tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26185931887800824922024-03-14T02:41:50.057-07:00Confessions of a well-fed starving artistAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11281928640134338867noreply@blogger.comBlogger17125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2618593188780082492.post-38814237970380600922015-06-09T23:46:00.001-07:002015-06-09T23:46:20.065-07:00Harelip is a dirty word.I have been wanting to write this post for a very long time. A few years ago, I wrote a book called The Snake Pit: Jr. High Can Be Torture. It tells the story of a young girl, Cinda, who was born with a cleft lip and palate. Because she looks different, she is bullied, literally to death. I wrote this story, because I, too, was born with the same defect. This is what I looked like when I was born.<br />
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This is not a actual baby picture of me. In fact, there are no baby pictures of me that exist. </div>
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<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjklVpop2a3FwrmvydbB-FNOSgO_TwoQTFqX9ps3M3d1RZPJUeKfgS5fVXk__uYgZUtGnZzs9SFz8-KVC1p65d7A22C3yo75UjQw27OTezTowoxX-HhxEQa7JxwZOAu8lPasCr8J7B8-g/s1600/maci-A-2mo.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjklVpop2a3FwrmvydbB-FNOSgO_TwoQTFqX9ps3M3d1RZPJUeKfgS5fVXk__uYgZUtGnZzs9SFz8-KVC1p65d7A22C3yo75UjQw27OTezTowoxX-HhxEQa7JxwZOAu8lPasCr8J7B8-g/s1600/maci-A-2mo.png" /></a></div>
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Let's face it, this is not the face of a baby you rush off to the photographer every few weeks. At least not in the 60's when I was born. In fact, I didn't even go home with my parents until I was 6 months old. Imagine what it must have been like for my mother,</div>
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People have a great misconception about people with cleft palates. I've had people assume that I am mentally challenged, without ever talking to me. I have had people point and stare. I have had people refer to me as a monster on occasion. None of these people knew me, or wanted to know, these were just assumptions of strangers. </div>
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Of all the names I have been called in my life, by far the most hurtful one is Harelip. People toss that word about as if it is just a common term for a cleft palate. It is not. It is an insult. Let me illustrate. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBt4BqS8TkcSvOaBGV5Sscn1Sfaz1ucWBgiPEu16O8AKauZ3OgGTFCd2-CPMwTX2Zmw2oPlMovnexogZX7IHRdKXPn9-5riQN6O3lPvHpcUtSNky-CyHEzjQ5G_XFeuRdb-NQKbUi9Fus/s1600/hare-sketch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBt4BqS8TkcSvOaBGV5Sscn1Sfaz1ucWBgiPEu16O8AKauZ3OgGTFCd2-CPMwTX2Zmw2oPlMovnexogZX7IHRdKXPn9-5riQN6O3lPvHpcUtSNky-CyHEzjQ5G_XFeuRdb-NQKbUi9Fus/s320/hare-sketch.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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This is a hare. I do not look like this.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXV8-5m2LQJIQMXUVHjydWc87wXOcrlcNDE9jRu-VAop2sDziKe6_biENCm2jZkIPi2GTjSVSCPhJOjBXtu1yI9vEftR30KBQLec33ki942hn_vM3MUStPEeJS6BF28sug9TtDQcdV6jM/s1600/1901409_10202894245573476_154495603_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXV8-5m2LQJIQMXUVHjydWc87wXOcrlcNDE9jRu-VAop2sDziKe6_biENCm2jZkIPi2GTjSVSCPhJOjBXtu1yI9vEftR30KBQLec33ki942hn_vM3MUStPEeJS6BF28sug9TtDQcdV6jM/s320/1901409_10202894245573476_154495603_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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This is what I look like. See the difference?</div>
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Let me put it another way. Think back to the last time you said the word Harelip. Perhaps you were just describing someone you saw on the street. Can you think of a time where you ever heard someone use that word as a compliment? I can tell you right now...NO. For me, two words are taboo in my vocabulary. Harelip and the N-word. I don't use them and I don't allow anyone to use them in my presence. Both are derogatory, hateful words, never spoken in a complimentary manner, and, therefore, should be banned from the english language permenantly. I cringe when I hear those two word casually tossed about when I know from experience just how deeply it hurts. </div>
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I am 48 years old. I am a wife, a mother, and an author. Tomorrow I will go to the hospital for yet another recontructive surgery. How many have I had? People ask me that all the time. The truth is, there have been so many, that I lost track years ago. I can ballpark it. Figure 1 or 2 a year til I was 18. Let's say 25..conservatively. I had 3 surgeries when I was 21, another in my 30's and tomorrow I will go in for what may be my final one. This scares me. It scares me because I know it will not be "right". What I come out looking like tomorrow will be what I will look like for the rest of my life. </div>
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Will it be good enough. It will for the people who love me. For the people who don't know me, probably not. But, I learned a long time ago, not to live for those people, only to live for myself. </div>
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So, the next time you stare at someone with a facial defect, or laugh, or call them some derogatory name. Stop. Stop and think about what they have possibly been through to try and be what you consider to be "normal". All the pain, the tears, the prayers and the wishful thinking they have been through. Think before you tear all that down with one hateful word.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11281928640134338867noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2618593188780082492.post-11362555742603806252015-03-19T21:18:00.000-07:002015-03-19T21:47:56.508-07:00Goodbye Winter...Hello Spring!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVZ0TEFHMi4Yvs4lxRtFSOYJ5OzVBXS1CwDf3DjlJ43s_tLivt4SzMLlPpEMLP4uXbAbI_op9CwKeahrrJLQ0WlmjGAj3_1bwom45u8VWmkR2sLfoF2-VynTtSz2OQhosiLYxLNyOlF2c/s1600/10420140_10204191968065041_6943702786529644258_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVZ0TEFHMi4Yvs4lxRtFSOYJ5OzVBXS1CwDf3DjlJ43s_tLivt4SzMLlPpEMLP4uXbAbI_op9CwKeahrrJLQ0WlmjGAj3_1bwom45u8VWmkR2sLfoF2-VynTtSz2OQhosiLYxLNyOlF2c/s1600/10420140_10204191968065041_6943702786529644258_n.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
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I don't have good luck writing in the winter. I'm okay up until Thanksgiving, but, after that...poof! All muse and ambition just flies out the window. Cabin fever? Possibly, though I have never had an issue with being cooped up during the cold season. Being cooped up with the kids is a whole different story. My kids like to be gone. They like hanging with their friends and swimming in the pool and enjoying the sunshine past 5 p.m. I can't concentrate with them all here.<br />
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December: worst month of the year for me (writing wise). Kids are all home, all the time. Christmas shopping, Christmas baking, Christmas parties, and, of course, Christmas. It's cold, it's snowing, nobody can find their boots, (coats, hats, gloves). Forget it, I'm lucky if I can write a shopping list successfully.<br />
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January: Once I've recovered from New Year's Eve, there are Christmas decorations to put away.(who can concentrate with all those colorful blinking lights anyway?) It's drab, it's cold, it's snowy. School is back in session and everyone, including me, is crabby. Football season ends and that brings a whole new level of sadness knowing I won't see another game until pre-season starts in August. And August is light-years away from January. I can't concentrate.<br />
