A.M. Riley's Blog, page 5
January 9, 2012
How to Manage Your Money Plant
A co-worker came up with the title when he saw me watering my 'lucky' money plant in the sink. "Sounds like the title to a blog," I said. And so, since I'm desperately trying to think of up ideas with which to fill this blog, I stole it. Because that's how I roll.
Here's the thing about the money plant. Feng Shui dictates that one take great care of the damned thing or ill fortune might befall ones actual finances. Or at least that's the way I interpret the Feng Shui strictures about plants and lucky 'cures'. And because I superstitiously fear a direct relationship between the darned plant and my bank account, I tend it religiously.
It occurs to me that I put a lot less energy into my relationships with real live people. I don't check to see that my friendships are not drying up, or needing more sun. I don't worry about feeding or trimming my communications with my relatives, who live far away. In other words, I'm more worried about my so-called luck than I am about my real life.
Now when I look at the plant I feel guilty. How is that supposed to help anything?
But I can't get rid of it. Geez, I can't even imagine what would happen to me if I threw it away. Or gave it away. Or let it die. Lets face it, the plant owns me.
Here's the thing about the money plant. Feng Shui dictates that one take great care of the damned thing or ill fortune might befall ones actual finances. Or at least that's the way I interpret the Feng Shui strictures about plants and lucky 'cures'. And because I superstitiously fear a direct relationship between the darned plant and my bank account, I tend it religiously.
It occurs to me that I put a lot less energy into my relationships with real live people. I don't check to see that my friendships are not drying up, or needing more sun. I don't worry about feeding or trimming my communications with my relatives, who live far away. In other words, I'm more worried about my so-called luck than I am about my real life.
Now when I look at the plant I feel guilty. How is that supposed to help anything?
But I can't get rid of it. Geez, I can't even imagine what would happen to me if I threw it away. Or gave it away. Or let it die. Lets face it, the plant owns me.
January 7, 2012
Getting out there
I've made a small resolution to post more frequently. We'll see how I do.
The problem is, I don't seem to have much to report most days. This is my life: I get up before dawn, take my (3) dogs for a mile or so hike in the dark. Drive to the Gold's gym. Sweat for an hour and a half, trying not to stare at the hard bodies around me. Drive home. Shower and dress and go to work.
Work. I wish I could tell you but then I'd have to kill you.
I'm home by 8pm. Walk the dogs again. Make dinner. Frequently fall asleep before finishing dinner. And get a few hours sleep before the alarm goes off and I do it all again.
Somewhere in there I write. I carry the books around on my lap top so location doesn't much matter to me. I have headphones and I block out the world and type away. This is one reason that I publish unevenly and sporadically. Somewhere in there, also, I watch movies. I have to. Its like a homework assignment. I have to see them at the theater, too. At least, quite a few of them.
What a pain, right?
I have other hobbies! I knit. With me, its less a craft and more a furious venting of anxiety and fussiness into a ball of yarn via bamboo knitting needles.
And I have a child and friends. All of whom despair of ever seeing me again.
I wish I didn't have to sleep.
The problem is, I don't seem to have much to report most days. This is my life: I get up before dawn, take my (3) dogs for a mile or so hike in the dark. Drive to the Gold's gym. Sweat for an hour and a half, trying not to stare at the hard bodies around me. Drive home. Shower and dress and go to work.
Work. I wish I could tell you but then I'd have to kill you.
I'm home by 8pm. Walk the dogs again. Make dinner. Frequently fall asleep before finishing dinner. And get a few hours sleep before the alarm goes off and I do it all again.
Somewhere in there I write. I carry the books around on my lap top so location doesn't much matter to me. I have headphones and I block out the world and type away. This is one reason that I publish unevenly and sporadically. Somewhere in there, also, I watch movies. I have to. Its like a homework assignment. I have to see them at the theater, too. At least, quite a few of them.
What a pain, right?
I have other hobbies! I knit. With me, its less a craft and more a furious venting of anxiety and fussiness into a ball of yarn via bamboo knitting needles.
And I have a child and friends. All of whom despair of ever seeing me again.
I wish I didn't have to sleep.
January 5, 2012
What Genre do you like me to write?
