I’ve spent the past month in a very contemplative mode. It’s strange, really. I’m a daydreamer, not a contemplater. Alas, something about this month is different and I’ve spent it in the depths of thought.

Don’t really like the depths of thought that much, but since I seem to be stuck there, what can I do?

I’m going to blame my state on the lack of exercise. Yeah. That’s it. Damned exercise. I hated it, but did it anyway for 6 months straight, took one month off, and started thinking.

Damned if I do, damned if I don’t.

What have I been thinking about? My life. My kids. My writing. My past. Things I love. Things I hate. General shit you start thinking about in middle-age.

Oh yeah. I forgot to mention–Mark told me I’m middle-aged.

AS IF! I’m not even 40!

But boy, that gave me one more thing to think about.

Am I entering my “not-quite-mid-life” crisis? LOL I thought that meant I would buy a convertible and find me a hot, young lover. I didn’t think it meant I would just sit and think…

What have I discovered about myself during my contemplations?

Well, a bunch of stuff…

• I love to wake to the smell of coffee but I’m too lazy to set the coffee pot the night before. Still haven’t figured out why…
• There’s not a better feeling in the world than being needed. I just don’t feel needed enough. Must make myself more necessary.
• My life would not be the same without my kids, yet sometimes I wonder… Okay, I wonder a lot, but only because right now they love to hate each other and it makes me NUTS.
• I don’t deserve my husband.
• I bond for life. In love and in friendship.
• I don’t do betrayal in any shape or form. Loyalty is important to me. As is honesty.
• I believe in love at first sight. In love and in friendship.
• Fate is real. So is karma.
• Karma has sharp teeth. Don’t fuck with her.
• I love the tang of sweat and the musky smell of an athlete.
• Life is for living and loving. People who waste their time in the world of negativity and blackness never really live and never really love.
• When I’m sad or lonely, a quick note or call from a friend works wonders on me.

I suppose I could go on and on about the stuff I’ve been thinking about, but really, it’s a bore. I hear y’all nodding off as you read. LOL

So, wake up! This thinking thing is getting old. Back to daydreaming for me…and in the meantime I’m going to start shopping for a convertible and looking for a hot, young lover*.

*proof that the daydreaming has already started

I’ve spent the past month in a very contemplative mode. It’s strange, really. I’m a daydreamer, not a contemplater. Alas, something about this month is different and I’ve spent it in the depths of thought.

Don’t really like the depths of thought that much, but since I seem to be stuck there, what can I do?

I’m going to blame my state on the lack of exercise. Yeah. That’s it. Damned exercise. I hated it, but did it anyway for 6 months straight, took one month off, and started thinking.

Damned if I do, damned if I don’t.

What have I been thinking about? My life. My kids. My writing. My past. Things I love. Things I hate. General shit you start thinking about in middle-age.

Oh yeah. I forgot to mention–Mark told me I’m middle-aged.

AS IF! I’m not even 40!

But boy, that gave me one more thing to think about.

Am I entering my “not-quite-mid-life” crisis? LOL I thought that meant I would buy a convertible and find me a hot, young lover. I didn’t think it meant I would just sit and think…

What have I discovered about myself during my contemplations?

Well, a bunch of stuff…

• I love to wake to the smell of coffee but I’m too lazy to set the coffee pot the night before. Still haven’t figured out why…
• There’s not a better feeling in the world than being needed. I just don’t feel needed enough. Must make myself more necessary.
• My life would not be the same without my kids, yet sometimes I wonder… Okay, I wonder a lot, but only because right now they love to hate each other and it makes me NUTS.
• I don’t deserve my husband.
• I bond for life. In love and in friendship.
• I don’t do betrayal in any shape or form. Loyalty is important to me. As is honesty.
• I believe in love at first sight. In love and in friendship.
• Fate is real. So is karma.
• Karma has sharp teeth. Don’t fuck with her.
• I love the tang of sweat and the musky smell of an athlete.
• Life is for living and loving. People who waste their time in the world of negativity and blackness never really live and never really love.
• When I’m sad or lonely, a quick note or call from a friend works wonders on me.

I suppose I could go on and on about the stuff I’ve been thinking about, but really, it’s a bore. I hear y’all nodding off as you read. LOL

So, wake up! This thinking thing is getting old. Back to daydreaming for me…and in the meantime I’m going to start shopping for a convertible and looking for a hot, young lover*.