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February: Still cold, still dreary, still snowing. Stupid Groundhog lets me down once again. I should write. Screw it, I'd rather take a nap.<br />
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You may be wondering if there is a point to this line of babble. Well, in fact, there is. A month ago, probably not, but it's March, the weather has broken and I have had an epiphany thanks to Mr. Stephen King, my personal hero and horror writer extraordinaire.<br />
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In a recent interview, King said that to be a serious writer you must write every day. Every day. I realized then that what I'd been doing is making excuses. No matter the weather, the chaos, the complete upheaval your life is in, a writer writes...always.<br />
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I read those words a few weeks ago and from that day on, I have sat down to write every day. The chapters are coming together and I am churning out pages at a rate I have never done before. And it is an amazing feeling. It feels like Spring.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_lHQrkkhuNHmc54JeM2HXeajO2a-DsRaadbuxO3O_BTk_IEL9O6t7GZIioE_t27P_IODwqL9cv5ztJBdCUgvhNGWojJpWTkazeI4ADZ3y9cX4K-grE7VTxfqel5aECko-5hL_OFmnMlM/s1600/10420140_10204191968065041_6943702786529644258_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_lHQrkkhuNHmc54JeM2HXeajO2a-DsRaadbuxO3O_BTk_IEL9O6t7GZIioE_t27P_IODwqL9cv5ztJBdCUgvhNGWojJpWTkazeI4ADZ3y9cX4K-grE7VTxfqel5aECko-5hL_OFmnMlM/s1600/10420140_10204191968065041_6943702786529644258_n.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
So, no more excuses. A writer writes...always. <br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11281928640134338867noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2618593188780082492.post-65414728728450467682014-07-28T18:24:00.001-07:002014-07-28T18:24:36.597-07:00My Reason Why.I was told by a very wise person to write what I know. Unfortunately, I have a great deal of knowledge on the subject of bullying and how much bullying can affect one's life. We all know that bullying a a hot-button topic these days, but for those of us who lived through this torture, day in and day out, this is not a bandwagon we're jumping on, it's something that we, as victims, feel very strongly about. This is why I wrote and published my novella, <i>The Snake Pit: Jr. High Can Be Torture. </i><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRjcDhVBqH2_cNFOnD37sO-BRdBOjC6sjSi50ucLiEgWfiGaxTEeXlFxayyEfHi1DD_rJZz67efXTeL3hyphenhyphenF80cdplM1KsmkcupvGq_nRPf8owJDPINVLHQ70dnEPAgfD4uH-Y6tU7syQo/s1600/BookCoverImageforSW.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRjcDhVBqH2_cNFOnD37sO-BRdBOjC6sjSi50ucLiEgWfiGaxTEeXlFxayyEfHi1DD_rJZz67efXTeL3hyphenhyphenF80cdplM1KsmkcupvGq_nRPf8owJDPINVLHQ70dnEPAgfD4uH-Y6tU7syQo/s320/BookCoverImageforSW.jpg" height="320" width="200" /></a></div>
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Now, for those of you who haven't read this little gem of a book, shame on you, and you might want to stop reading this post right now, for there will be spoilers. </div>
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Now, The Snake Pit is written in a very different way, for a very specific purpose. It's written from the point of view of all involved, in interview form. I did this to show how different people can all see the same thing, yet interpret it in a totally different way.</div>
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The Bully: Sees nothing wrong with what she's doing. She's beautiful, popular and entitled.</div>
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The Best Friend: Sees exactly what's going on and tries desperately to get someone to listen.</div>
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The Teachers: All see what's happening, but figure "kids will be kids" Ignore it and it will all go away.</div>
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The Principal: Refuses to see what's right in front of him. Protects the bully, rather than the victim.</div>
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The classmates: All see what's happening, thankful that they are the not the ones being bullied. All stand by and say nothing.</div>
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This is not a feel-good story. You will not walk away after reading this with a restored faith in your fellow man. What I hope people take from this story is a little bit of awareness. Some compassion, perhaps, and the knowledge that bullying is not a "kids-will-be-kids" problem anymore. Bullying can cause long-term damage, damage that, unfortunately, cannot be repaired. Frankly, it's war on our nations children, and children shouldn't have to die because they don't fit in.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11281928640134338867noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2618593188780082492.post-9175178292497984832014-01-19T14:33:00.000-08:002014-01-19T14:33:40.766-08:00"Working" from HomeI am a writer. I have written and published 5 books in 3 years, 2 of which are children's books that I fully illustrated myself...and I work from home.<br />
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People don't understand the whole working from home thing. By choice, I write late at night, when everyone else is asleep. It's quiet, the phone isn't ringing, there is nobody asking me where this is or that is, even the animals are asleep. A single chapter or illustrated page can take 7 or 8 hours to complete start to finish. 8 hours of sitting at a computer trying to get a story to meld and make sense, or drawing and re-drawing an illustration and adding layers upon layers of color and shading to make it look as perfect as possible. This makes for wonderful things like eye strain, headaches, sore muscles, (you remain hunched over a drafting table or a computer screen for hours upon hours and see if your body isn't stiff afterward, I dare you.)<br />
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And then there is sleep. Usually I fall asleep around 4 am and I get up at 6 am to get the kids off to school. Then I feed myself, catch up on the news, answer the phone that rings a thousand times and do the dishes. And then there's marketing. The UGLY side of being an author. These books don't sell themselves. Posting promos on facebook, twitter, lineked-in...giveaways, discount days, blogging. Reading and reviewing other authors so they will read and review your work, beta reading for another author, keeping up with discussions in all the writer's groups, managing your author or fan page. All this takes WORK, and EFFORT.<br />
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Now it is about 10:00 am and I'm starting to fade a bit. So I take a nap (GASP! IN THE DAYTIME?) Yes...I take a nap. Remember now, I have only had two hours sleep so far so I try to get about 3 more hours before everyone comes home from work and school. Then it's time to make dinner, do more dishes, help with homework and whatever else I can get done.<br />
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I am not looking for sympathy, here. I choose this. I sacrifice so I can do this. This is my dream. Until these books start making some consistent money, I live without certain luxuries like: dinner out, movies, decent haircuts, new shoes, vacations, a car that was built in this century...you know, all the fun stuff. I am not asking for sympathy, only that you think before you speak. Just because I work from home, doesn't mean I am sitting on my ass doing nothing. Just because I don't punch a time-clock doesn't mean I didn't accomplish something today. Books aren't written in a day, and not everyone can do it. Everyone, whether they want to admit it or not, is looking for recognition,whether it be a raise, promotion, or a bonus. Writers are no different, we are striving to make a name for ourselves in the form of sales, reviews and fans.<br />
