About Me?

35, Native Floridian. I enjoy writing a lot and hope to make a Career of it. That being said, any and all constructive criticism is welcomed and appreciated.

I’ve traveled extensively since my career allowed it.

When getting to know me, or anyone, remember, you only know what’s been chosen to be shared.

I’m friendly but it comes off as opinionated a lot, I try to do everything creatively, ambitious and aloof (sometimes together), honest-natured, vigilant, detached, independent (to a fault) and, of course, a huge vocabulary fanatic, delighted easily and easily delightful, twisted, sadistic (only consensually), imaginative, outspoken, generous, contumacious, widowed, anomalous, and though I prefer to be hermitical, I’m very socially adept.

I’ve written short stories, poetry, and have journaled since I was 10. I’ve had poetry published, short stories, and articles on various subjects. Some of the subjects I’ve published articles on are: “How-to”, People who have contributed to the technological advancements of Tattooing, Body Piercing, and various other Body Modification practices, and BDSM. I volunteer for an organization that helps people that are in need of financial assistance in order to afford the mental health care they greatly need to live, and finally, I’ve been publishing erotic short stories that end up of the psychological thriller/Horror nature.

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14 responses to “About Me?

  1. Excellent bit of writing in here. I wonder how to make a living from writing… I wrote this book and just released it. Dont think I want you to buy it or nothing. Just sayin how we try to make a living. If you wanted to buy it. I’d send you a signed copy. Anyway, excellent stuff

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      • You know what’s ironic? I just looked at this book. I was addicted to pills for a long time because of a back problem. I had doctors prescribing me all kinds of stuff.

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      • Well, addiction is never good. Especially not for creative writing. Pills. Whole universes of poetry are stolen by the thought of pills. Sad, a kind of shell shock. The book is fiction, but the subject is fact.

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      • You know what I find ironic? Most of my favorite writer all have in common that they are trying to escape. So, it’s pills, booze, sex, hurt. Anything to feel.

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      • I agree, all my inspiration both poetic and literary have had that in common. Don’t know if its escape, or like me, a destruction reflecting my disgust for where the human race has led us. The ferocious rage of being able yet unable to anything besides witness the loss of our freedoms and the destruction of the last good things we have. Escape is so tempting when we see the alternatives….

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      • While I envy your drive and desire to use your writing gifts to bring attention to the things that are wrong with the world, humanity, and the human race, I do hope that you realize that you can only do what you’re able.

        For example, I enjoy reading you. Have you thought about taking that knack for fiction and writing something fictitious about all, or even one, of the things that you’re reflecting on disgustedly? While it might not make it to Obama’s desk, or anyone of importance, it could make it to the desk of someone in the future. Reading something you wrote just might be what this person needs to learn from these mistakes.

        Suuuuuure, it’s a long shot. Or not. I read Johnny get your gun at such a young age that when it echoed across news stations that our country was going to war, I panicked because that book was my whole understanding of war. For all that I knew, all 4 of my brothers would be dead, along with my father, and anyone else that I knew that might have signed up. Granted, I’ve lost a lot of friends over there, but it amazes me more how many lives were lost without them dying.

        Ghandi said, “Be the change you want to see in the world around you”, or something similar…LOL! My point being, use what you have. Maybe you could write a story based on what you’d be doing differently. If nothing else, I think it would be therapeutic for you.

        I started notes on that story we spoke about. I should have something for you to check out by the end of the weekend. That is, if you’re still cool with that.

        On that note, I’ve been making some notes. They are so scattered. I have no idea where to begin. I don’t want to explain some of the things that brought me back to the lifestyle, but I also don’t want to leave out how I got my start. It just seems like everytime I try to sit and make some notes, my short attention-span takes over. Maybe this is just classic Aquarian avoidance. Maybe I need to collaborate with someone I know and that knows me. My buddy Rebecca would be really good at helping me with this since I’ve known her forever and she’s in the lifestyle too…I’m going to call her, but regardless, I’ll make myself put something down for you to check out and maybe you’ll be able to give me some pointers. I think not starting at the beginning might be the best bet 😉 especially since even I don’t know the beginning…