*proof that the daydreaming has already started

My current work in progress is about a British thief. I’ve been working on this story since the last week of February–long before the lads came to stay with me.

As most of you know, one of the lads is from Birmingham. Brummie’s have a very distinct accent. One thing I noticed in particular is that thier long i sounds are “oi”. So, when Simon intorduced himself, it was “Soimon”. “Like” became “loike” and so on.

I decided that my British thief needed to be a Brummie. He’s very polished and speaks with a very clean accent. However, when he drinks a little too much, the Brummie comes out in him.

The best part of all this is, I found a “Brummie Translator” online. You can type in the sentence and it translates it in “Brummie Speak”. (It also translates into several other Dialects, such as Cockney Rhyme, Scottish, Scouse, etc. So, I’ll get to use this for my next book, too!)

For some fun, check it out. The British Dialect Translator

The lads are on their way to Memphis for the night. Tomorrow, Simon heads to (Northern)Arkansas with Nizzy and Bex and Grant has a 7.5 hour drive to Louisiana. Good luck with your new families fellas. Hope they rock.

My current work in progress is about a British thief. I’ve been working on this story since the last week of February–long before the lads came to stay with me.

As most of you know, one of the lads is from Birmingham. Brummie’s have a very distinct accent. One thing I noticed in particular is that thier long i sounds are “oi”. So, when Simon intorduced himself, it was “Soimon”. “Like” became “loike” and so on.

I decided that my British thief needed to be a Brummie. He’s very polished and speaks with a very clean accent. However, when he drinks a little too much, the Brummie comes out in him.

The best part of all this is, I found a “Brummie Translator” online. You can type in the sentence and it translates it in “Brummie Speak”. (It also translates into several other Dialects, such as Cockney Rhyme, Scottish, Scouse, etc. So, I’ll get to use this for my next book, too!)

For some fun, check it out. The British Dialect Translator

The lads are on their way to Memphis for the night. Tomorrow, Simon heads to (Northern)Arkansas with Nizzy and Bex and Grant has a 7.5 hour drive to Louisiana. Good luck with your new families fellas. Hope they rock.

I blogged serious this morning. I talked about the power and passion of words. I quoted Robert Burns. Everyone read my blog and thought, “Wow. Melissa Francis. She’s a serious and dedicated writer.”

But not tonight. Tonight it’s all about the beer. Tonight, everyone will read and think, “Wow. Melissa Francis. She likes beer.”

I didn’t do anything difficult or strenuous today. I just worked. I just did my job. That’s it. But sometimes, doing my job just makes me need a beer. And I’m writing tonight. I write better liquored up, don’t you? LOL

Apparently, I’m not the only one this week who needed a beer. It seems that one of the lads was off his daily allotment of Bud Light. (Yes. Bud Light. I don’t get it either–he’s a Scot for crying out loud!) It seems that the one day he didn’t fill up on his fermented beverage of choice, he got sick. Now personally, I think he got sick because he played soccer that day. I think his ass was tired (partying for 10 + days in a row will do that to ya) and I think he wore his ass out even more huffin’ up and down a soccer field full throttle. (Like he did here) Then as the grand finale to the game, he blew chunks. But he swears it’s because he needed a beer. Yup. He’s a Scot. Of course, I always thought whisky was the water of life…I’ve been proven wrong.

Fishdog and I discovered a new beer this week. We tried a multi-pack of Flying Dog beer. This 12 pack came equipped with the following beers:

• Flying Dog Pale Ale aka Doggie Style
• Old Scratch Amber Lager aka Gold Scratch
• Road Dog Porter
• Tire Bite Golden Ale
• Snake Dog IPA

I can give the thumbs up to Doggie Style (no comments from the peanut gallery necessary), Gold Scratch, Tire Bite and Snake Dog. Haven’t tried the porter yet, but it’s on my to do list.

Of course, the beer would be wasted on the lads. It has too much flavor.

I write because I love the power of words.

Words are amazing. Think about how just simple things like song lyrics, poems, or dialogue can affect you. How many times have you read a paragraph and felt your heart begin to hammer in your chest in reaction? What about that song that brings a lump to your throat or sends the blood roaring in your ears?

What about “forbidden” words like, Fuck, Twat, Cunt, Cock, Goddamn and Motherfucker.

Talk about evoking a reaction! Words are only as powerful as we allow them to be. And those words have been given tons of power. And that power is well deserved. It doesn’t matter if you approve of the words or not, it matters that you react to them.