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So, if you have a writer in the family, don't be condescending. Don't call them "dreamers' like it's a bad thing, Don't make what you do at work everyday more important than what they do on a day-to-day basis. And for heaven's sake, don't come home from work and say "what did you do all day?" or you just might end up being the casualty in chapter 6. Woodchippers, axes, chainsaws... we dreamers have endless ways of getting even.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11281928640134338867noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2618593188780082492.post-34293722139358072872014-01-04T19:15:00.000-08:002014-01-04T19:15:42.459-08:00I write what I write because:<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdEPidvVaqhxYmZJfqptjRQ272g-CEVUKX2JQjnz4n5N5JVCtUZLcGBpca6yYjBF9GzZ9-50ewso6gHawjRTIZjl_zdCjBEKRpaTv2hL8Y3xYXXxudtULMIHpjLYwpTghCUBeJD89FAX4/s1600/BookCoverImageforSW.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdEPidvVaqhxYmZJfqptjRQ272g-CEVUKX2JQjnz4n5N5JVCtUZLcGBpca6yYjBF9GzZ9-50ewso6gHawjRTIZjl_zdCjBEKRpaTv2hL8Y3xYXXxudtULMIHpjLYwpTghCUBeJD89FAX4/s320/BookCoverImageforSW.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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This is The Snake Pit. My very first novella which I self-published in October of 2010. It is a short, but powerful story about a girl who is literally bullied to death in a public school, a subject I happen to know quite a bit about. People often ask me why I write what I write. Well, I can tell you, it's not for the money, that's for sure. I am going to show you why I write what I write. It is a little long, but bear with me, it's worth reading. (I know, I have read it a hundred times...at least)</div>
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I received this in the mail just a few weeks ago:</div>
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<i>Dear Ms. Donna L. Dillon</i></div>
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<i>My name is __. I am a freshman at__ and I wanted to thank you for changing my life. I have read most of your books and been impacted in some way by all of them. My personal favorite is The Snake Pit. The book speaks to me. It made me realize that bullying is real. i am used to hearing no-bullying and zero-tolerance, but, The Snake Pit made me realize what is going on around me. After reading the Snake Pit, I realized that newspapers, magazines and TV shows are all full of bullying stories: Girl commits suicide. Boy shoots children and then himself in school. Bullies expelled. Victim of bullying tells his story; everywhere I looked someone was in danger and crying out for help. These are kids just like me who deserve a better life. Since I read your book I notice everything, the whispered words and the silent stares that hurt worse than a punch.</i></div>
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<i>I have changed since reading The Snake Pit. I was not always willing to stand up and voice my opinion just to make things right. I didn't know how to sit down and help a stranger without saying a word. I didn't care about the bullying videos and posters shown at school. I couldn't even help my sister make friends. I was just like everyone else, and I was not proud of it. I was afraid. I was tired of pretending there was world pace and everyone was liked by everyone else. I couldn't ignore the pushes and shoves in the hallway; it was time to push back. I was not the person who I wanted to be, and it was up to me to change that.</i></div>
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<i>Every word made me want to keep reading, even though I knew what lay ahead I had to find out. I want to thank you for influencing me through your book. It targets real life problems that apply to all ages. My sister deals with some bullying and so it's hard for me to watch her cry and stand alone. This book taught me that all she needs is a friend. It taught me to stand up and voice my thoughts I listen and I help her through the rough spots. I am there for her. I could read this book a hundred times and still cry because the pain and torture Cinda endures are almost like I am there enduring them alongside of her. Bullying is seen as a big issue and adults try as hard as they can to stop it but they are not there they don't see what happens when the teacher walks out or turns her back. They do not really dig down deep enough to uncover the secrets of their manipulative students. No one ever really knows until it is too late. This book teaches about life and what goes on underneath the glossy surface.</i></div>
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<i>She stands alone and never speaks. I didn't know her name and I never made an effort to include her. She is smaller and doesn't act like the rest of the kids. She was basically ignored by everyone, seen but just not acknowledged. One day I decided to introduce myself, that was all it took. Now we are close friends, she talks and laughs with me, it's like we have been friends all along. I know I was influenced by The Snake Pit. I stopped judging people by their appearance. I learned that everyone matters and no one should be bullied. I reached out to those who needed help. I am not afraid to stand up to bullying, and am trying to change the world one step at a time.</i></div>
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<i>Sincerely,</i></div>
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Well, I won't use her name, but you can imagine what emotions I went through when I read this. And this, my dear children, is why I write what I do. </div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11281928640134338867noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2618593188780082492.post-88695929297791359582014-01-02T09:31:00.000-08:002014-01-02T09:31:09.923-08:00New Year, new goals, let's see if we can pull it together.I will admit, I am a terrible blogger. I'm lazy. I let it go for months and months and try to forget about it. I don't market the way I should, I don't tweet every day like I should, and I wonder why my sales are less than stellar.<br />
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I don't know why I am not a good blogger. I have ideas, clear opinions on all kinds of interesting topics, and if we were sitting here face to face, I would talk your ear off. But, when it's just me this blank screen...not so much. I think most people experience the opposite: face to face they can't quite get their feelings out, but given a blog post and they all become Nicolas Sparks. I envy those people.<br />
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Well, this year I am leaving my comfort zone and I will blog, and tweet, and market. Anti-bullying is still my platform and so these two books will be my focus for 2014.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9DtV3Hh3CwMkq9-mqVHLVWIzzdRN18Usy689Da8Hf8AB416dYePAutY_5tvBy1x4GEfEe8R6OvdzEXPZQgtAyIZoT-PJ-KVna9NpH7vJ22NxXVJrx6R-S1jOyIDxAMBYtqwlDMwRMDKs/s1600/BookCoverImageforSW+(2).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9DtV3Hh3CwMkq9-mqVHLVWIzzdRN18Usy689Da8Hf8AB416dYePAutY_5tvBy1x4GEfEe8R6OvdzEXPZQgtAyIZoT-PJ-KVna9NpH7vJ22NxXVJrx6R-S1jOyIDxAMBYtqwlDMwRMDKs/s200/BookCoverImageforSW+(2).jpg" width="125" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixN0BM40wahZe-iLfCyO0lFBW2rtZzQ3n81VQf8DCo0064dvFIndlPFT9jw9GAnZaZmmfe8QiC7FPdgGXjxeapn1rxGcH_VCVweq5c-b0dyV0V-ey_wqOOvSmJzbozNRNgPPQ_Rnib9Jc/s1600/BookCoverImage+Saving+Hargrove.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixN0BM40wahZe-iLfCyO0lFBW2rtZzQ3n81VQf8DCo0064dvFIndlPFT9jw9GAnZaZmmfe8QiC7FPdgGXjxeapn1rxGcH_VCVweq5c-b0dyV0V-ey_wqOOvSmJzbozNRNgPPQ_Rnib9Jc/s200/BookCoverImage+Saving+Hargrove.jpg" width="133" /></a></div>
