Megan Cyrulewski's Blog, page 10

And The Oscar Goes To....

...my almost 4-year-old daughter, Madelyne, for her dramatic performance in "Waking up on November 11, 2014."  

I've long since thought that Madelyne needs to become an actress.  She's a diva to the max, can drama queen any situation and basically makes life look hard for her age.  I think her previous performances would have earned her at least an Oscar nomination but this morning - she blows away all other performances.  To recap her performance:

6:45 AM
My peaceful dreamy sleep is woken up by the shrilling voice of my child.  "NOOOOOOOO!"  I hear.  I take a quick glance at my windows in case they break from the sound of a voice that is at least 3 octaves higher than Mariah Carey.

"GET OUT OF MY ROOM, GRANDPA!"  

I hear my dad hastily retreat to the sanctuary that is our downstairs.  In other words, he booked it and didn't look back.  I continue to lay in my bed with my arm flopped over my eyes.  Maybe if I ignore her, she will stop, I repeat to myself.  Five minutes tick by.  Then ten.  Then twenty.  Damn it.  I get out of bed and proceed down the hall stopping at my mom's room.  I take a quick peak.  My mom is in bed with the covers pulled up to her chin.  A wide eyed look of desperation on her face.

"What's going on?"  I ask with a morning groggy voice.
"I...I...I...just opened her door to see if she was awake," my mom stutters.
With an exasperated voice, I ask the obvious, "Why in God's name did you wake her up?"  
"I won't do that again," my mom whispers from her blanket cocoon.  "I learned my lesson."

"MOMMY!  MOMMY!  GET IN HERE!  MOMMY"  

I sigh.  Taking a deep breath, I force a happy smile on my face and plunge into the depths of hell - aka Madelyne's bedroom.  She's flopping like a fish all over her bed.  No tears.  All fake crying going on up in this room.  I cautiously sit down on the bed.

"What's wrong, Madelyne?"  I try to put my hand on her back.  She wails and I quickly move my hand lest she rips it off my arm.  She keeps screaming/wailing/flopping/fake crying until I finally told her that I was going to leave.

"I can't help you if you don't tell me what's wrong."
Sniff sniff.  "GRANDMA WOKE ME UP!"  

I seriously don't know what my mom was thinking.  Waking up Madelyne before she's ready is like the kiss of death.  Proceed at your own risk.  However, I granted my mom the defense of temporary insanity.  

After another 3-5 minutes of diva behavior, I gave her an ultimatum - the same ultimatum I give her every time she acts up in the morning.  

"Okay Madelyne.  You have two choices.  You can get up and start your day and get ready for school or you can stay in bed all day.  What do you want to do?"  The answer is always the same.  She usually pops out of bed.  This morning, however, I was in for a huge shocker.

"I want to stay home in bed all day."  Madelyne pulls the covers over her head.

Well shit.  Reverse psychology fail big time.  What the hell was I going to do?  She never takes the bait!  I had plans that day and they were slowing unraveling with this abrupt change.  I decided to keep playing her bluff.  Maybe, at 36, I was smarter than a preschooler.

I closed her curtains and turned off her light.  "Okay Madelyne.  Your choice.  Have a good day in bed and I will see you later."  I closed the door and walked into my mom's room.  

"What are we going to do?"  My mom asked petrified.  
"Maybe if you hadn't woken her up, this wouldn't have happened!"  I vehemently whispered.  
"I was trying to do her a favor!"  My mom said defending her actions.
I stopped.  "Oh my God."  I looked at my mom.  "This is what she wants.  She wants to turn us against each other."

Suddenly, Madelyne's door slowly opens.  She walks up to me.  

"Good morning, Mommy," she says in a sweet little voice.  "It looks like it's a good day to play on the playground at school."

It was a "Three Faces of Eve" moment.  Who was I talking to?  Madelyne?  An alter ego?  

Madelyne sauntered by me into Grandma's room.  She climbed on the bed and gave Grandma a hug.  

"I feel bad that I woke you up," my mom said.
"It's okay, Grandma.  I forgive you."  She got down off the bed and went to the stairs.  She starting walking down. I held my breath.  Halfway down she turned around.  

"Are you coming down, Mommy?"  She asked innocently.
"Mommy has to get dressed so I can take you to school."
Madelyne sat down on the stair.  "NOOOO!  I want you to come downstairs NOW!"
"You know what Madelyne?  I can't come down right now but Grandma is going to be right behind you."
"What?"  I hear my mom squeak from her bed.

I walked back to my mom's room.  "You caused this.  If you think you are going to hide in bed this morning and leave this mess to me and dad, you're fooling yourself.  No way."

I definitely took my time getting dressed this morning.  Slowly made my bed.  Put away my laundry from the night before.  Prayed - a lot.  Then took the plunge.  I made my way downstairs.

I bumped into my mom in the kitchen.  She was getting her tea out of the microwave and proceeded to walk down the hallway.

"Do you think you're going back upstairs?  Seriously?"
My mom turned around.  "Um....yes?"
I pointed my finger at her.  "YOU are not going ANYWHERE until this child is in my car on the way to school.  Now sit."

The next ten minutes were blissfully peaceful.  She didn't have a problem getting dressed.  It was picture day and she wanted to wear her pink cowgirl boots.  At that point, I don't care if she wanted to wear her Scooby-Doo Halloween costume, I just wanted some clothes on this child.

On our way out, she grabbed her lunch and waved goodbye to Grandma and Grandpa.  They looked like they were in a daze.  I hurriedly pushed Madelyne out the door before my parents said or did anything else to cause chaos.

Once we got in the car, I never for one minute underestimate the power of the diva attitude to come back with a bang.  Sure enough, I might have driven 1/4 of a mile before she spoke.

"You didn't put a drink in my lunch," Madelyne pipes up from the back seat.
"I never put a drink in your lunch," I replied.
I hear the crinkle of the lunch bag.  "Maybe you should think about that next time."
"Madelyne, you get water at school."
"I don't like the water at school.  It has germs."