I've written vampire, banshees and vice cops. There's an odd little angel story out there, also. I've written characters and romances for lesbian, gay and het. I don't think of myself as having a 'genre' but I wonder if readers expect a certain sort of book from me?
I ask because I'm currently laboring in my so-called spare time on a contemporary fairy fic. The concern is that readers would be wary of reading elves and the like if I penned it.
What do you think?
I ask because I'm currently laboring in my so-called spare time on a contemporary fairy fic. The concern is that readers would be wary of reading elves and the like if I penned it.
What do you think?
November 29, 2011
A Man, a Jersey and a Tight End available today at Loose id!
A Man, a Jersey and a Tight End, the sequel to Goldilocks and His Three Bears is available today at Loose id. It is a re-release with new editing and a few tweaks by yours truly.
Here's the blurb:
Since Brian and his three bears first set up house, the demands of Paul's long distance job have put a strain on all of their relationships. Jim feels that everything is dumped on him; Scott is still unsure about being a sub; Brian's brattier than ever; and when Scott brings home a 'stray' in the form of a young brat named Joshua, the household is set on its ear. Of course, the brats handle the situation in their own fashion and Jim and Paul have their hands full.
They've got their plays scrambled and it's going to take a lot of hard work to find the proper balance between discipline and love.
Find it here.
November 24, 2011
Of Gratitude and the Gridiron
Happy Football Day! Oh, and have a nice Thanksgiving if you live in the U.S.
Tuesday, November 29th, Loose id will re-release my m/m/m/m domestic discipline "A Man, a Jersey and a Tight End", the sequel to "Goldilocks and His Three Bears". It begins during a football game (American football, not European).
I rose early this morning to turn on the oven and run the vacuum one more time before the first guests arrive. And, of course, I switched on the television to watch those excited clean shaven men with their blue suits and crazy ties talk about the football games coming up today.
So, I've got a little football on the brain right now.
My father was a college quarterback and he loved the sport. At least I think he loved it. The way he screamed at the players and coaches while he watched made me wonder. By the time I was five I could throw a decent spiral about thirty feet into his arms. I think he saw me as the first great professional female football player, but when the boys grew big enough to kill me just by landing on my prone body, I abdicated.
Sports are awesome. I know a lot of men and women who were traumatized, via their father's and schoolmates, by sports, but they are still the best way for men and women to vent their aggression and competitive ambitions without killing innocent people. Mostly.
But they are brutal. And for the young. And yesterdays victories are only memories and not as important as today's. Wait, am I talking about sports or the film industry? Or Wall Street? Or life as we know it these days in general?
Which brings me to gratitude and giving thanks. I'm thankful for the past, for what I've been given and what I've been spared. When I think of it. I spend a lot of time struggling to get over the next mountain, as I'm sure do you all, so I don't spend much time dwelling on the past. Today, while checking my fantasy teams stats, and counting forks on the table, and gossiping about work with my sister, I'm going to stop for just a second and feel grateful for my health and my loved ones.
And my editor, Judi, who slogged through another one of my books just in time for its release. :)
I hope you all have a great day, whether you celebrate or not.
Tuesday, November 29th, Loose id will re-release my m/m/m/m domestic discipline "A Man, a Jersey and a Tight End", the sequel to "Goldilocks and His Three Bears". It begins during a football game (American football, not European).
I rose early this morning to turn on the oven and run the vacuum one more time before the first guests arrive. And, of course, I switched on the television to watch those excited clean shaven men with their blue suits and crazy ties talk about the football games coming up today.
So, I've got a little football on the brain right now.
My father was a college quarterback and he loved the sport. At least I think he loved it. The way he screamed at the players and coaches while he watched made me wonder. By the time I was five I could throw a decent spiral about thirty feet into his arms. I think he saw me as the first great professional female football player, but when the boys grew big enough to kill me just by landing on my prone body, I abdicated.
Sports are awesome. I know a lot of men and women who were traumatized, via their father's and schoolmates, by sports, but they are still the best way for men and women to vent their aggression and competitive ambitions without killing innocent people. Mostly.
But they are brutal. And for the young. And yesterdays victories are only memories and not as important as today's. Wait, am I talking about sports or the film industry? Or Wall Street? Or life as we know it these days in general?