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They say you should write what you know. Unfortunately, I know quite a bit about this subject. I was bullied mercilessly because of a birth defect. Basically, people didn't like my face. And what was I going to do about that? Nothing. There was nothing I could do, and they all knew it. I finally quit worrying about it and stuck with my true friends, they shielded me as best they could, and I managed to enjoy at least part of my school years. But, it hurt. I'm not going to lie about that. It got better, but now and then I still hear the voice of a particularly nasty bully in my head. In times of stress, or feelings of self-doubt, that cute little cheerleader's vicious little taunts echo in my head and will wake me from a sound sleep. All of the sudden, I am no longer a 46 year-old mother of four, published author of five books, one of which is an amazon best-seller. I am a fourteen year old ugly girl who hides in the bathroom at school because she is afraid of what the cheerleaders will say to her when she tries to walk past them in the hallway. </div>
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The scars I carry on the outside, from all the surgery I endured growing up, are nothing compared to the emotional scars I retain at the hands of the pretty girls. We are all grown up now, me and my bully. We are both mothers, wives, professional women...but I haven't seen her in over 25 years and I doubt very much if I could be in the same room with her even today. Bullying hurts. Bullying scars. Bullying kills. And this is the message I want to hammer home in 2014. </div>
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So, I will try my best to make these blogs at least interesting, if not amusing. This one wasn't as difficult as I thought it would be, but it's easy to write what you know. </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11281928640134338867noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2618593188780082492.post-17269614447820368222012-12-02T19:47:00.000-08:002012-12-02T19:47:50.434-08:00Don't Tell Anyone...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHyhBzwvseRKO5QukXSMRRi0sEzMlDPcE6_1wonVdedcEVpaWCuBXVzpkcVsVPRdrOzyl689CWQCx8QA0hZBk4yEVJmjPCZklr22NIcJrwMyurljvdd0EwdJF9mMyYDwEPlm6VhtmtEcM/s1600/Don't+Tell+Anyone.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHyhBzwvseRKO5QukXSMRRi0sEzMlDPcE6_1wonVdedcEVpaWCuBXVzpkcVsVPRdrOzyl689CWQCx8QA0hZBk4yEVJmjPCZklr22NIcJrwMyurljvdd0EwdJF9mMyYDwEPlm6VhtmtEcM/s320/Don't+Tell+Anyone.jpg" width="215" /></a></div>
https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/261263<br />
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Oh I am so excited! I had the privilege of previewing this title while Laurie was still working on it and have been waiting anxiously for the paperback to come out. But first, I will give you the short version, so you know what I'm talking about.<br />
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<span itemprop="description" style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Estelle Trager would rather die outright than suffer from the breast cancer that devastated her mother. So when her own tumors are revealed, she asks her daughter-in-law, Liza, to kill her. Horrified, Liza refuses, but keeps the secret, and other things, from her angry husband. Can she convince Estelle to consider other options before cancer, secrets, and Estelle’s suicidal intentions win out?</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px;"> </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px;">Now I know a few of you would jump at the chance to kill your mothers-in-law. (Not me, I love my MIL.."Hi Linda, I love you, dearie.") But nobody would actually consider it...would you? Estelle, who watched her own mother suffer and die from cancer, and although she saw the signs of her own illness...she basically chose to ignore them. By the time a diagnosis has been made, Estelle decides she wants to die on her own terms and enlists the help of her daughter-in-law Liza; the girl she once referred to as a "godless hippie." Of course, Liza refuses to be part of such a plan, but agrees to keep the diagnoses a secret from Estelles son Adam, who is also her Type-A, anal-retentive, control freak husband who also has obvious sibling rivalry issues regarding his brother Charlie, whom Liza briefly dated before him. (Yes all this is happening, and yes, it all works.)</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px;">Well, anyway, you may think this is one of those sappy, "everyone pulls together in times of strife" lifetime movie type book, but, no. Cancer doesn't work that way. Cancer is scary. People's feelings and wishes often get overlooked when others become hell bent on saving them. Nobody is on the same page here, just as it often is in times like this. Liza is a nutritionist and spends most of the time trying to shove wheat grass and herbal tea into Estelle, who doesn't want any part of it. Adam is hell bent on treatment no matter what, and Charlie just sits back and tries his best to put out whatever fires pop up. Estelle just wants to live as she always has, eating what she wants, drinking what she wants, and taking care of herself. Nobody wants to listen to her and wind up treating her like a child which angers this fiesty old bird to no end. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px;">I got to read this wonderful novel at a time when all these things were actually happening to me. My dear Aunt Judi was diagnosed with cancer and kept it a secret from us until she had two months left. The family lost their minds. Some wanted treatment, some wanted to let her live out her life in peace, and Aunt Judi was Aunt Judi to the very end. Organized and efficient, she made sure we all got what she wanted us to have. She let us help her when she needed it, and shooed us away when she didn't. We all got to be with her when this wonderful woman left this earth and it was the most precious moment in my life, so this novel hit me extremely hard. I identified with some characters, was angry at others, developed a little crush on Charlie and loved them all, especially Estelle. The whole story is brilliantly written and woven together so well you feel like you are reading about your own family.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 18px;">Don't Tell Anyone is available now on Smashwords, and will be available soon for kindle and paperback on Amazon.com. For less than the price of a latte, you can experience a story you will never forget. </span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11281928640134338867noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2618593188780082492.post-51943626631468579972012-09-22T22:17:00.001-07:002012-09-22T22:17:48.791-07:00Let The Children Read<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbrf7cC_VPKaQ7-YKeSYiXKll7oBVFM4QBBGZ-v-dHZNEMlsjN4e2UN6l5PPHBtstXTZFBNCz4KY1azezxrP4gc6QZ-tTxmfU2Xf3D5WKB-XsphP_GxYMdlpLMmcsxWvWgkxHPVjQeBJc/s1600/Page2withtext.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbrf7cC_VPKaQ7-YKeSYiXKll7oBVFM4QBBGZ-v-dHZNEMlsjN4e2UN6l5PPHBtstXTZFBNCz4KY1azezxrP4gc6QZ-tTxmfU2Xf3D5WKB-XsphP_GxYMdlpLMmcsxWvWgkxHPVjQeBJc/s320/Page2withtext.jpg" width="204" /></a></div>