I rolled my eyes and put on the music.  I'm not ashamed to say I wanted to drown out the little voice from the back seat.  We proceeded to drive to school with the usual back seat driver commands:  "The green is light.  Go."  or "Why are you going to slow?"  or "Turn the heat down."  I kept turning the volume of the radio up and up and up.

Finally we get to school.  Thank the dear Lord, the baby Jesus, Mary Magdalene and all of the apostles who names elude because I never paid attention in my Catholic church classes.  

We walk into school and Madelyne greets the teachers.  When we reach her classroom, I see a dad fixing his son's hair.  (Picture day, remember?)  Madelyne notices too.

"Nice haircut, Evan."  Madelyne walks past him.
Evan notices Madelyne's cowgirl boots.  He turns to his dad.  "I want to wear my cowboy boots!"
"You can wear them when you get home.  You have to wear your nice blue shoes for picture day," Evan's dad tried to explain.  
Madelyne walked over to Evan and gave him a hug.  "It's okay Evan.  I'm sure your Dad will go home and get them for you."
I couldn't even look at Evan's dad.  Evan wailed.  "GO GET MY BOOTS DADDY!"

Madelyne sauntered off probably looking for her next victim.  I booked it out of there before Evan's dad could confront me in the parking lot.  I think his dad started hyperventilating.  I figure he's either going to call his wife as soon as he gets in the car, go home and get the boots or Evan's going to be wearing pink cowgirl boots in his picture courtesy or Madelyne.  You're welcome, Evan's dad.  I hope I never run into you again.

As I walked out the door, the teacher at the front desk, said, "Have a good day."

Oh, my dear, don't you worry.  I will have a blissful quiet day.  

Twitter Scares Me...Seriously

As part of my publishing contract, I had to create my own website and engage in social media to get my name out to the masses. Facebook was easy because I already had an account. Linkedin was hilarious because it reached out to every person I have ever e-mailed. (Hello 2 ex-boyfriends and my favorite college professor from 1999.). I love Goodreads because not only do I get to promote myself, I connect with book addicts like myself. Twitter, however, scares the crap out of me. I created an account and following the advice from fellow authors, I reached out to people who I felt was my target audience. Before I knew it, I had over 500 followers and I only know two of them in real life.

Maybe it scares me because I just don't understand how it works. I didn't join when it first came out because I couldn't imagine people caring about what I was doing at random times during the day. I have a few Facebook friends who like to tag themselves at every single location they visit. One time, someone posted she was at her OBGYN because of problems "down there." That pretty much left me speechless. I mean, what did she want us to comment? Have fun? I hope your vagina doesn't smell like tunafish anymore? I ended up "liking" her comment to show my support for her crotch crisis. I felt it was the least I could do.

When I joined Twitter, I received the welcome e-mail explaining how Twitter works.  Did you know that there is a Twitter Glossary?  As I was reading the glossary, I felt like I was trying to study for a vocabulary test.  (It brought back nightmares of elementary school.)  I wondered if I should make flashcards so I could test myself.   

To try to figure out Twitter, I googled "How to use Twitter."  I had 8,510,000 links to choose from to answer my question.    Cautiously, I clicked on a link.  The first piece of advice I tried was to use a "catchy" picture.  When I opened my account, I used a picture of myself.  I decided to switch to a picture of my daughter.  Sure enough, the picture attracted followers who messaged me that they loved the my profile picture.  (I use my daughter to promote myself.  I have no shame.)  The second piece of advice was a detailed outline of how to attract followers.  I used that advice as well and soon I have hundreds of followers.  The problem is that when I check my Twitter account at night, it takes me about an hour just to get through tweets posted within a 20 minute time span.  I'm overwhelmed.  I'm old.  

Then I thought to myself, if I'm feeling overwhelmed with just a few hundred followers, what about those who have tens of thousands?  There is no way those people are reading my tweets, are they?  I mean, I have absolutely no idea who is reading my tweets (aha…new vocab word), what they think, or if anyone is reading them at all.  When I do tweet something, I panic because if anyone reads my tweets and is offended, I'm going to end up an international news story like the woman who tweeted about South Africa and AIDS.  Granted, she was a complete moron and I know better than to tweet something so asinine that it brings the world together anxiously awaiting a landing akin to Apollo 11.  LIke right now, are people going to be upset that I used the word "vagina" in this post?  Is CPS going to take my daughter away because I used her picture?  Are you sharing my tweets with your friends because they are funny or because you're making fun of me?  I feel like I need to take a Xanax after every tweet.

Am I the only one who feels this way?  I'm 35.  I grew up using encyclopedias and the research section at the local library for school papers.  My first e-mail account was in 1996 when I started college.  My first cell phone was a brick.  Just this year, I stopped burning songs onto a CD and actually used the USB cable in my car to plug in my phone.  I avoid the Apple store because it is a traumatic experience every time I go there.  The last time I went was to upgrade my phone.  Some 20-year-old gibbered at me about iCloud, some number G network, memory space, pixels, apps, lions and tigers and bears, oh my.  I told him I liked the pretty yellow phone.  

I feel like Twitter is this vast world in cyberspace and all I can hear is my echo.  If you are reading this, can you please tell me how to use Twitter?  How do I reach my target audience?  How do I get people to read my blog?  Do you want to be my friend?  Anyone?  Bueller?



  

My Very First Royalty Report...Yay?

Let me tell you how much I had been anticipating my first royalty report.  After seeing my book on a few Amazon Best Seller lists, 19 (give or take a couple) interviews on radio and/or blog talk radio, a couple of interviews in the local newspapers and a 4-week long blog tour, I thought Madelyne is going to have a darn good Christmas this year.  Ummm....yeah.  Reality check!

To say I was perplexed is an understatement.  Baffled, confused, disappointed - more feelings along those lines.  I mean, I wasn't expecting to shoot to millionaire, hundred-thousaner, or even ten-thousander status BUT I definitely thought my royalties were going to be a lot more than what my report showed.

