Edison who said “Genius is one percent inspiration and nintey-nine percent perspiration.”

You’ve got to want it, baby.

And you’ve got to be willing to work for it.

For You, Writers!

So, last month I joined IWSP (Insecure Writers Support Group).

It’s a support group of writers that post inspirational, encouraging and motivational writings on their blogs or websites for other emerging authors. I discovered them on the first Thursday of the month and they post on the first Wednesday so today is my debut participation and I’d like to say:

You can do it.

Sometimes that’s all you need to hear. You can do it.

How do you know you can do it? Because you’re doing it now. You’re sniffing around, seeing what else is out there, seeing what others are doing. Something must’ve brought you to this blog, this post and that’s thanks to your efforts to better yourself and your writing. I’m new to all this too. I don’t know if what I’m doing is right or if I should be going about it another way, but I can tell you what I’m not doing is sitting around doing nothing. Because nothing leads to nothing and certainly not the life and career you want to lead. So congratulations on being proactive! You’re that much closer to you making your dreams come true. Just by reading this? No. But by taking the steps to believe in yourself enough not to do nothing.

Keep reading. Keep researching. And by all means, keep writing. Because only you’re the one who knows how limitless you can be.

And that, dear friends, is all you need to decide.