I apologize. I have been woefully negligent in my blogging as of late. I have been hard at work on my latest work, a children's book called, "Why Did It Have To Rain Today?". It's about a little boy whose plans for a wonderful Saturday outdoors is ruined by a rainstorm. When his mom tells him to read a book and wait for the rain to pass, Jack is aghast. Read a book?? On a Saturday?? But Jack finds that reading can be an adventure and a fine way to spend a rainy day.<br />
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Now I wrote this book for a reason. I have four children. One in college, one in high school, one in jr. high and one in elementary, and I have noticed a trend over the last few years that has me a little disturbed. When I was a kid, we read books and did these things called "book reports". This is probably where I get my love of book reviews. Nowadays, books are read for "points." Each book is worth a certain amount of points depending on the reading level and length of book. All sounds pretty kosher, right? That's what I thought. Now, herein lies the problem. Teachers are not only assigning books of a certain point value, but also of certain <i>genres. </i>Now I can see how this could be beneficial, to a point. It is sort of like having a child try lima beans for the first time. Either they like them, and like lima beans forever, or they make the WTF face and spit them right back at you like a pez dispenser, never to touch a lima bean again.<br />
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Genres are like that. I have read science fiction, I do not like science fiction. I tried it, I don't like it, end of story. Being forced to read genres that they have tried and do not like serves no purpose but to turn kids off of reading altogether. They will read what they have to to get their "points" but if reading becomes a chore, kids will never learn to read for pleasure. And that, my dear children, is a very sad thing.<br />
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I recently picked out a book I thought my nine year old would like. She looked me in the eye and told me flat out, "I can't read that, it won't count." <i>It won't count? Are you kidding me? </i>It wasn't in the genre she was assigned and therefore she wasn't going to read it because she would not get credit for it. I asked her, "Can't you do a book report on it?" She looked at me like I was from outer space. It was clear that she had no idea what a book report was. I am not a teacher, and I am not here to tell them how to do their jobs, but I say let the children read. If they have read at least one book in the genre assigned and finished it and have voiced their opinions that they don't like that kind of book, by all means, let them find a book that interests them. Let them read for reading's sake, and, guess what? If you let them do book reports, you'll find out exactly how they feel about a story, which is far more interesting than five questions on a standard test. Don't you agree?<br />
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Nurture a love of a good story by reading your kids "Why Did It Have To Rain Today?" Available in paperback and kindle on Amazon.com<br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Why-Have-Rain-Today-ebook/dp/B009EO6K66/ref=sr_1_5?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1348375156&sr=1-5&keywords=donna+dillon">http://www.amazon.com/Why-Have-Rain-Today-ebook/dp/B009EO6K66/ref=sr_1_5?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1348375156&sr=1-5&keywords=donna+dillon</a>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11281928640134338867noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2618593188780082492.post-85044541041752011032012-08-22T23:29:00.002-07:002012-08-22T23:29:24.667-07:00A sucker for a good story.I love video games. Not just any old video games, but video games that make me THINK. I am especially fond of detective games that send me searching through haunted castles looking for clues in rooms full of hidden objects. I have been known to stare at my computer screen intently, searching for an elusive banana peel or the top half of a broken umbrella, (yes, these are the types of things they make you look for) and for what, you ask? Because, there is a mystery to be solved!<br />
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I recently played a game like this called The Mystery of The Briar Rose. If you didn't already know, Briar Rose is another name for The Sleeping Beauty. Immediately, I was intrigued. I love this story. My role, as detective, (hee hee..I'm a detective...cool!) is to search the castle and find the clues that will awaken the sleeping princess. Now, I know what you're thinking. The prince's kiss is supposed to awaken the princess, right??? Wrong. In this version, apparently the princes kiss broke the curse that caused the townspeople to fall asleep but the poor princess still lies sleeping in the castle somewhere.<br />
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The very opening scene of this game almost made me doubt my intelligence. I came upon two statues. Fairy Godmothers I am told, except for one of the fairies doesn't have a head. Apparently, having a head is crucial...who knew?? So, off I go in search of the head of the Sleeping Beauty's fairy godmother. I'm in good shape, I've got a fresh pot of coffee and some snacks for energy.<br />
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10:00 p.m. 2 hours and 1/2 a pot of coffee later, I still have not found the head of the fabled fairy godmother, I have, however, found a knife, a lantern and half of a sun disc that I have no idea what to do with. More coffee..onward and upward.<br />
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Midnight: I have been at this for four hours. I'm out of coffee and haven't found this stupid head. I have found a well, and I suspect that the fairy's head has been tossed down there. But I have no bucket. I need a bucket. Where the hell am I going to find a bucket? I have now woke the dog up by yelling at the screen and he is pissed. Oh, well...off I go to find a frigging bucket.<br />
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1:30 a.m. I have found said bucket and traipsed it all the way through the castle and out to the courtyard to the well..apparently, you can't use the bucket in the well without a rope. Are you freaking serious? If I could, I would throw the bucket down the well and hope that bitch's head shatters into a million friggin' pieces. After 5 1/2 hours I am invested and I am determined to find this lazy princess and wake her ass up...if I'm not sleeping, neither is she.<br />
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3:00 a.m. I have an hour before my husband gets up for work and finds out I have been up all night playing a game. I have found the rope and just as I suspected, the fairy godmother's head is down in the well. (I suspect it was thrown there by the last person to play this game.) I traipse this head back out of the courtyard, through the creepy cemetery and all the way back to the beginning of the game to give it back to the rightful owner. A little drawer appears which holds the 2nd half of the sun disc. Really?? That's all I get??? The second part of a stupid disc that I have no idea what to do with. Do I give up?? No. Wanna know why? Because I am brainless...that's why. Back into the castle I go to shove this disc somewhere....anywhere.<br />