Okay - so even getting past the money part - I only sold x number of books?  It just doesn't make sense.  In a little less than a year, I've had over 254,000 visitors to my website.  When my book first came out, it was sandwiched between Derek Hough's memoir and Duck Dynasty's memoir.  Not a bad place to be.  So why are my numbers so low?

I honestly don't have an answer to that.  I've spent a good amount of money on marketing.  For the past four months, I amped up my marketing and have been practically glued to my computer for 10-12 hours a day.  To not see the results I expected, it's definitely a letdown.  

The weird thing is, however, I didn't get upset.  I'm a total type-A personality and if something in my anal little world is rocked, I get upset, sometimes to the point of hysterical crying.  (Don't worry, people, I have a great therapist and a never-ending supply of Xanax.)  I think my parents were actually waiting for the breakdown last night.  My Dad sat on the couch holding a pillow and my mom had her hand on the Kleenex box.  

I've learned a lot in this industry in 12 short months.  I've learned that less than 1% of authors are offered a publishing contract.  I've interviewed authors who tell me that writing is what makes them who they are and they didn't have a choice BUT to be an author.  I've read self-published books that make me shake my head in disbelief that another talented author should be on the NY Times Bestseller list.  

I also learned things about myself.  My book gave me closure - closure that I never will get from my ex-husband.  I've met so many wonderful people on social media that I never would have had it not been for my book.  I've been interviewed by people in Jamaica, Hawaii, Australia, China, and who knows where else.  My book has led to opportunities that I only dreamed of - motivational speaking, my own column in a huge online magazine, my blog, etc.

But the best reward?  Every time I get an e-mail through my website or other social media avenue thanking me for opening up and sharing my struggles, I know I made the right decision.  My goal in writing my book was to touch upon two important messages:  the negative stigma of postpartum depression and the emotional abusive side of a domestic violent relationship.  I achieved that goal.  Check that box off my bucket list.

I've given away more books that people have bought and I don't care.  I gave away a book a day in honor of Domestic Violence Awareness Month last month.  I've gotten reviews on Amazon and Goodreads from people I don't know saying that my book helped them or someone they knew.  

Isn't that why we write?  Do we write for the money or do we write for the love of writing and sharing our love with others?  Let me tell you right now, if you are in it for the money, stop writing and find a new path in life or you will be perpetually disappointed.  But, if you write because it's in your blood, then don't repress your talent.  Share it or you are doing US a disservice.  

So when Kim Kardashian's "Selfies" book hits the shelves next year and shoots to the top of the NY Times Bestseller list, don't be frustrated.  Don't compare yourself to a woman who takes pictures of herself all day.  She'll make a boatload of money to add to her already millions of dollars from doing nothing.  I mean, money is nice and I'm not going to sit here and say it's not.  I would love a 6,000 square foot house with a movie theatre, pool, jacuzzi, and whatever else.  But unless I make a sex tape (believe me, that is something you do NOT want to see), try to break into the acting world at the age of 36 and much bigger than a size 2, or become one of the lucky less than .000000001% of authors who can live on their writing salary, my writing will always be a secondary income.  And that's okay.

I love to write and it makes me happy.  Isn't that what life is about?  Enjoying what you love and doing what makes you happy.  I will continue to write for the love of the craft.  I will continue to support my self-published or small-publishing house author friends on my blog and other social media places.  And when I feel inspiration hit, I will find a cozy spot with my laptop and continue working on my second book.

So if you find yourself in my shoes after your first royalty report, just remember why became an author in the first place.  Was it to sell books or was it to share your talent?  Think about it.  And then keep writing.  :)

Book sales are great.  Inspiring people is better.  Saving lives is priceless.     

Blog Tour: "What Casts the Shadow?" By Seth Mullins

BLURB:

A troubled young rock musician, a mystic mentor, and a generation of lost souls longing for a new voice to emerge from the wilderness...

When an altercation outside of a performance venue nearly proves fatal, Brandon Chane begins to realize how far his life is spinning out of control. His efforts to channel his pain, frustration and thwarted loves into his music may not suffice to save him. Then he meets Saul, a crisis counselor with the soul of an ancient medicine man, and a far-reaching journey of healing - one that may teach him how to steer away from the very edge of the abyss - begins.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
EXCERPT:

The Edge

I suppose you could compare it to driving on a high mountain road. You don’t realize how close you are to free-fall, or how sheer and far is the plunge, until you go around a bend where one side is exposed to open air and then there it is: The Abyss.

There’s this edge that you can come to – I imagine it’s a different place for each of us – and you just know that once you get swept over it you won’t be coming back. By the time you’re close enough to see it it may already be too late. You could find yourself teetering, suddenly hearing the warnings that life had been giving you all along, knowing that it’s become impossible to step back; because by that time, those other forces – the ones pounding like the rapids at your back, always trying to push you towards that edge and then over it – have grown too strong.

Tommy and I first talked about forming a band together before either of us had learned to play an instrument. We both perceived music – particularly, its heavy, extreme underside - as the ideal vehicle for our personal salvation. The first guitar that I purchased, a Fender Telecaster that I immediately spray painted black to my father’s horror, became my refuge. It was my best friend and confidante. It gave me a convenient excuse to avoid social situations that, more often than not, would only remind me of how far off the beaten path I really was.

INTERVIEW WITH the author:
1. Tell us about your latest release.

“What Casts the Shadow?” entwines two of deepest loves: Music (or, more broadly, creative expression in general) and being a seeker on the inner path. In some ways it pays homage to the art and the artists that changed my life forever. It probably speaks most directly to troubled adolescence. I hope that, aside from its entertainment value, it can offer guidance and comfort to those who struggle with the challenges of being a creative and/or spiritually-attuned person in our world as it exists today. 

2. What have you got coming soon for us to look out for?

The sequel to “What Casts the Shadow?”, “Trust in the Unseen”, was recently published. I expect that I’ll have the third installment of the saga, “Humanity’s Way Forward”, completed sometime this winter.

3. What song would you choose for Karaoke?

Nick Drake’s “Place to Be”

4.  Which Star Trek or Star Wars character are you most like?

Probably Obi-wan Kenobi in his less reckless later years. 

