Playing–and on repeat–on Spotify: “Dawn” by Frankie Valli & The Four Seasons.
Okay. It’s been a minute since my last post. Sorry for that. I’ll be honest: I didn’t want to write anymore and I got tired of topics to talk about that didn’t involve #DonaldTrump or #KillaryHinton or endless talk about my book, the writing life, blah, blah :).
This week’s post–actually, since I’m behind on a challenge called #LifeBooksWriting which should keep this portal fresh for the rest of 2016–will be two for the price of one. So grab your favorite cup of green or Darjeeling or dark blend roast, sit back, and enjoy!
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My room isn’t much to marvel at, to be honest. I do love it’s an attic bedroom; I hate hiking two flights of stairs to get here from the ground floor. I workout in here, dream, sleep, read, and write in here. I watch TV in here–when I’m procrastinating on my next writing task, like updating this blog, for instance–make love with my husband in here, yell at talk radio cuts in here, yell louder during workouts, and cuss harder than that paying bills the stupid things still won’t obey and pay themselves.
And my Casper‘s got all of this. (No, this isn’t a shameless schill for a company with a fantastic product I’m not seeing a dime in profit for, but when you get some badass REM sleep from your bed, it’s definitely worth bragging about. And all the money in the world can’t pay for a great night’s rest. Did I also mention I’m almost name-orgasming over the name Casper? And Logan? Okay, that’s a shameless plug for my #Casebook suspense mysteries, but you knew I had to slip that in somewhere.)
I compose in this attic bedroom. I pray in this wee alcove in the sky with its should-be condemned status, moments I’m as close to God in here as I would be atop Mt. Everest. I dance to awesome beats from iHeart Radio’s ’60s, ’70s, ’80s, Prince tribute, AT40 tunes, or Spotify jams blasting from my harmon / kardon wireless.
I sing in here, dress and undress for a time in the shower or a bubble bath soak–downstairs, not in here!–and I plan to play clarinet and acoustic in here. But for the acoustic plans, I might not get to play that in here; I may be moving before they finish my custom build. Oh the damnation of being a southpaw!
The walls: White. Covered in my roadmap for my second Casebook mystery, a Looney Tunes poster of a pool hall scene, an LED sign advertising “Casper’s Bar” (No, I’m not making that up. Still don’t believe me? Here you go. You’re welcome.), and a framed picture of the central “Classic 39” Honeymooners cast. Floor: institution gray, wooden slats seeing better days. Space in general: Crammed with crap semi-bordering on hoarder’s status, but I didn’t want furniture here. Furniture equals groundedness. I’m a transient, and I live that way.
So, that’s my room. Again: not much to look at, but this is the place–be it sitting, writing, singing, praying, paying bills, stretching, reading, thinking, sleeping and dreaming atop my Casper–where the magic happens. Thanks for the visit. One thing I’ve yet to do in here: entertain other company. Now you reading this, are my first. Welcome, and I’ll have for you a refreshing drink shortly. You’ll definitely want to stay a while.