Which brings me to gratitude and giving thanks. I'm thankful for the past, for what I've been given and what I've been spared. When I think of it. I spend a lot of time struggling to get over the next mountain, as I'm sure do you all, so I don't spend much time dwelling on the past. Today, while checking my fantasy teams stats, and counting forks on the table, and gossiping about work with my sister, I'm going to stop for just a second and feel grateful for my health and my loved ones.
And my editor, Judi, who slogged through another one of my books just in time for its release. :)
I hope you all have a great day, whether you celebrate or not.
November 9, 2011
Who are you?
I love that 'The Who' song "Who are you?" where Townsend sings about waking up drunk and wasted sleeping in a doorway on the street. The policeman doesn't arrest him but sends him home because he recognizes him. But of course the bigger question that all of us adolescents loved to hear in the song was about identity. I mean, who the 'f' are YOU?
I use a psuedonym. I'm not trying to hide anything. I'd rather that the people who watch the (mostly PG) movies on work on not have the information that I also write adult erotica. Mostly because the studio would rather its public not know that. At least, not have it as readily knowable as a google search might make it.
Other than that, though. I'm an open book. Female, middle aged. Bisexual, which, no does not mean I kissed a girl in college. It means I'm gay dominant and my parents booted me out and cut me off because of it.
I grew up in affluence and moved into poverty and fear territory in my early adulthood. But I was lucky in my childhood and it benefited me enormously. I speak like a well brought up young lady. I know how to behave, dress and address authority figures. I went to really excellent grammar and high schools. This made it much easier for me to get a scholarship and survive once I found myself on my own.
I'm a radical feminist. I think if you are female and don't know you're oppressed, then you are living in willful ignorance. I think any man who thinks he gets it, is wrong. Maybe your father was disappointed in you because you weren't a jock, or a business man, or straight. My father was disappointed in me THE MINUTE I WAS BORN because I didn't have a penis.
I'd be surprised if all of this doesn't somehow trickle into my books. However, I write fiction and if I can't sketch a believable character who is NOT ME, then I'm a crap writer and should give up. I might have some amazing insights into being a man if I WERE a man but, hell, Hardy wrote the most amazing women EVER and he didn't have a vagina. (Yes, I just compared myself to Hardy. Probably the last time that will every happen.)
In other words, I don't care who you sleep with, share your spit with or vote for. If I like the book, I like the book. If I hate the book, I don't care how gay/straight male/female you are. Anyone who buys a book because they like the author is wasting their money.
I do wonder at authors who feel that their readers are too stupid to make this value judgment on their own, and so perpetrate huge hoaxes, but whatever. Who cares?
Who are you?
I use a psuedonym. I'm not trying to hide anything. I'd rather that the people who watch the (mostly PG) movies on work on not have the information that I also write adult erotica. Mostly because the studio would rather its public not know that. At least, not have it as readily knowable as a google search might make it.
Other than that, though. I'm an open book. Female, middle aged. Bisexual, which, no does not mean I kissed a girl in college. It means I'm gay dominant and my parents booted me out and cut me off because of it.
I grew up in affluence and moved into poverty and fear territory in my early adulthood. But I was lucky in my childhood and it benefited me enormously. I speak like a well brought up young lady. I know how to behave, dress and address authority figures. I went to really excellent grammar and high schools. This made it much easier for me to get a scholarship and survive once I found myself on my own.
I'm a radical feminist. I think if you are female and don't know you're oppressed, then you are living in willful ignorance. I think any man who thinks he gets it, is wrong. Maybe your father was disappointed in you because you weren't a jock, or a business man, or straight. My father was disappointed in me THE MINUTE I WAS BORN because I didn't have a penis.
I'd be surprised if all of this doesn't somehow trickle into my books. However, I write fiction and if I can't sketch a believable character who is NOT ME, then I'm a crap writer and should give up. I might have some amazing insights into being a man if I WERE a man but, hell, Hardy wrote the most amazing women EVER and he didn't have a vagina. (Yes, I just compared myself to Hardy. Probably the last time that will every happen.)
In other words, I don't care who you sleep with, share your spit with or vote for. If I like the book, I like the book. If I hate the book, I don't care how gay/straight male/female you are. Anyone who buys a book because they like the author is wasting their money.