5.  Who would you most like to be stranding on a desert island with?  Least?  Why?

Yoda. Assuming that I ever made it off the island, I’d be a full-fledged Jedi after all those days of having nothing to do but devote myself to the training. Least: Gollum. Imagine listening to that gibbering every day for months on end…


AUTHOR Bio and Links:
Seth Mullins draws upon the great sweep of human soul-journeying to weave his tales. He's inspired by music, shamanism, dreams and the mysteries and miracles of our inner life. His greatest love as a writer is for fiction that depicts a journey towards self-awareness in the deepest sense.

"Probably the most valuable thing that I learned throughout my spiritual journey in this life is the importance of trusting in one's self. Many of our cultural lessons encourage us to ignore or even fear our inner reality. And yet it is this realm that really does hold the answers to all of our questions, and can point the way towards the most fulfilling life experiences possible for us."

Mr. Mullins has lived in Maine, Connecticut, New Mexico, Oregon and Vermont.

http://www.humanityswayforward.com (Humanity'sWay Forward - my website)

http://frontiersofconsciousness.blogspot.com (The Edge of the Known by Seth Mullins - my blog)

 "What Casts the Shadow?"  (The Edge of the Known) on Amazon: http://amzn.to/1rkhffS 


My Amazon author page: http://amazon.com/author/sethmullins

https://www.facebook.com/seth.thomas.37454

http://twitter.com/SethMullins1

https://www.facebook.com/WhatCaststheShadow

Prizes for the tour are as follows:

• One randomly chosen winner via rafflecopter will win a $50 Amazon/BN.com gift card.

• One randomly chosen host will receive a $25 Amazon/BN.com gift card. a Rafflecopter giveaway

CHAPTER ONE EXCERPT

Before you read this, please know that my story is not a pretty story.  It is raw. It is emotional.  It is painful.  Some of you are going to ask after reading it, why I stayed with him.  Without him, I never would have had my daughter so for that reason alone, it was worth every single moment, good and bad.  I welcome any feedback, constructive criticism, and opinion, so please leave a comment even if it's just a sentence.  Thank you everyone for your support and for taking the time to read this.

_________________________________________________________

Chapter One:  Ahhh…Young Love


Envy. There is a reason why it’s one of the seven deadly sins. It can kill you. It almost killed me.

The summer of 2004, I was 26 and just got out of a long-term relationship. Good man, he just wasn’t the right man for me.

I had just found out that my old college roommate had recently gotten engaged. The two of us were always “competing” during college: who was skinnier, who can pick up the most guys at the bar. Stupid girl stuff. Other friends of mine were either married or having babies. I think the last straw was finding out my high school sweetheart had gotten engaged. Somewhere in fantasyland, I always thought it was possible we might get back together. Needless to say, I was definitely envious.

That summer, my roommate, Jessica, bought a house. At the time we were sharing an apartment, but she asked if I wanted to move into her house. Jessica and I had known each other since high school and she was the best roommate, and one of the best friends, I have ever had. Without hesitation, I agreed. A month after moving in, we had a house warming party. That’s when I met Tyler*.

I knew Tyler slightly because he was engaged to one of Jessica’s friends, Natalie. Tyler and Natalie and been together for about three years. They had even come to a couple of parties Jessica and I had thrown at our apartment.  I had never really talked to him, though. Tyler and Natalie had broken up around the same time I had broken up with my-long term man.

Jessica didn’t want to invite Tyler because she didn’t want any tension between him and Natalie. A few days before the party, though, we found out Natalie was going to be out of town. Coincidentally, Tyler stopped by that same night to give something of Natalie’s to Jessica. That was the first time I had really looked at hime and I liked what I saw: good-looking, goofy smile, and deep-blue eyes. The attraction was instantaneous. So, I decided to invite him to the house-warming party. Why the hell not? Natalie wasn’t going to be there. After getting the eyes of death from Jessica, she reluctantly told him the day and time.

The night of the party, Tyler knocked on the door. When I opened it, I gave him a hug and told him I was glad he was there because at least I had someone to flirt with. I didn’t really pay attention to him too much during the party.  But after everyone had left, he and I ended up talking until five in the morning.

A couple of nights later, we went on our first date. We went to dinner and then back to his house to watch a movie. We were very open with each other. I told him about my anxiety disorder, he told me about his drug addiction and how he had been clean for years. Five months later, I moved in with him, four months after that we got engaged and a year later, we were married. Needless to say, the relationship was on overdrive from the beginning.

The relationship wasn’t perfect, but whose is? Tyler didn’t like his current job and was looking for a new one.  Tyler was trying to quit smoking because he knew I didn’t like it. Tyler was a recovering addict and going to NA meetings. It’s a stressful time. That became my mantra. Tyler got angry. “It’s a stressful time.” Tyler screamed at me. “It’s a stressful time.”

I was an independent woman in my mid-twenties, in a stable job making $55,000 and climbing up the corporate ladder. I understood stress. I was also in complete denial. This was the beginnings of what I would later understand was a domestic violence relationship and a relationship with someone who has Narcissistic Personality Disorder (NPD). There were the signs of these disorders, of course, but I didn’t recognize them at the time.

My paternal family is 100% Polish. In my grandmother’s generation, girls were expected to get married and have babies. A lot of babies. My grandmother was one of six children. After I graduated from high school, on Christmas Eve, my grandmother would pray that the next year I would get married and start a family. I always smiled and told her maybe. I loved my grandmother very much. She was the only grandparent I had ever known.

After Tyler and I got engaged, we went to my grandmother’s house to tell her the news she had been waiting for. When we told her, she stood up, pushed me aside, hugged Tyler and said, “God bless you.” The memory still makes me smile. Three months later, she had a stroke. In February 2006, seven months before the wedding, my grandmother passed away. Devastation doesn’t even coming close to how I felt. I called in to work, stayed in bed and cried for two days.