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4:00 a.m. I have finally found the princess and the use of the sun disc. I did it!!! She is awake and has an important message for me! This is why I have solved all these puzzles, searched all the rooms and stayed awake until my eyes felt like they were going to jump out of my head. I press my face even closer to the computer screen because I have now lost most of my brain cells and congnitive function. The message from my beloved Briar Rose:<br />
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<i>Thank you for awakening me. But you must hurry and find the Frog Prince before the curse floods the entire kingdom and kills us all!!</i><br />
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Awwww...hell no. I did my job...those bastards can fend for themselves .Looking over at the dog who is even more annoyed with me than before, I shut the lid of my computer. My husband, now awake and ready for work gives me a funny look as he finds me still awake and trying to apologize to a dog.<br />
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"Everything okay?"<br />
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I peer at him through bloodshot eyes. My hair is standing on end from running my fingers through it in frustration. My hands are shaking from the constant infusion of coffee and my legs feel like jello.<br />
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"Yep. The princess is awake, but the townspeople better learn to swim...fast."<br />
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He didn't even bat an eye. That's not even the strangest thing I've said to him this week.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11281928640134338867noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2618593188780082492.post-2276764086542163832012-08-16T23:43:00.000-07:002012-08-16T23:43:26.307-07:00I am an Indie Mudblood.<span style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><i style="font-size: small;"> </i><span style="font-size: large;">I received a one-star review for Through The Gloaming not too long ago that really disturbed me. Not that it was a bad review, as an author, and an Indie author, you develop a thick skin. I don't like them, but I understand that not everyone is going to like your work. But, it was the <i>reasons</i> the reviewer gave that really chapped my ass. I got the distinct impression that I lost 3 stars the minute the review realized I was an Indie author.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Believe it or not, there are some reviewers out there targeting Indie authors for bad reviews. Us Indies have become the Mudbloods of the publishing world. Much like Salazar Slytherin tried to keep the Mudbloods out of Hogwarts, some people seek to keep the publishing world pure. I only have one thing to say about that. PFFFFFTTTTTTT!!! ( I hope I didn't get any on you....)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Listen up. If you want to review my book...at least read it first. Don't assume that because I am an Indie author, I didn't have an editor. I did. Don't assume I self-published because I was turned down by "legitimate" publishers, I wasn't. And don't assume that because I am an Indie author, my story will be weak and full of plot holes. Give it an actual shot and read it, you might be pleasantly surprised. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">My mother used to say: "When you assume you make an "Ass" out of "U" and "Me". Don't taint the waters with undeserved bad reviews. Let the Muggles decide for themselves, us Mudbloods are here to stay.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11281928640134338867noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2618593188780082492.post-32490255279456581232012-08-11T00:27:00.000-07:002012-08-11T00:27:53.583-07:00Hello...My Name Is Donna...I Am a Grammar NaziI am a grammar nazi. I'll admit it. I am that annoying person who will correct you if you improperly use the words there, their or they're, your or you're, and who or whom. I drive my children crazy to the point where they will no longer let me read their school papers. Apparently, I am more picky than their English teacher. I am not a total hard ass though, I can forgive the occasional misplacement of a comma, or even an errant semicolon, but Heaven help you if I find a dangling participle or, if you really want to see me go off the deep end, end a sentence with a preposition. I am convinced that my children do this just to watch me snap.<br />
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I am an even worse critic when it comes to spelling. I understand that not everyone is a great speller, I get that, but, in my opinion, we should leave certain jobs to the good spellers. For instance, the person who writes the daily specials on the dry-erase boards at restaurants. I realize that this is not a life or death situation for most people, but for someone like me to have to sit and stare at a board proclaiming the pie of the day to be "Bananna Creem Pie" is pure torture. I couldn't focus. I could feel myself starting to sweat as I stared at these two innocent little words until, finally, I cracked. I got up from the table, erased the offending words, and wrote them correctly. I returned to my seat where my lunch date was trying desperately to make himself invisible, and smiled sweetly at the waitress who was clearly not amused. I felt better, though, and that was all that mattered to me.<br />
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Another profession where good spelling comes in handy is if you are a tattoo artist. While watching the Olympics, I heard a story about a British woman who was chosen to be a torch bearer. Wanting to commemorate this auspicious event, she headed down to her local tattoo parlor and got a lovely tattoo of the olympic rings. Underneath the rings were the words "Oylmpic torch bearer". I kid you, not. They f***king spelled the word OLYMPIC wrong on this poor woman's tattoo. HER TATTOO. She will now have to walk around for God knows how long with this glaring error permanently inked on her body. OH. MY. GOD. I could never survive this. I couldn't. I would have to amputate my arm or something. So, if you are going to get a tattoo, take a few seconds and check to make sure that the spelling is correct before this bonehead inks you up. You might think that this doesn't happen often, but google misspelled tattoos....OH MY GOD.<br />
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And as anal-retentive as I can be about grammar and spelling in other people's work, I cannot, for the life of me, edit my own work. I find this to be unfair, and truly would not have believed it if I had not witnessed it for myself. I sent the manuscript for my last book to have it edited by the oh-so-brilliant Laurie E. Boris. I had read it over, more than once, and was quite sure she was not going to have to do much work at all.....WRONG. Boy, was I wrong. I was astounded at the grammar mistakes I made that I never caught. Not huge errors, but pissy little errors, lot and lots of pissy little errors. I was humiliated until Laurie informed me that this was normal. People generally can't spot errors in their own work. They have read and re-read it so many times that their minds basically skip errors that they would otherwise catch. So the moral of this story, my dear children, is invest in a good editor, or at the very least, a fresh pair of eyes. They are truly worth their weight in gold.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11281928640134338867noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2618593188780082492.post-35053352679988999322012-08-10T00:08:00.000-07:002012-08-10T00:08:43.466-07:00What's The Point? I am totally having a "Why bother" moment here. My sales suck, I am blogging, tweeting, and networking myself to death and still it doesn't seem to make a difference. My poor titles are destined to remain buried beneath a hundred thousand other titles where they will die in obscurity. Yep..I'm feeling sorry for myself.<br />
