For anyone who is still in the dark and doesn’t know about my new book, my latest western, Loving Matilda was released February 9. See the end of this post for more info.
With that out of the way, I still have books to write. But I intend to spend a little less time writing for the next few weeks and spend some time taking care of some personal things such as housekeeping, which I neglect completely while writing. But when I look into the mirror, I think I need to spend some time on myself. What the heck happened?
I realize the house needs a new coat of paint in a few rooms. But it’s not so easy with one’s body, which is really a shame. A fresh coat of paint works wonders. I want the same results in a bottle of perfumed oil that I can paint on me!
Since I don’t have tons of money, I’m going to have to live with the changes that time has wrought. There’s nothing I can do about the fact that my face has decided it wants to become my chin. Who knew?
And my chin willingly is accommodating this southbound movement by turning into a wattle. Apparently, that will make me very sexy and attractive to female chickens. And considering I don’t have a backyard full of chickens, I’m not going to be feeling any warm fuzzies when I walk outside. Unfortunately, humans don’t find it as attractive as our feathered friends.
A few years ago, I woke up and discovered that I had bat wings or flying squirrel arms, I’m not sure which. They weren’t there when I went to bed. Then that feminine post-baby bump deflated and fell one night about 35 years after that child was born. After the fall, I had an “apron”. I’m getting seriously tired of body parts shifting position. What used to be here is now down there. Why is that?
Even the girls are in competition to see which one can make it to my waist first. You’d think they would be on my side. Truthfully, they are. When I lie on my back, they slide over and snuggle under my arms.
If it is supposed to be tight, it is loose, and if it is supposed to be loose, it’s so tight nothing short of extensive physiotherapy will permit its movement. First it was the knees, followed by the ankles, now it’s a shoulder. I need to replace a few things in the house. I’m not about to start replacing body parts!
My legs look great -in a pair of skinny jeans. Peel those jeans off and I have road maps. Blue and red legs are not pretty, but wait… With all the tattoos, I could just tattoo the names of a few cities on them and I’ll be with the times. This calf is NYC and here’s LaGuardia Airport. This one is DC, and LA is over there on the other leg. That wide blue line is Interstate 95. A few stars for Points of Interest and I’m in style.
I’m officially old. It’s true. I was in a tiny, locally-owned restaurant and chatted with the young waitress there. She’s in her early 20’s, going to college, just the cutest little thing, and as sweet as she can be. The last time I had seen her, a friend and I had stopped in one snowy evening. We were the only customers there. Well, this area never gets really huge snowstorms, but I was telling her about the last one I had been in. Apparently she went home and told her parents and younger siblings my story. When she saw me again, she couldn’t wait to tell me what everyone had said. Her recount to me was, I told my family about this old lady who comes into the restaurant and…
Omigod, she was talking about me! I’m not old! My hair isn’t gray. Okay, I’ll admit my hairdresser does a wonderful job of blending/hiding what gray I do have. It’s nothing more than a silver streak right in the front and a few threads here and there. I’m just not ready for silver hair. But silver hair does not make me old. I know plenty of people go gray in their twenties.
I refuse to be old! I’m not even old enough to collect Social Security. I married young, had my children when I was young, and I’m still way too young to be a widow. I’ve reached that point in my life where I’m young enough to do anything I please, and too old to do anything that I don’t want to do. That’s not a bad place to be.
Here’s my new book.
Matilda “Matt” Berwyn, forced to live disguised as a boy in a mining town, longs to escape and blossom into the female she’s always wanted to be. But her desire to leave Morgan’s Crossing escalates when she realizes she’s being stalked.
Stockyard hand Zeke Hillerman knows her secret and has fallen in love with her. He helps her flee to his parents’ home in the east to learn to be a lady, while he struggles to start his own ranch. As Matilda grapples with Victorian expectations of young women, Zeke’s plans for their future unravel, and he realizes that the cost of her ticket out of Morgan’s Crossing may have been his own heart.