The night of the funeral, my dad's company catered dinner at my parent’s house for our family. On the way to their house, I noticed that the car was low on gas. I stopped at a gas station and asked Tyler if he could pump the gas. Tyler was on the phone and told me to pump the gas myself. We were only two miles from my parents’ house. I was still upset and crying from the funeral. I asked him again to please just pump the gas. He didn’t even bother to answer me. I got out of the car and pumped the gas myself. When I got back into the car, I told Tyler that I was upset and a little angry. What happened next was my first glimpse into the emotional abusive side of domestic violence.

“You are such a spoiled little bitch who expects the world to be handed to you,” Tyler screamed at me. “Turn the fucking car around.”

Not saying a word, I turned the car around and headed back home to drop off Tyler, who kept spewing vile words.

“You and your family think you’re so much better than me. Did daddy pump your gas for you all the time? Well guess what? You actually have to do things yourself now. It’s time for you to grow up and live in the real world.”

Tears streamed from my eyes. I still had not said a word.

“Your grandmother probably killed herself because she didn’t want to deal with you anymore. She probably got tired of your spoiled behavior and decided death was better than you. I’m glad I’m going home because I don’t want to watch your fucking family cry all night.”

When we got back home, I parked in the driveway and finally let loose.

“How dare you!” I screamed at the top of my lungs. “I just lost my grandmother! Get out of my car! Get out!”

Tyler started laughing. “Look at you. You’re a joke. You should get some help for those anger issues of yours. Don’t bother coming back, bitch. Your shit will be on the curb.”

I left and went to my parents’ house. When my dad asked about Tyler, I said we got into an argument and he’s at home. My dad, who is the family peacemaker and almost never says anything negative said under his breath, “What a night for him to pick a fight.”

About an hour into dinner, Tyler called me. He said he wanted to come over and apologize. At this point, I was so emotionally drained I really didn’t care. When he arrived, he waltzed right into the house like nothing had ever happened. He pulled me aside and told me that he blew up because he was under so much stress from taking care of me the last couple of days. Looking back at the moment, I wonder how he even had the audacity to blame my grandmother’s death for his behavior. At the time, I was just glad he wasn’t mad anymore.

The next couple of months were calm. No arguments and Tyler and I were having fun planning the wedding. Obviously, the argument the night of my grandmother’s funeral was a result of stress. We got through it and according to Tyler, it wouldn’t happen again.

Early June 2006, I was in bed reading and waiting for Tyler to come home from a Narcotics Anonymous (NA) meeting. When he got home, he came upstairs and walked toward the bed. He stopped and asked if I smelled anything.

“No,” I said, a little confused.

“It smells like cat piss.” (We had a cat that sometimes urinated outside the litter box.)

Tyler looked around the room and picked up a bed pillow off the floor. He smelled it.

“She pissed on this pillow.”

I laughed. “It’s sad when the pillow is right next to me and I can’t smell the pee.”

Tyler didn’t laugh. “Clean it up.”

“I’ll put it in the wash tomorrow. Just throw it in the basement.”

Tyler picked up the pillow. “Bitch. You waited until I came home because you knew I would fucking clean it.” He ripped the book I was reading right out of my hands and threw it across the room. “Get off your fat lazy ass, get some paper towels  and clean it!”

I started to shake. The monster had emerged again.  I couldn’t say anything. Tyler picked up the pillow and shoved it in my face.

“Smell it!” He screamed. “Can you smell it now, bitch? Now your face smells like cat piss. You’re disgusting. Who would want you anyway?”

Tyler threw the pillow back on the floor and stormed downstairs. I just sat in bed, paralyzed from fear. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t even cry.

I don’t know how much time had passed before Tyler came back. Without saying a word, he picked up two water bottles I had sitting on the nightstand beside me, unscrewed the tops, and poured water on me. He laughed and went back downstairs.

I took off my pajamas, turned out the light and rolled to the dry side of the bed. Before long, I heard Tyler come up the stairs again. I began to shake. He ripped the covers off of me.

“You would sleep in a wet bed. I should have poured cat piss on you and let you sleep in that,” he laughed. “Get out of my fucking bed and sleep outside.”

I got out of bed and put on dry pajamas. I took off my engagement ring, threw it on the bed and left. I went to Jessica’s house and asked if I could spend the night. I didn’t talk about what happened. I just told her that the engagement was off and I just needed to sleep. Jessica never asked any questions and I love her for that.

Before long, my phone rang and it was Tyler. He asked me to come back home. I was hesitant, but he convinced me to come back home and talk. I left Jessica a note and went back home.

When I got home, Tyler was sitting on the couch. “I’m going to get a six-pack of beer, drink it and kill myself.”

Shocked, I sat down next to him. “Do you want me to call someone? Should I call your sponsor? I don’t know what to do.”

Tyler kept repeating. “I’m going to kill myself.” He was crying, but there weren’t any tears.

I hugged him. “We’ll get through this. We’ll get help. Please don’t kill yourself. I love you too much.”

“Thank you,” Tyler smiled. And just like that, he got up, told me he loved me, and went to bed.

Looking back, I now realize that this was Tyler’s way of manipulation. Tyler knew he let his anger get out of control, to the point that I walked away. To get me back, he subtly blamed me for what happened by alluding that he was going to commit suicide. At the time, I felt guilty for not cleaning the damn pillow. If I had cleaned that pillow, this never would have happened. I promised myself to be more careful in the future.

The next morning, my engagement ring was on my nightstand.
___________________________________________________________________

*Names changed

BUY LINKS
Amazon
http://www.amazon.com/Who-Am-Daughter-Taught-Again/dp/1626941513/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1405874286&sr=8-1&keywords=megan+cyrulewski

Kindle
http://www.amazon.com/Who-Am-Daughter-Taught-Again-ebook/dp/B00MBKZD9K/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1406923393&sr=8-2&keywords=megan+cyrulewski

Barnes and Noble
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/who-am-i-megan-cyrulewski/1119975852?ean=9781626941519

Nook
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/who-am-i-how-my-daughter-taught-me-to-let-go-and-live-again-megan-cyrulewski/1120037814?ean=2940149668328


Smashwords
https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/463740

KOBO
http://store.kobobooks.com/en-us/Search?Query=megan+cyrulewski


ARe
 https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-whoamihowmydaughtertaughtmetoletgoandliveagain-1586828-262.html

BOB
http://www.blackopalbooks.com/shop-our-store/blackopalstore/who-am-i

FREE MARKETING OPPORTUNITY!