I do wonder at authors who feel that their readers are too stupid to make this value judgment on their own, and so perpetrate huge hoaxes, but whatever. Who cares?
Who are you?
October 21, 2011
still sick
I thought I was getting over it, but last night was all fever and dreams about wolves and dragons. Today, I'm too weak to walk downstairs.
I'm working on Elf stories this week. I have three and in each, the nature of the elves is slightly different. I wonder what you all think of Elves. Are they good? Evil? Neither? Are they the souls of the dead who pay tithe to the devil or just the 'little people' from the 'old race' forced underground by modern technology?
With a fever and the weird tilt it puts on everything, I think elves are a little naughty and little bored and love the taste of burnt sugar. What do you think?
I'm working on Elf stories this week. I have three and in each, the nature of the elves is slightly different. I wonder what you all think of Elves. Are they good? Evil? Neither? Are they the souls of the dead who pay tithe to the devil or just the 'little people' from the 'old race' forced underground by modern technology?
With a fever and the weird tilt it puts on everything, I think elves are a little naughty and little bored and love the taste of burnt sugar. What do you think?
October 20, 2011
Why does Google want my phone number?
Okay, I'm sick. I get these bugs that don't really cause any symptoms but a low grade fever, around 102. Funny thoughts happen inside my heated brain. I start to see things clearly. The fever seems to clear out a lot of the underbrush, like a fire in the Los Angeles mountains.
Or.
Or maybe I'm hallucinating and paranoid.
I can't stay home sick more than the one day I took so I'm dealing with the entire studio thing while walking around with my brain on fire. And, of course, a coworker chose this week to come unglued and have a psychotic break right in my face.
Another coworker, a kind and sensitive soul, stops by my office. Takes a look at my face. Comes in and says, "are you okay?"
NO. I'm not okay.
When I log into Google, I get a page that requests my mobile number. Seriously? I Maneuvered around that and remembered that my daughter told me the last time she typed my REAL name into the White Pages she got all of our personal info. Including our REAL physical address. I see people are yelling and screaming at each other online again, hitting each other's facebook pages and accusations are flying around and I'm starting to think that the entire planet has a brain fever.
I don't feel safe anywhere anymore.
I'm going to go drink some Orange juice and listen to meditation tapes and try not to imagine my coworker showing up with a weapon one day...
Or.
Or maybe I'm hallucinating and paranoid.
I can't stay home sick more than the one day I took so I'm dealing with the entire studio thing while walking around with my brain on fire. And, of course, a coworker chose this week to come unglued and have a psychotic break right in my face.
Another coworker, a kind and sensitive soul, stops by my office. Takes a look at my face. Comes in and says, "are you okay?"
NO. I'm not okay.
When I log into Google, I get a page that requests my mobile number. Seriously? I Maneuvered around that and remembered that my daughter told me the last time she typed my REAL name into the White Pages she got all of our personal info. Including our REAL physical address. I see people are yelling and screaming at each other online again, hitting each other's facebook pages and accusations are flying around and I'm starting to think that the entire planet has a brain fever.
I don't feel safe anywhere anymore.
I'm going to go drink some Orange juice and listen to meditation tapes and try not to imagine my coworker showing up with a weapon one day...
September 7, 2011
Roman has a brain tumor
I don't follow the AWZ episodes religiously. I tune in about once a month or so, for a little eye candy and to beef up my German.
Roman has a brain tumor? A FATAL brain tumor? I can't stand it. I really really can't. (if you don't know what or who I am talking about don't worry. That just means you are a little more sane than I am.)
Nooooooo! Deniz' heartbreak is breaking my heart. Damn this show!
Somebody tell me it's going to be okay. There will be a miracle.
Right?
Roman has a brain tumor? A FATAL brain tumor? I can't stand it. I really really can't. (if you don't know what or who I am talking about don't worry. That just means you are a little more sane than I am.)
Nooooooo! Deniz' heartbreak is breaking my heart. Damn this show!
Somebody tell me it's going to be okay. There will be a miracle.
Right?
July 5, 2011
Goldilocks and His Three Bears released
Goldilocks and His Three Bears is available again! Loose id has re-released my m/m Domestic Discipline menage a quatre, with new editing and a bit of re-writing here and there, plus yummy new cover!Check it out!
