This Blog's for you Mum.

Today's Blog Dedicated to My Mum

Today is my Mothers birthday, Irene Viva Runa Krueger. It's a rarity for me to even realize when her birthdays arrive. Had she survived to old age she would be turning 65 today. She died very young, only 38 and I was but 14 when she was taken.

After so many decades I've stopped setting aside days to grieve and remember her when the mood strikes me and I now only grieve for her when I am in my most vulnerable and deepest of depressions. I feel closer to her now than I did back then. She was at a loss as to how to deal with me, an undiagnosed bipolar teenager, she suffered far greater trauma than I at the hands of her mental illness. Treatments and stigma surrounding her illness either kept her isolated within our own family unit or hospitalized. She was far braver than I ever gave her credit for.

I was only able to finally connect with her a few years back and came to understand her on a level I never thought possible. It wasn't until I fell terribly ill and was wracked with the most mind boggling pain, the suffering I endured was like a light bulb going off and I suddenly was able to comprehend all she went through. With the pain came the end of my employment and the end of much that was dear to me, including my own sanity. I had always been able to struggle through my depressive phases and take advantage of my mania (all that time I just thought I was over bubbly), I was the breadwinner raising four children, debt up to my ears and quite used to being the dominant role in my household, I didn't have time to think about my own needs.

Suddenly finding my self physically disabled, no longer the dominant driving force within my family and being more idle than my mind could fathom, it didn't take long before the rest of me followed suit and I began to feel as desperately hopeless as I know my Mum felt, after the leg injury that kept her in constant pain. I'm lucky that I've learned how to withstand my pain, eat it and allow it to slip past the reaches of my mind without drugs. I am equally lucky to have a somewhat dependable support system.

After my mother died I lost the rest of my family and left home at 15, so I created my own family, this family keeps my head above the water. I raised my children with the full knowledge of what mental illness does, how to cope with it, understand it and accept it as a normal part of their lives when it came to understanding me, my moods, my crashes, my spontaneous nature. They in turn remind me when I am spiraling in either direction, constantly reassure me and I in turn keep close tabs on them and what happens in their lives. My kids have always come to me even with the most embarrassing and difficult problems knowing they would find support and acceptance.

I know my mother loved me deeply, she gave her life with hopes to save me from my own self destruction when she quit drinking. She drank because of the pain, physical and emotional, she faced criticism and stigmatism at every turn, especially within her own family. When she became sober her body just plain couldn't deal with it and within weeks her body refused to fight anything and a simple cold claimed her in a matter of 12 hours.

When she died I was too young to understand that she had not abandoned me, that she had not just given up and allowed death to claim her. I know better now, I understand her now, myself as well and I am grateful for the time I had with her, although it was short. I am sorry it took me so long to "get it", I can't regret the fact that I had to learn my lessons the hard way. Had my life not turned so dramatically, I wouldn't be sitting here writing, nor would I have written a novel, nor would I have the foggiest clue as to what I was going to do with the rest of my life.

I am no longer a bartender making 3 to 4 grand a month, I may be poor at the moment, but now I am feeling more productive and I have more hope than I ever had before.

Thankyou for the lessons Mum. I love you. Happy Birthday.

PS, Friends and fellow bloggers, you've seen the funny, horny, creative me, welcome to the dramatic side of me.
;)~

New Beginnings

I began my next book this weekend. I spent many hours yesterday doing some research on the location where I want it to take place. Man I tell you Google Earth is an amazing tool. I spent a good 4 hours researching today as well, until I finally decided on the Spatsizi Plateau Wilderness Park in northern BC.

The area has been described as the Serengeti of Canada, the Spatsizi is the largest roadless preserve in British Columbia, more than 1.6 million acres (650,000 hectares) encompassing the headwaters of the Stikine, to the native Tlingit it is simply known as the Great River. John Muir (1879) called it a Yosemite a hundred miles (160 kilometers) long, counting 300 glaciers along its tortuous course. He described that it's a land where Canada could hide England, and the English would never find it.

This book will be filled with heroic adventure. The hero and heroine will be forced to survive in the back country of the Spatsisi wilderness after a float plane crash. The hero is a business man who never so much as camped out in his own backyard. The heroine is a woman trained in bush craft and survival skills. Their personalities clash, but I am sure they will find love and lust. Don't you?

I have only begun the outline, saved a ton of research on the area and wrote the 1st 1000 words. I will have so much more research to do and I will be grateful for the 1st nations friends I keep, especially my bush craft training expert friend. I am sure he will get a kick out of it.