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      • Its strange this thing we have. This ability to sew words into a great tapestries, using scraps of memory and a little “what if”. I was almost knocked off my chair this morning by a memory of a single afternoon. Actually it may have only been one minute. But that minute was defining. A violet sunset, on top of a windy winter hill. I was waiting for a friend. She emerged from the shadows and the dense forest garden in the front yard. The sunlight hit her auburn hair as she broken free from the shade and there was a brightness to it, to her eyes, to her. And it was so cold. 45 minutes of sunlight left. Defining moment…. Please send me some of your writing. I would be pleased to read/critique it. In regards to my own writing. I have tried to write for change in OXY. My next book will focus on a fictional couple living in an old pub. There is cheating and squalor and all of the horrid things that live behind the clean doors of society. My goal, my reasons will never change. I must bring a light to shine on all that “they” would like to keep in the dark.

        When you put all those little scraps of writing and all the notes together. You will have a magnificent confusing story. I am urgently wanting to read your work. All those scraps don’t need to be linear, they don’t need to sensible or appropriate. I wonder what your life. On this same planet. A 52 card pick up of strange life and lovely, depraved moments. We are the ones with courage to express our deepest heart songs, heart breaks, strange fetishes and mad early morning darkness, screaming with sleeplessness. Be brave Ms. Mary

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      • Thanks, Alex. I’m the last person that I imagined saying this, but the therapy has been really good for me. When my own, personal, Joan Crawford isn’t writing the checks and sending me away for one thing or another, I seem to start to realizing things that have been in my face for my entire life. The difference is that I have a support system that’s validating the thoughts and feelings that so many people tried to convince me I was crazy for even imagining!

        There was an incident recently I’d like to tell you about, and mind you, I don’t have to make these things up…

        I’d been taking a new anti-depressant (mainly to get balanced from having my head screwed with). My mother drives a new CRV, so it was her and I in the front, my daughter (4) behind my mother’s driver seat, then my 10 year old niece behind me, and finally my eldest nieces were in the very back.

        My mom started getting a little uppity and after 35 years of knowing her and her moods, I saw this coming from miles away. We were on Florida’s turnpike and about 2 miles from the closest exit. All of a sudden my mom starts flipping out, “You’re on drugs, no one is that happy without using drugs”. I protested and tried to explain that it had to be the new meds and that it was probably my fault since she didn’t know what to make of me like that.

        I was still in the vehicle and, thank goodness, my daughter was brain deep in cartoons, because here I was 35 years old and defending MY MOTHER while she attacked me, and all because I was finally able to feel the damage she’d been doing to me all these years. It was starting to make more sense to me that she needs to own her unhappiness.

        I’ve always been the positive one, but she’d been able to make me feel like the problem. When I moved away from her and put some distance between her flipping out about the choices she’d made, found a psychotherapist and a psychiatrist that I could see on a regular basis, I started to feel better, stopped doubting myself, have gotten back into journalist on a regular basis. It’s all been really good for me to NOT let people, especially my mother, treat me like I am the reason for everything in their life being fuct.

        It didn’t stop there, either…when I tried to calmly and rationally speak with my mom about moving the conversation to a place that might be more appropriate for adult conversation, she did the unthinkable. She grabbed my overnight bag and threw me out on the side of the turnpike. She didn’t let me say good-bye to my daughter (whom I rarely get to see as it is because she’s the carrot my mom dangles in front of me to get me to jump.

        I walked to the nearest rest stop (since it is, of course, illegal to let a pedestrian out of your vehicle on the FTP unless it’s at a rest stop). I’ve never been so calm in my life. The officer showed up and I recounted what my understanding of it all was.

        While he could only make a report detailing my side of what happened since she was long gone, he DID validate that she wasn’t acting like an adult, let alone a responsible one that was in charge of 4 girls under 15.

        I let the officer know that I had a ride on the way and that I appreciated his time being spent out there with me and making sure I was ok.

        I’ve started the paper trail I was afraid to initiate since my mom had me convinced that I would be carted off to jail. My lawyer, the officer, my psychotherapist, and my psychiatrist have outnumbered my mother and have allowed me the room to get some perspective.

        Not IF, but WHEN I have my daughter back with me full time, I have zero intention of allowing my mother to damage my kid any more than she already has. If my mom wants to visit with her, she will need to come to my county and be supervised by a social worker, just like she’s been making me do.

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