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I've got family drama, money drama, kids to feed, animals to feed, a house that looks like a tornado went through it and I sit here wondering where my creative mojo went....really??? I haven't written a cohesive sentence or even picked up my sketchbook to work on the illustrations for my next book in over a week, but I have managed to watched 10,000 hours of Olympic coverage, a Bear's game, and the new episode of Project Runway. It is obvious that I have lost focus.<br />
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It's not like I haven't TRIED to find it. I had every intention of picking that sketch book up and getting some work done, but when I reached for it the phone rang and I talked to my cousin for an hour. Then I made a pot of coffee and I tried again, one little sketch, just to get the creative juices flowing, but I dropped my pencil under the couch. I retrieved the pencil but found a host of other nasty little things hiding under the couch that I had to get rid of...hair ties, silverware, Halloween candy from three years ago. By then I was exhausted and needed a nap. Then it was school physical, daughter to tennis practice, yet another marathon phone call and supper.<br />
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Now that all that is taken care of, I settle into my chair. My sketch pad sits on the floor next to me, and I look at it....but the Bear's game is starting. How can I possibly focus on drawing when my beloved Monster of the Midway are playing???? Well, I can't...I know my limitations. By the time the game is over, it's just too late to start anything tonight. Tomorrow is another day, after all.<br />
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Tomorrow I will blog, and tweet, and network. My title is free on amazon so I will watch the numbers of downloads rise and hope for some decent reviews at least. I will find my mojo and actually get some work done...after I've had my coffee, of course. <br />
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/The-Snake-Pit-Torture-ebook/dp/B006RO3NP2/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1344571583&sr=8-2&keywords=donna+dillon">http://www.amazon.com/The-Snake-Pit-Torture-ebook/dp/B006RO3NP2/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1344571583&sr=8-2&keywords=donna+dillon</a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11281928640134338867noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2618593188780082492.post-41937506791162035192012-08-01T23:04:00.000-07:002012-08-01T23:04:46.239-07:00What if this is it??When I wrote my first book, The Snake Pit: Jr. High Can Be Torture back in 2010, I had a clear purpose. Bullying has become an epidemic in this country to the extent that children are literally dying. I wanted to change that, to make a difference. One day, I received a letter from a child that started out, "I am a bully." Uh, oh..this can't be good. She went on to say that she had read my book and it really affected her. "I didn't realize how much I was hurting this girl, and I promise I will never be a bully again." SCORE! Even if I never sell another copy, I have made a difference in at least one child's life.<br />
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When I wrote my second novel, Through The Gloaming, I really only had one purpose in mind. To prove that I really was a writer and that my first book was not just a fluke. It took a solid year of blood, sweat and tears, but I did it, and I am pretty happy with how the story came out. No sooner did I publish, then people started asking me when my next book was coming out. Dear God...I have not caught my breath from the last one! But it got me thinking....what if this is it? What if I am never able to come up with a decent story idea ever again? People are expecting me to come up with something! My brain immediately went into panic mode.<br />
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The stress of this industry is sometimes overwhelming. Trying to balance writing, publishing and promoting my book along with taking care of the rest of the responsibilities of my day-to-day life is exhausting. I am also obsessively checking sales stats which I have to stop doing because it is making me a nervous wreck. I worry over everything, but mostly I worry that I am going to let everybody down.<br />
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So, after a few months of trying to come up with a new story idea, I decided to put that on hold and work on the illustrations for a children's book I had written a few years ago. Can you believe it? I got myself an "idear" Is it a good idea? I don't know yet, I think it might be, but I'm going to let it simmer for awhile while I finish up this children's book. It turns out I just needed to switch gears for a bit and let the story ideas come to me. Good thing too, quitting is not an option for me.<br />
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I am a writer, and a writer writes....always.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11281928640134338867noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2618593188780082492.post-90838468816065280372012-07-31T23:54:00.000-07:002012-07-31T23:54:39.485-07:00Hey! Next Time You Have A Thought...Let It Go.Having been bullied as a child, I have little tolerance for people who lack filters. You know the ones I am talking about: the people who make snide little remarks about other people and then try to disguise it with cute little phrases like.."LOL" "JK" or my personal favorite, "No Offense." <br />
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Why do people do that?? I cringe when I hear the words, "No offense" because I know what's going to happen....I am about to be seriously offended. "No offense but....when you wear your hair that way it makes your nose look really big...I'm just sayin'" ("I'm just sayin'" is apparently code for "I want you to think I'm trying to help, but I really just want you to feel ugly and inferior) "When you wear your make-up like that, you really can't tell your one eye is bigger than the other...LOL" "LOL"= I want you to think I'm joking, but really I am trying to point out your flaws so nobody else will comment on how pretty you look.)<br />
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We all know someone like this, someone who just can't help themselves. I have have dealt with many of them in my life and I only lost my cool once. NO, I didn't hit her...I wanted to, I even have a plan to in one of my next books, but I didn't. I just smiled. I smiled and started to talk. (This is where I almost lost her, because she was pretty, but not the sharpest tool in the shed...I had to speak slowly and clearly so she could fully absorb what I was saying.) "You look really beautiful tonight, but if I may make a suggestion...perhaps you should re-evaluate the whole thinking and talking thing...no offense, but the next time you have a thought...let it go. I'm just sayin', when you open your mouth, the ugliness inside starts to show through and the whole pretty package that you've cultivated so carefully is just wasted, and we don't want that, do we? No we don't. So, next time you think it will be funny to say something nasty think twice. Shut your mouth and smile pretty, and leave the thinking and talking to those of us who can actually handle it."<br />
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She stood there for a minute, and I was pretty sure she missed most of it, then she said the only thing she could think of.<br />