So that's it for now. 1am and it's bedtime. I am going to try to keep my goals set at 500 words per day, minimum 2500 per week. I am sure it will fluctuate as I will have so much research to do, but I will have fun I am sure.

Oh My Gawwwwwd!

Scott Elrod. It just rolls of my tongue. Yes the name rolls off my tongue, the rest is up to my imagination. Is there such a thing as starstruck at first sight? If I ever write a piece of fan fic, you can almost bet he will be the one I write about.

Fuck me gently. No,,, I take that back, Fuck me hard! Now bitch! Agghh.

I sat down tonight to watch the first show of this seasons Greys Anatomy, of course I balled my eyes out. Yes that show never fails to make me laugh my ass off and also cry. I am thinking, OK that's my TV for the week, but the remote is not in my reach. With book in hand, I decide to hell with it, I'll read while the TV is on, usually I play music non stop all day. I am settled back reading the new book I won from Sommer Marsden, Tie Me Up and really getting into the story Tiger Tiger, by Paige Roberts (OK getting really hot), when I realize the TV show currently on is "Men in Trees".

Deep sigh... Now I don't know how many Americans watch this show, but man, I feel lucky when I actually take the time to watch this one.

It's almost like going on a trip. The show is filmed in Squamish BC, one of my favorite day trips, in fact I am going there over night on Saturday to sleep at my friend Rainy's, at her new trailer on the reservation right beside the Cheekeye River. Oh I am going to have sweet dreams this weekend.

Anyhoo. I am all hot and bothered by the story and I look up to see a living god on TV, yes Scott Elrod. Well didn't I have to put the book down to bite my lips and squeal like a teen aged girl. Man where the fuck do they find these men for this show. They are all so hot, and to think they all hang out in Vancouver in some hot little bar not so far away, I don't think you can find them at the Chieftain Hotel (oh but a girl can dream eh).

Oh well I guess that will be two hours of TV a week until the end of the season. Man, the sacrifices a girl must make to get a little imagery play happening. Oh I've had many others I fantasize about, but this Scott Elrod is so hot (please, someone fetch him an axe), I couldn't help myself, hehe. My last crush on a star was good ole Captain Jack Sparrow (heeeere cums Johnny), but that was during the 1st movie. Since then I've been focusing thoughts on men who are teasingly close enough to be within my reach, yet still out of my grasp. Boy I have a penchant for torturing myself.

My book Psychic Passions is now in the clutches of the stranger I hired to edit it for me. That's scary, but I will be happy with the corrections in punctuation, I know they are sadly needed. Since my hero in that one was a cowboy at heart, me thinks, perhaps the next will be an outdoorsman of sorts (yes I'm majorly hot for outdoorsmen) or a helpless city boy stuck in the woods with an outdoorswoman, hmmm.

Men in Trees is supposedly set in Alaska, NOT, I can spot the Stawamus Chief in an instant, I could probably even paint it in my sleep, so I think my next setting will be somewhere in northern BC. Ooo, I spent the night once in a rangers tower on top of Cornwall Hill, wow, the view of the forests and mountains from all around. Hmm wouldn't that make a nice place to get stranded.

Wow, I love men that are sweaty, hot, smelly and dirty, grrrrr. Oh how I like to manhandle them, womanhandle, ravage, what ever.

See, this is why I don't watch much TV.

An older poem of mine and Paul's from the beginning of our poetry correspondence.

This poem is, I think the third or fourth poem that Paul and I cunt-cock-ted from way back, when we first began to correspond by poetry. I will submit this whole book one day. It's 80 pages thus far and we've done more since. But I've been too busy with other things. So I thought I post something to keep my friends entertained.


“Paul”wrote,

The Yellow Mellow Cock-Tale-Server.

There once was a come-ly-dian, who made Paul,
stand up straight in her narrows,
like an arrow hitting the cow's weeping eye.
Time flies so fast, lets put everything in slow motion,
to drag it out as long as it can-can dance in the dark.
“You definitely were on top,
and on top of your and my form,
your own conclusions most fitting last night my friend.”
One good turn of phrase deserves another.

