Marissa Turner

I made them, why don’t they do what I tell them?! Characters are kicking my ass.

That’s essentially everything going on with me, I picked up their stories again, and now they’re torturing me as hard as possible.

Also, I got a new tattoo. On my foot. I don’t recommend that placement, it was the most painful thing I’ve ever had done in my entire life. But my right foot is amazingly beautiful now, and  it’s wonderful that, every time I look down, I see “defy gravity” staring up at me. It’s a reminder that, no matter what, I will come out on top.

Which is going to be a help when I go from the entrance exam.

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I can be, and am, a snarky bitch to deal with- I don’t apologize for that. However, I was raised by a proper Southern woman, and I am polite to everyone when I am forced into interaction with them. It’s called manners.

That being said, if people continue this passive-aggressive habit of just not looking at each other in public when they don’t like each other, I am going to get violent with cheap plastic eating utensils. Don’t push me, or I will shove the business end of a spork up your nose.

The voices in m head finally got loud enough I couldn’t ignore them anymore, and I picked up my writing again. I had taken some time (okay, a lot of time) off because life got for really reelz and all that and I just didn’t have time anymore. Which sounds horrid, but it’s true. I don’t have time for sleep sometimes, much less getting the voices out and on the computer screen.

On another note, I was tempted to take up dictation to get the stories out, before I remembered that I’d still have to make the time to sit down and type up the notes. I can’t freaking win!

In other news, I’ve considered mainlining cocaine in order to get everything done I want to get done in a day. But I just don’t make enough.

Finally, the flu? Best diet ever. I some how dropped six pounds in a week without a minute of exercise. I would get sick more often if it didn’t suck so bad.

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Do not give away your virginity. You will miss it, and you won’t remember his real name in ten years.

Though it will feel good in the short term, do not burn the bridge with Mr. Big. You’ll probably never again trust him with your heart, but he will end up saving your life.

Call your mother. She knows what she’s talking about, so listen to her too.

Wear sunscreen. You will be thankful later.

When asked, always deny being on the Pill, even if you are taking it.

Guard your heart, but not so much that you never let anyone in. Even if they don’t take care of it, love is worth the risk of a crushed heart.

Stay picky about who you sleep next to. When the nightmares come, be sure they can handle it.

Even though you don’t marry the first guy who asks, don’t marry the second one either. Neither of them are worth you.

Study at college. The parties are great, but an education will far outlast the buzz of a few beers and shots of Mad Dog. Also, a Mad Dog hangover is akin to a root canal without a local.

Carry your own condoms.

Call your dad. He worries just as much as your mother, but he’ll never say so.

Always take the time to dance in the rain.

Starting over is hard. Starting over is more than worth it.

Build your credit. Just because you think not being a jackass with money is a wise move, does not mean banks share the same view.

For every person who calls you homely or ugly, there are a dozen who think you are beautiful and amazing.

Learn to take a compliment without arguing.

Do not obsess over your body. You will never be 5′7 or a size 0, so own your curves like you do everything else.

Never forget you’re the most awesome person in the room. Everyone else can accept it or not, they’re not your problem.

Tell the father when you are pregnant. It will always be your baby, but he has a right to know it’s his baby too. You don’t need to protect him from himself.

He’s a racist jerk. It is not your fault, so don’t blame yourself.

Talk to the hot guy, but date the geek. One is fun to look at, but not much else. The other is fun to be with and can actually hold a conversation.

Smile more.

Sit up straight.

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Found out about Alter Bridge over Christmas, and since my friends are wonderful and amazing, I was gifted with both albums via iTunes a few days ago. I can believe that these guys are basically Creed without the douchenozzle, but it’s still a bit surprising when I am belting out the songs while folding laundry.

I, at age twenty-eight, finally got my first car. It’s used, it’s a decade old, and it had over 100K miles on it, but it’s mine. Well, the banks, but it will be mine. I never needed a car before, I went from living with my parents to living with my fiance (and later husband) and there was just a car there for me to use all the time.

Then I got a divorce, and suddenly, no car. I borrowed one from family, a 1978 F150 I learned to love (it was a bit temperamental in extreme cold), and then a Jeep that I scooted around in. But I needed my own car, because being an adult and having to go “Mama, can I borrow the car?” is both soul sucking and made me feel like I was ten years old all over again.

Then I learned that no credit? So much worse than bad credit when it comes to getting a loan. I wanted to rip my hair out by the time it was all said and done, because I wanted to shout at these people that I was a responsible woman who paid everything in cash because she didn’t like credit cards. But no one cared.

It’s all said and done, and I have a car, and while the bank will own it for a little while, it’s mine.