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"Whatever."<br />
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Win.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11281928640134338867noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2618593188780082492.post-74887218132056294332012-07-30T23:36:00.000-07:002012-07-30T23:36:33.383-07:00The Monster Under My Bed.Like many artistic-minded people, I have ADHD. I don't currently take medication for this, although I probably should be, by the bucketful, because sometimes it is just exhausting to be me. My brain doesn't ever seem to shut down, not even for a minute. For those of you who don't understand, let me try and explain. It is very much like some outside force has a giant remote control that is constantly changing channels in my head. I could be sitting in a classroom listening to a lecture and my brain would just switch channels and suddenly I'd be thinking, "If Wile E. Coyote had all this money for Acme products, why didn't he just order a pizza?" This is probably the reason I have 100 college credit hours and no degree.<br />
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Because of this, I am also terribly disorganized. I am constantly losing money, keys, my car in the parking lot, and is probably the reason I found the telephone in the freezer the other day. Sleep is a literal nightmare. It doesn't matter how tired I am, as soon as I lay down, random thoughts creep into my head like the monster under the bed and take over. I find myself reliving conversations, making shopping lists, even creating story lines (which is not good, then I have to get up and write them down before the channel changes in my head; makes for great stories, but no sleep.)<br />
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Now, I have often wondered what a "normal' person's sleep is like. I dream...always. Vivid, clear, crazy dreams every night. Dreams that constantly change and evolve into even crazier dreams. Sometimes I wake up even more tired than when I went to bed. I just smile and nod when a friend starts a conversation with "I had a dream last night..." Really? A dream? I can recall 6 from just one night alone. But, I don't say anything. It's best not to monopolize the conversation and scare the poor girl to death.<br />
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I have managed, somehow, to produce two published books. I did this by setting myself deadlines. Without deadlines I would have no less than 50 unfinished stories all jumbled together resembling something akin to the Unibomber's manifesto. I may procrastinate until the last minute, but, by golly, if the deadline is looming, I am writing like a mad woman. It works for me. I may have to poke the monster a few times to get him to go back under the bed, but it's worth it to see a project completed. Because having ADHD does not mean you can't....it means you just have to do things....oh, look at the kitty...<br />
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Um..what were we talking about???Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11281928640134338867noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2618593188780082492.post-28700129061384806922012-07-29T21:33:00.000-07:002012-07-29T21:33:36.310-07:00Oh, The Rejection....My non-writer friends often tell me, "I couldn't be a writer, I couldn't handle the rejection. How do you do it?" Easy. I have never been rejected by a publishing company. Not once. Not ever.<br />
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People not in the industry have a glorified idea of what it's like to publish a novel. The days of finishing your manuscript and sending it off to the publishers are long gone. <i>We are not currently accepting unsolicited manuscripts, or We are no longer accepting manuscripts from new authors. </i>That's the brick wall you run into when researching publishing companies. You can get an agent, and have them submit for you, but not many reputable agencies want to take on a "new author".<br />
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New author? Wait a minute...I have two books currently for sale and have had my first novel published for over two years...I am not a new author!!! Yes...yes you are. It's like the old saying, "Just because you put on a tutu and some toe shoes, doesn't make you a ballerina." You are an Indie author..it's not the same thing. I have had people in the industry tell me that...You are not a "real" author because you don't have a publisher. Really??? You mean, these books that I hold in my hand, these books that I wrote, and that I sell and receive royalty payments for are not real books? Seriously? I had no idea. Pardon me while I slink back to the hole I apparently crawled out of.<br />
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So how does one break into this industry, you ask? It's a good question. Well, you can have a famous name. I have seen countless celebrities who have never published come out with a book and immediately land on the best-seller list. I will admit, this annoys me. A lot. Sour grapes? Probably. I am annoyed by people of privilege automatically garnering the name of author for something they probably didn't even write themselves. Call me kooky. You can hook up with a publishing company who takes a "chance" on unpublished authors. They will be happy to help you....for a nominal fee. Thousands of dollars in nominal fees. There are lots of these sharks out there...beware. Or you can just keep writing and hope you are good enough to garner the attention you deserve. I think that is what I'm going to do. Keep writing, blogging, networking, and generally doing what I have to do to make my dream come true.<br />
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Now, if you'll excuse me, my tutu is riding up and my toe shoes are pinching my feet, and I still have a lot of dancing left to do.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11281928640134338867noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2618593188780082492.post-76137389995273295402012-07-28T23:05:00.000-07:002012-07-28T23:05:06.339-07:00Really? You're an author? Who published YOU?I always feel a twinge of shame when I tell people that I self-published. First of all, self-publishing is a minsnomer, I don't have a printing press in my backyard, and I know very few independent authors who do. I am an Independent author, or Indie, which means I make things happen for myself. I did not PAY anything to publish my book, the company I go through publishes books for me in return for a portion of the royalties. But, everything else, editing, re-writing, publicity, etc...is entirely up to me. I don't have an agent, or a contract, or a personal assistant ( oh how I wish I did.) What I do have are friends.<br />
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Through networking, I have met and befriended many other Indie authors. Amazing, artistic and extremely talented group of people who have taught me more in the past year about the publishing industry than I could ever learn in a classroom. Supportive people who understand what I go through every day and do whatever I takes to make my dream of being a successful author come true. They give advice, answer questions, edit, proofread, create covers and book trailers and sometimes just listen. Sometimes, that's all you need, someone to listen. Sometimes it's discouraging trying to do this all by myself, but then I look to my fellow Indies and realize I am not alone. There are many of us ready to encourage, advise and support each other and because of them, I am a successfully published author.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11281928640134338867noreply@blogger.com5