FREE MARKETING: Okay everyone - call me crazy but I have decided to take on a project but I need YOU! The Monday after Thanksgiving is the BIGGEST internet shopping day of the year. I want to post a blog on that Monday with YOUR information. My blog will be a sort of "mini-mall."  

If you are an author, photographer, artist, hair salon owner or anyone who has anything to sell, and are willing to provide a discount to be used on that Monday only (December 1), then please contact me using the link below.

What I need from you: 

Category of product (Books, art, clothing, etc.)
2-3 sentence about your product
Links to your product
Special Discount for that day only

I get anywhere from 10,000-12,000 visitors on my website per week. This is a GREAT opportunity for marketing on the busiest internet day of the year! Anyone is welcome from anywhere in the world.

Thanks everyone and I look forward to hearing from you!

http://www.megancyrulewski.com/contact.html

Lessons I Learned When I Was Forced to Take a Break From Technology

As some of you may know, my computer crashed last Sunday and I was without my computer for a week.  First world problems, I know.  It all started when I went to reboot after another pointless installation of the newest app.  My MacBook chimed and then shut down.  I swore and rebooted it.  Same thing happened.  For some reason, I kept doing the same thing for the next 20 minutes or so.  

I went downstairs and might have started hyperventilating.  My mom was in the kitchen.

"Mom," I wailed, "My computer crashed and I can't get it to work.  All of my files on are there.  All of Madelyne's pictures.  What if they're gone?"

"Take it to the Apple store.  They can fix it.  Stop crying when you don't even know if there is something wrong."  Now, you're probably thinking that is very wise and sound advice - and I agree.  However, my mom is usually the last person on the face of the planet you want to come to when there is a crisis.  Sure enough, she didn't disappoint:

"You know what you should do?"  My mom asked while starting dinner.  "You should print out all of your files in case something like this happens."

I just looked at her.  Seriously?  Seriously??

"Or," she continued, "you should start writing long-hand.  Authors didn't have computers a long time ago, you know."

And there it is, my friends.  Do not ever count on my mom in a crisis.  Ever.  I left the room.

Long story short, I took my computer to the Apple store and my hard drive crashed.  Plus I had "liquidation" damages on the inside.  An assload of money and a week later, my computer would be good as new.  

So, there I was.  Lots of time on my hands.  What did I do - you might ask.  Well, let me tell you:

TV Marathons:

Dateline
Keith Morrison's voice is like a lullaby.  Seriously.  For the love of God and everything that is holy, when your spouse dies (not from natural causes) YOU are the first one the police look at.  Calling the life insurance policy holders the day AFTER your spouse dies is not a good idea.Everyone in prison is innocent.  No one killed their wife/husband/parents/strangers etc.  Really?  Your fingerprint was in the victim's blood.  You don't have an alibi.  And you have a double life:  by day, you go to church and embrace the word of God; by night, you're wearing a dog collar and flogging your two submissive lovers.  But you are definitely innocent.I don't like juries.  I'm sorry.  I don't.  I can't stand it when the jury interviews after the case and they talk about the "evidence" and the "law."  I went to law school and I still can't tell you about the law.  We except 12 strangers to not only decipher forensic, scientific direct and circumstantial evidence but also put them in a room together until they can all agree on something?  I've been at meetings where 12 of us couldn't decide on pizza toppings.  Who's brilliant idea was this?  

I Almost Got Away With It
I love when the narrator leaves the audience with a cliffhanger before the commercial break:  "Did he make it out alive or will he end his life in a shoot-out?"  Well, considering that the convict has been talking to the camera throughout the whole show, I'm guessing he made it out alive.  Same with the one question that is always asked before the last commercial break:  "Did the police find him or was he able to escape their grasp?"  Again - since he is on camera narrating the story wearing an orange jumpsuit, I'm going to take a giant leap of assumption here and assume that he got caught.Maybe being a prison wife isn't such a bad idea.  Think about it:  I get to have my alone time.  It's not like he's going to cheat on me with another woman.  I don't have to try the dating game again.  (Total random thought, I know.)
Cops
Let's just leave it at that
Time Management
At night, my schedule usually goes like this:  Play with Madelyne, bubble bath time, read books, put Madelyne to bed, come downstairs to talk with my parents for a bit, go upstairs for the night, do some more marketing stuff on my computer, read a book, fall asleep.

Sunday night, night 1 of the forced technology break, I sat with my parents in the family room after I put Madelyne down for the night.  We talked until around 8:00 PM.  Since I didn't have my computer, I asked my parents if they wanted to catch up on some Modern Family episodes.  They looked at me with wondering eyes.  My mom's eyes turned into slits.

"Why do you want to watch TV with us?"
I laughed it off.  "Because we're behind on Modern Family."
"Or she doesn't have her computer," my Dad piped up.
My Mom nodded.  "Ohhhhhh.  That's right.  So you really don't want to watch TV with us.  You just don't have anything else to do."
"I can go read.  I just thought we could catch up on Modern Family.  That's all."  I acted hurt.
"Or she doesn't have her computer," my Dad piped up.  
"Am I that transparent?"
"Yes," they both replied in unison.

Child Care
On Halloween, Madelyne's school had a costume parade and all of the parents had to bring in Halloween treats.  Since I didn't have anything to do - and I'm stupid - I offered to come in early to help.  Rude awakening, my friends.  Helping 20 sugar-laden 3 and 4-year-old kids find their costumes, put on their costumes, take pictures with their costumes, and of course, once the costume is on, everyone has to go potty - I'm breaking out in a nervous sweat just thinking about it again.  Holy shit, you could not PAY me enough to work in child care.  God Bless all of you child care professionals.  You are one level right below sainthood.  

