Introduction to My Blog
Welcome to my bloggidy blog. As a writer, reader and blog stalker, I’m planning to provide: news, updates and story extras to my Deception Dance fans, reviews of the many Fantasy (and sub genres of Fantasy) books I read (as well as a couple new adult and contemporary romance reviews), and links to a few of my favorite things… I mean blogs.
Introduction to Me
My son loves to scream. And when I say scream, I don’t mean squeak or squeal or even shriek, or any other word that could possibly be put in a sentence with words like cute or darling or surprising. When I say scream, I mean that if the Irish had heard him many centuries past, he would have inspired the myths about banshees. When I say scream, I mean that when you hear him, your brain dumps all socialized thought and tells you ‘scurry up the nearest tree, a tiger is about to pounce!’
And… when I say that he loves it, I don’t mean that it often serves a purpose; I asked him, he told me, he loves it.
So, yeah, we’re at a neighborhood playground (the neighborhood over from mine) and my little guy is tired and frustrated with something or other, so he starts belting out what I lovingly refer to as his pterodactyl scream (as in you hear it and you just know there is an aerial attack imminent). I grab him, hoist him up and trudge out of there.
Have you ever been stuck in a building with a fire alarm blaring? Yeah, this was worse. At the halfway mark walking home, a freeway overpass, I stopped. High above the dented sedans, lifted-trucks and log-hauling-semis, we were alone.
I turned to my little fire alarm and said, “Ok, buddy, we’re in the perfect place. Go ahead, scream.”
He stopped screaming.
“Ready, set, go… scream!” I said.
He glared at me, lower lip quivering, and, like any self-respecting four-year-old, he said, “No, all done screaming.”
So, I just started screaming.
At first it was just noise making, but quickly it turned into more; I screamed because we were moving again, starting over again, and I was terrified that this time we wouldn’t be able to scrape the scraps of our lives together. I screamed because I haven’t written a page in my current project in over a month and the ideas I haven’t released might be irretrievable. I screamed out at the traffic far below, screamed until my son joined me; then, we both screamed until we were laughing too hard to continue.
We probably scared the beejezus out of a couple passing bikers, but it felt so good I couldn’t force myself to care. After we agreed we had screamed enough and were ready for the short walk home, I got it: my son was onto something; I felt better than I had in a very long time.
When you think about it, screaming is the most natural reaction to feeling stressed and overwhelmed in the world. It satisfies your need to fight, flight or escape when your body is, whether it’s appropriate or not, telling you to do so. For better or worse (I’m not sure which), social norms convince us to quash our physiological needs to maintain social niceties.
Living with a kid who has no interest or inclination to learn or follow social norms has been slowly but surely deconstructing the social rules I’ve been caged within my whole life. So much so that at times, I have trouble pretending or hiding my true emotions anymore (which is social rule number one). This is likely why I’ve read four hundred books in the last five years rather than maintained my social connections, and had an easier time writing several books than working in sales. So introduction to me: I’m a mother, a writer and a reader with a tenuous (and failing) grasp on social niceties.
Welcome to my brain.