One of the lads left us a Biography on Robert Burns as a thank you gift. (which was totally unnecessary, but totally appreciated.)I’ve been reading it and finding myself drawn to the man’s work–just as I was in college when I studied him (long-time-ago-way-back-when) . The man was a genius storyteller…poet…and what amazes me the most is how few words he used! And yet, when I read them, I’m completely drawn into whatever emotion he’s feeling.

I admire poets and lyricists who can create passion and evoke emotion and tell a story in so few words. But they have mastered their art. I’m just a fledgling. A wannabe with big dreams.

I think I love to write dialogue because of how the conversation can command a scene. Sometimes it just takes one sentence from a character to nail home the entire scene. Weaving the right words together on paper is an artform, and some folks do it so well.

Maybe one day, I’ll succeed with the written word. God knows plenty of words and emotions swirl inside me daily. I just hope I can channel them into a story that will leave someone feeling–something. Anything.

I’ll leave you today with one of my favorite Burns poems. Thanks to Grant, for reminding me of why I loved him in college.

Love In The Guise Of Friendship
1788

Your friendship much can make me blest,
O why that bliss destroy!
Why urge the only, one request
You know I will deny!

Your thought, if Love must harbour there,
Conceal it in that thought;
Nor cause me from my bosom tear
The very friend I sought.

I write because I love the power of words.

Words are amazing. Think about how just simple things like song lyrics, poems, or dialogue can affect you. How many times have you read a paragraph and felt your heart begin to hammer in your chest in reaction? What about that song that brings a lump to your throat or sends the blood roaring in your ears?

What about “forbidden” words like, Fuck, Twat, Cunt, Cock, Goddamn and Motherfucker.

Talk about evoking a reaction! Words are only as powerful as we allow them to be. And those words have been given tons of power. And that power is well deserved. It doesn’t matter if you approve of the words or not, it matters that you react to them.

One of the lads left us a Biography on Robert Burns as a thank you gift. (which was totally unnecessary, but totally appreciated.)I’ve been reading it and finding myself drawn to the man’s work–just as I was in college when I studied him (long-time-ago-way-back-when) . The man was a genius storyteller…poet…and what amazes me the most is how few words he used! And yet, when I read them, I’m completely drawn into whatever emotion he’s feeling.

I admire poets and lyricists who can create passion and evoke emotion and tell a story in so few words. But they have mastered their art. I’m just a fledgling. A wannabe with big dreams.

I think I love to write dialogue because of how the conversation can command a scene. Sometimes it just takes one sentence from a character to nail home the entire scene. Weaving the right words together on paper is an artform, and some folks do it so well.

Maybe one day, I’ll succeed with the written word. God knows plenty of words and emotions swirl inside me daily. I just hope I can channel them into a story that will leave someone feeling–something. Anything.

I’ll leave you today with one of my favorite Burns poems. Thanks to Grant, for reminding me of why I loved him in college.

Love In The Guise Of Friendship
1788

Your friendship much can make me blest,
O why that bliss destroy!
Why urge the only, one request
You know I will deny!

Your thought, if Love must harbour there,
Conceal it in that thought;
Nor cause me from my bosom tear
The very friend I sought.

“He’s not the Messiah – he’s a very naughty boy.” Monty Python: The Life of Brian

I called Rader today. “Wanna go to the pool this afternoon or go play soccer after work?”

R: Play soccer with who?

Me: With me.

R: You?

Me: Yes. Me.

R: But you don’t play soccer.

Me: Sigh. Rader, I coached your team for the last 4 years. I can kick the ball around with you.

R: Yeah. But you’re not very good. Our team sucked.

Boy, that just makes a mom proud. Can you feel the love? Makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

Just for the record…the team only sucked 3 out of the 4 years I coached…

“He’s not the Messiah – he’s a very naughty boy.” Monty Python: The Life of Brian

I called Rader today. “Wanna go to the pool this afternoon or go play soccer after work?”

R: Play soccer with who?

Me: With me.

R: You?

Me: Yes. Me.

R: But you don’t play soccer.

Me: Sigh. Rader, I coached your team for the last 4 years. I can kick the ball around with you.

R: Yeah. But you’re not very good. Our team sucked.

Boy, that just makes a mom proud. Can you feel the love? Makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

Just for the record…the team only sucked 3 out of the 4 years I coached…