I finally “feel” divorced. That last bit of me that had depended on him, on his money to get a family car and on his willingness to let me use said car, is done. I’m not living an easy life, I am working my ass off to scrape by, but I am doing it. Slowly but surely, I’m doing it.

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Women, as a whole, hate bras. They can be uncomfortable, itchy, too small, too big, stabby, or bust a hook at a bad time.

And, now, they come with bling. Why do bras need shiny things on them? I can understand for “special occasion” bras (though, personally, I’d just as soon skip the wrapping and get right down to business), but for an every day bra to have something eye-catching and shiny on it makes no sense to me. And right smack in the middle of the bra, where no one actually looks. I can count on one hand the number of men who have actually looked at a bra I am wearing, and none of them were someone I was trying to impress.

Santamas has come and gone, and the Santamas Opossum was very good to me this year. Which is a surprise, as I told him I’d been naughty and it was worth every second. Perhaps he rewards the naughty and punishes the nice?

Per tradition, my mother and I went out to a movie Christmas night. The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. I haven’t read the books yet (I have the first two ordered from a swap site I belong to, so hopefully that should be remedied soon enough). That being said, I don’t feel like I can give a good review of the movie, since I have nothing to compare it to. I liked it, it was entertaining, and I learned that 98% of all Swedes smoke. I did not see the end coming, which is always a wonderful thing. The scene with the dildo and the tattoo gun… that one I didn’t see coming either. I laughed during it, because god yes it is good to see a woman get revenge on someone like that, but I am pretty sure that wasn’t the point of the scene.

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Oh, the gift-giving season is upon us! I am almost done. I have… seven more to get, then I’m done. Those seven need purchased, all my handmade ones are already done. Because I am made of awesome.

I’ve found a site that sells Wish Ribbons, and I am getting some of those for the holiday I think. Because I love the idea of them.

Anyone else out there get the holiday shopping done? Or do you boycott gift giving on major holidays?

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NaNoWriMo. Making writers crazy since… well, I don’t rightly know off hand. But it’s making me outhouse rats bonkers.

I was over twenty-thousands words into the MS.  I was right on schedule, I was making word counts, and I wasn’t freaking out over every little thing. (Which is my normal MO, in case you hadn’t figured that out)

And I realized…

I was going the wrong way in the story.  Not just kind of the wrong way, but COMPLETELY THE WRONG WAY.

So I shelved that idea, dusted out an old idea, and started cooking with that one. I won’t make the word count, but I’ve written every day, and it feels good to get back in the saddle. I think my laptop missed me.

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And I am behind on my word count. Because I am a lazy writer… okay, not so lazy, but I literally have one day off a week, every other day I have work or prior commitments. So I am writing in my comfy chair at night, tucked up like a little kid, with late night coffee cups piling up next to me.

I am writing, I swear, but I am doubting I’ll hit the 50K wordcount. But I am writing! It’s been too long since I let the voices in my head out, and I’m happy to say, they’re still willing to talk to me.

Are you doing NaNoWriMo? Know someone who is? Kindly force us to sit down, hit the wordcount, and feed us coffee. You might have to poke us with a stick to get us properly motivated.

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You ever know someone who makes you feel like you need to explain everything about yourself because they’re just not getting it? I feel like I need to carry a list around that has all my likes and dislikes, with a small explanation as to why. They don’t understand the correlation between my love of PBR (the rodeo, not the beer) and theather, and why I can rock out to death metal before flipping to Jason Aldean’s latest album.

Granted, that would mean planning ahead, which we all know I’m not exactly stellar at- but I’m trying.

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Oh holy jebus, I knew going into this that what I understand about cars can fit on the head of a pin with thousands of dancing angels, but it was brought home the other night when a friend asked me what kind of engine it had.

My educated response? “Automatic.”

*headdesk*

Can someone just pick out the kind of used car I need, less than 10K, and it gets good mileage? Save me the hassle? Because that’d be fan-bat-tastic.

Moving on.

I have noticed a trend with male characters in my stories: I love them on paper. In real life… I’d beat with over the head with my grandmama’s cast iron skillet.

They’re pushy, demanding, coddling, alpha types. “Here, sit here and look cute while I take care of the big and scary. Play with a doll. Don’t bother the men, we’re doing manly things.” I’d going on a murder rampage within a week!

However, since they’re all my idea of smokin’ smexy, they’d get away with it. Damn my being a shallow and hormonal woman. (Don’t shake your head at me, you know you’re the same way. And if a tat’d out man rolled up to your front door on a Harley Dark Custom Blackline, you’d forgive him too)

Books = fantasy. Reality is a bit harder…

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