Needless to say, when I got the e-mail from the Apple Genius Bar informing me that my computer had been repaired, I think I might have broken sound barriers driving to the store.  It was such a lovely moment when we were reunited.  Pure ecstasy.  My computer.  Ahhhh....

To purchase my memoir, please visit:  http://www.amazon.com/Who-Am-Daughter-Taught-Again/dp/1626941513/ref=cm_rdp_product

Blog Tour: "Blood Line" by John J. Davis

[caption id="" align="aligncenter" width="640"] Enjoy Happy Geek Media's Virtual Book Tour of John Davis' debut novel, Blood Line[/caption]

*****

Blood Line , A Granger Spy Novel (Book 1)

by John J. Davis

Publisher: Simon & Winter, Inc.

Genres: Action, thriller

254 Pages

Release date: October 14, 2014

~~~~~

“Sharply written, with characters that readers will be happy to see again.” —Kirkus Reviews Blood Line is a high-voltage spy thriller that redefines rogue—the Granger Spy Novel series introduces a loving family with lethal issues caught in the crosshairs of global arms dealers. When a simple home invasion turns out to be not so simple, Ron Granger must put aside his quiet rural life and return to the Central Intelligence Agency. Aided by his brilliant wife, Valerie, and resourceful teen daughter, Leecy, Ron must quickly decide who to believe among the calculating opportunists, shrewd criminals, and power-hungry rival agencies racing to possess the technology that will change modern warfare forever. But when Leecy is kidnapped, Ron and Val must choose between the mission and a rescue. With time quickly running out, Ron only knows one thing: When you can’t trust anyone else, trust your family.

*****

Purchase Links for Blood Line Amazon/Goodreads/B&N/Indie Bound/iBooks

*****

Author John J. Davis will be making personal appearances at bookstores while the virtual book tour is in progress. If you live in the areas he'll be visiting and would like to meet him, here are the locations he will be at throughout October and November:

Thu Oct 23 – Charlotte NC 7:00pm – 8:30pm Charlotte NC Park Road Books - 4139 Park Road Charlotte, NC C 28209 Wed Oct 29 – NYC 6:30pm – 8:30pm NYC Mysterious Bookshop - 58 Warren St, New York, NY 10007 Fri Nov 7 – Chicago 12:00pm – 1:00pm Chicago - Barbara's Books Willis Tower - Willis Tower Chicago - Lower Level 233 S. Wacker Drive Chicago Nov 8 – Burr Ridge, IL 1:00pm – 2:00pm Chicago - Barbara's Books Burr Ridge - 810 Village Center Dr, Illinois and Michigan Canal, Burr Ridge, IL 60527

Follow the Virtual Tour Here

Oct 13 Like a Bump on a Blog Special spotlight post to kick-off the tour

Oct 13 Author J. Scott Sharp Spotlight

Oct 14 B.C Brown's Books...Weird is Good Spotlight & guest post

Oct 15 Book Bunny PR Review and more

Oct 16 Book Bunny PR Review and more

Oct 16 Monica Pulliam Spotlight & Excerpt

Oct 17 Write as Raine Spotlight & Playlist

Oct 20 Getta Got to Have Its Review & Exerpt

Oct 21 Ciara Ballintyne Spotlight

Oct 22 Terri's Little Haven Review

Oct 23 Rebecca Campbell Books

Oct 24 Megan's Blog Spotlight

Oct 27 Let Books Bee Review and guest post

Oct 28 Becca Hamilton Books Spotlight/Exerpt

Oct 29 Rainy of the Dark Spotlight

Oct 30 My Train of Thoughts on... Review

Oct 31 Contest Patti Spotlight

Nov 3rd McClellan Books Spotlight & Excerpt

Nov 3 Skye Skye Review

Nov 4 Like a Bump on a Blog Review & Special spy feature

Nov 4 Desafio in the City Spotlight/Excerpt

Nov 5 Cia Says Excerpt & guest post

Nov 7 Notorious Spinks Talks Review

*****

John J. Davis is the author of the Granger Spy Novel series, including Blood Line and the soon to be published sequel, Bloody Truth, available Spring 2015. Davis grew up in the Southeastern US and after university traveled extensively in North America during his career as a regional sales rep and independent broker for leaders in the transportation, shipping and pharma industries. His years sitting in lobbies and airports honed his skill for human observation and fed his talent for writing fast-paced, character-driven stories. His inspiration for the Granger family-of-spies comes from the people he has known and his family roots in the Carolinas–the extraordinarily strong and gentle women and men, whose lives are defined by the love, trust and respect for family. Currently at work on the third Granger Spy Novel and a screenplay, Davis lives near Atlanta with his wife, daughter and two dogs. Website/Twitter/Facebook/Goodreads  Entry-Form Good luck and happy winning!

Tour hosted by

Excerpt from Bloody Truth releasing Spring 2015. To learn more about the Grangers and the Granger Spy Novels visit www.johnjdavis.com.

“Eyes on target. I repeat: eyes on target. Time to join the party, ladies,” I said, just loud enough for my earpiece to pick up and transmit.  “Okay, okay” Leecy replied, “Hold on I’m coming.” 

Entering the First Class lounge car like the sun rising over the horizon at dawn, unhurried but with a certainty of motion, Leecy wearing a mid thigh length dress drew the attention of everyman with a beating heart. Her shoulder length, dark hair, shimmering in the wash of moonlight shining through the panoramic glass ceiling looked like silk. The hem of her dress, revealing just enough leg at its end to stir the imagination served as the cherry on the cake that was distraction. Leecy, or Sophia, as she was to be called tonight, had arrived. Looking at her in the moonlight, it was hard to believe she was only months shy of her seventeenth birthday.

Watching the target, I saw he was keenly aware of the striking, unaccompanied young woman moving through the dining car, he, like all the other men, was calculating his odds of successfully engaging her. The other would-be suitors were unwanted, but they were good for the mission. We didn’t want what happened next to be easy. 

“I think that had the desired effect on the room and the target,” I whispered.
Leecy nodded slightly, saying, “Target now ready to be engaged, I assume?”

Copyright @ John J. Davis

BRAND NEW HUMOROUS TEASER!

I write exactly how I talk.  I'm very sarcastic with large doses of humor.  I wanted to show my humorous side with a brand new teaser.  Even though my book touches upon very serious topics, humor has always been my way of coping; and that's exactly what you will find in my book.  :)

EXCERPT
By the time Tyler drove me to the hospital, I was six centimeters dilated. I wanted the epidural at three centimeters.

My happy place was non-existent. The hospital admitted me and paged the anesthesiologist to inject the epidural.  The anesthesiologist explained the procedure and said because the injection went into the spine, the procedure was going to hurt. Wow, really? Because up until this point, labor was the best experience of my life!