The cocktail server loved to serve cock on a silver platter,
as her tail was served right over the night,
with the skill of a champion tennis playher fiddle.
She reserved the right to enthuse service,
with humdigger synergy.
He massages her with messages,
as slowly as an ice age,
growing her nipples into pyramids,
did I pass the taste test,
and pin a pearly medal on each breast?
He fed her last night a vanilla milk shake rattle and roll,
she too, him to the backside of rebelief,
and found him wanting.
He lapped up every word that came out of her pussy's mouth, they did laps around their one track minds.
“If you found yourself castaway on a dessert island,
with a pirate what would you make him do?
Dig for treasure at X-rated marks the g-spot,
sis-boom-magic-box?”
“She has a piece of rubyfruit pie,
baking between her thighs, should we start?”
We desert by parting the rind with our dirty minds.
Of course he's ready for lift-get-off from the get-some-go,
to thrust his rocket into her woman in the moon,
and take her, make her see shooting stars.
But time flies,
so “lets go as slow as coral grows off the coast of Australia.”
His words were chilling,
they made her nipples grow into pyramids.
“The things that come out of your mouth,
make me want to come in your mouth,”
then concentrated it into his hands,
and he slid his fingers through her long dark hair,
like a gentle tropical waterfall.
She pulled her dress up,
like raising a curtain at a burlesque show,
and tell all, “if we're having dessert,
lets do it right and on the money,
shot your wad on the kitchen table,
I'll pull up a chair and part your hair down the middle,
and play your pussy like a fiddle.”
She sat on the table and pulled up her curtain,
her thighs as open as her mind's eye of the tiger,
he pulled up a chair,
and rudely stared starry eyed at her prize,
where he kissed inside each knee
making her shimmer like a flag in a breeze,
he massages her thighs with his palms,
memorizing every hair and purple fold,
like a great sonnet wanting to unwrap her,
like a Christmas present.
He traced the infinity symbol on the inside of her thighs,

“gotta run off at the mouth...


“Ally”responded,

Gee my yellow mellow cloud,
usually comes in the form of Valium or Lorazepam,
glad I can have that drugging effect,
if only it worked on all men like that,
oh what a following of wagging tails I’d have now,
but alas those days of delighting tails who hunger pole dancing,
is in the past and fading further away as the years go by.
Although I still can-can do my version of the can-can,
never in the dark cause I-wanna-see-see-saw it all,
but only lasts on top now for a minute,
before the legs-legs fall and burn from the sky above me.
Tis funny you should mention pyramid formed breasts,
as that’s what mine look like now,
only pointing downward to the ground,
flat and have no longer a 3D dimension,
yet demented, still lovely to suckle.
Oh a gal would gladly accept a pirate,
and an island to ravage and feed her one track lap,
and knowing men like she does,
would have to guild him to the X,
as most men are too blind to spot the G.
I am sure he would pass the taste test,
as well as you with sweet coconut-juices.
Oh to feed you ruby-fruit pie,
in the tropical waterfalls of Australia,
as we bask on the coral sandy shore of for-get-me-not sand,
where not only the stars are shooting.
Another neat place to be marooned,
twood be Christmas Island,
where at every table twas a present just for you,
bearing fruity folds of-a-fiddle, each hidden,
behind silk curtains shimmering in the sun-light-breezes,
scented like jasmine and coconut-drink-my-milk.
Play my fiddle each would scream,
play it like the devil-went-down to my Georgia-bush.
When you win your present,
she will reward you with an inviting want-you-in-me prize,
where she will play your flute like a concerto,
in 3 different positions, to bog-your-mind glory.

Yes our little game of words-mind-body last night,
left my mind spinning and wanting as well, thankyou.
Who would have thought,
when I asked you to stimulate my mind and keep me entertained,
you would be so very up to the task.
Amazing abso-fuckin-lutely amazing.
Stimulating mind-breath-body-blood.
A treat among treats and a will-never-forget-me-not experience.

The dreaded synopsis.

Synopsis

I've been working away at it. I wrote my short summary, teaser. Then a bigger one with a bit more info. Now I'm onto the "Big One".

I wrote *by hand* my 1st draft while away this past weekend. Fuck did I ever miss my keyboard, I kept wanting to backspace, and cut and paste, and move shit all over, but what I ended up with, was a scribbled mess that even I was lucky if I could decipher it. So I rewrote it so it would be legible in capitol letters, knowing I didn't want to have to fuck with each sentence for hours, once I began typing it into a new document when I got home.

But I'm fucking with it anyway! The 1st 2 pages has become 3. I don't want to push it to 10, so I'd better get less descriptive. But how do you do that without making it boring. Arrrrgggg.

Ye Frikkin Haw!

So how was your day?