As if not getting the epidural until this point in my labor wasn’t bad enough, the anesthesiologist had trouble getting the needle into the injection site in my back. It took two anesthesiologists, two nurses, and an hour to get the damn drug into my spinal cord.

My parents and Tyler’s dad and step-mom arrived at the hospital soon after the epidural ordeal. Before they came into the room, my nurse told me to page her if I had any problems or if I wanted anyone to leave. Between my painful contractions and my epidural moment, my nurse and I bonded and I told her that Tyler’s dad was an asshole and I really didn’t want him at the hospital. She had my back. After a couple of more hours, I finally felt like I needed to push. I had Tyler tell everyone to leave. My parents and Tyler’s step-mom completely understood. Tyler’s dad wanted to stay. Even Tyler was fed up with his dad at the point and told him to get the hell out of the room.

My nurse came in and explained how to push. Basically it felt like I was going to have a bowel movement and I needed to push. Also a little tidbit that’s a secret that no one wants to share—while you are pushing, you are pretty likely to have a bowel movement right there in front of your nurse, significant other, doctor, and any interns along for the ride.

I pushed for over an hour and Madelyne did not move at all. Halfway through pushing, I needed the oxygen mask because I almost passed out. When it was clear to me that I had absolutely no energy left to push, I asked for a C-section. The nurse wanted to try again and my doctor said to try at least another 15 more minutes. I usually find myself to be a
very accommodating person, however, I screamed to no one in particular, “NO ONE IS FUCKING LISTENING TO ME.”

There was a moment of silence. Tyler, my doctor, and the nurse looked at each other and then sprang into action. I wasn’t fooling around anymore. Get. This. Kid. Out. As they wheeled me into the operating room, my nurse told me not to feel guilty about not having a natural birth because most of the nurses got C-sections. Apparently they had seen the trauma and pain of natural or vaginal birth and did not wish that upon themselves.

When everything was set up in the operating room, one of the nurses asked if I wanted a mirror so I could see what was happening. Was she kidding? I mean, really, I asked her if she was kidding. She said that some women like to see the birthing process. I told her thanks but I really didn’t feel the need to see my intestines and other various organs on my stomach. With all of the drugs pumping through my system, the whole procedure was a blur anyway. After twenty-seven hours of labor, through a fog of drugs, I heard a scream and I laughed.

Madelyne didn’t cry. Oh no. My little girl screamed as if she was nice and comfortable where she was and how dare we
wake her up. She was perfect. She was beautiful. She was born with dark black hair, just like my mother and me. She was the spitting image of Tyler. After the past months of Tyler distancing himself from the pregnancy, he had a look of pure adulation on his face. I wish I had a camera to capture that moment because that was the first and last time I saw genuine emotion toward his daughter.

For me, it was a very surreal moment to hold my child. For someone who never wanted kids and never felt any maternal
instinct, those feelings were non-existent when she was placed in my arms.

My beautiful Madelyne Rose.


BUY LINK:  http://www.amazon.com/Who-Am-Daughter-Taught-Again/dp/1626941513/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1414111795&sr=8-1&keywords=megan+cyrulewski

EBOOK ONLY $2.99!

We're Moving! Am I Still Living With My Parents?

After 36 years in the same house, my parents finally found their dream house (see above.)  My poor mother has been looking for the last 20 years.  She wanted to move when my brother and I were in elementary school, but we begged our parents not to because we didn't want to leave our friends in the neighborhood.  

My mom has been looking for so long that it kind of became a running joke in our family.  So about a month ago, when my parents said they were going to an open house, I didn't think anything of it.  When they came back an hour later, they asked, "Do you want to see our new house?"  

I busted out laughing.  They're joking, right?  Umm...no.  They came back to get the checkbook to put a down payment on the house - that's how bad they wanted it.  Two weeks later, cashier's check in hand, they bought the house outright.  We're moving at the end of this month.

I admit, I had a little bit of a nervous breakdown.  First, the idea of packing 36 years worth of shit is extremely daunting.  Second, this is the house I grew up in.  Third, I thought Madelyne and I would be the first to move out into our own place.  

The new house is twice the size of our old house.  If I was going to buy a house for Madelyne and myself, this new house would the house I choose.  I love it.  Of course once I told people we were moving, the very first question is, "Are you and Madelyne moving with them?"  I thought about how I would answer this - listing all of the reasons.  Then I figured, I'll just write a blog post and give my reasons to explain.  But you know what?  The more I thought about it, the more I realized that it really isn't anyone's business.

So yes, Madelyne and I are moving with my parents.  It's the best thing for us.  We have our reasons but I just feel like if I spill them out here, I'm sort of justifying to myself why I'm still living with my parents.  For those who read my book, you probably understand why I'm still living with my parents.  But I know that some of you think that I'm "living" off my parents and that's okay.  

Every month when I check my website stats, the one search term that always comes up is "living with my parents as an adult."  About 30-40 people visit my blog to read my post about living with my parents.  So to those who are reading this because you found my post through a "google" search, here's my advice:  you have your reasons why you moved back in with your parents.  As long as you are fine with it and your parents are fine with it, then you don't need to justify your actions to anyone.  

We took Madelyne over to the new house today and she loved it.  The basement is finished so it's going to be her playroom.  The backyard looks like a mini-forest.  She's happy and that's what is important to me.