The next step in writing

Posted on August 21, 2009 by Heather

Well, I’ve begun it.  The first step in the last step of my writing.  The marketing.  I’ve read several “how to publish” it books and done some homework on agents and publishers.  Now I’m ready to begin the “push” to sell Cat. 

It’s incredibly terrifying. 

If it succeeds I’ll be committed to actually pursuing my writing career.  Yes, the second book (Sarah) is already written.  And yes, the 1st three books of the multi-verse series are one page sheets ready to go.  And yes, the stand alone Slut book is rummaging in my head also. 

But all that material doesn’t mean that being an actual working writer with research, deadlines, contracts, marketing pursuits and re-writes isn’t going to take a toll.  I barely have the time to raise 3 kids, work a job and do all the other things I spin on a daily basis.  How will I find the time to truly pursue this career should someone actual say, “Yes, we love it!  Here’ some money, write more!”

And that’s the road if it succeeds!  Imagine the wonderful emotional toll as it’s rejected.  Because Cat will be rejected, over and over again until someone finds her interesting.  I  try to keep in mind its a numbers game.  Someone will want her eventually.

OMG… I just had an epiphany.  Writing will be just like my dating experiences.  Oh Joy.   And now I’m REALLY looking forward to it (heavy sarcasm there).

So as I’m about to step out onto this marketing road, I hesitate.  If I never do it I’ll never know if Cat was good… but I’ll also never know if she was BAD.  I think this is some sort of Passage Thru the Circle of Fire that every person who pursues this dream must do.   I stand there looking at the road and question if the time and effort will be worth it.  I even do the prep work, but until I send out that first query letter, it’s all still easy to drop.

After all I can happily write my books and never bother selling them.  And never actually call myself a writer, just a dabbler.

The weirdest thing is even as I stand and look at that road of possibility it’s actually moving under me like a moving sidewalk.   I’m such a compulsive completer that I CANNOT stop doing part of this process.  So I daily take these baby steps and fate keeps answering little thoughts I have about my writing like, “I could really use a new opinion about Cat”  and boom… new people beg to read it.  Now if I could just get the feedback as quickly!

Yes, I’m mentally staring at the road wondering if I should step onto it but apparently I’m so deep in thought I haven’t noticed the scenery is moving slowly in my peripheral vision.  I think the muse and my subconscious have, while I am distracted, put me on skates and have been quietly pushing me along hoping by the time I notice I’ll be too late.

Those two have GOT to stop watching Looney Tunes.

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Childhood Pets… part one

Posted on August 20, 2009 by Heather

I’ve almost always had pets.  I don’t know if I’ve had them because I’m tactile and I love touching or I’ve become tactile because I always had pets.  But both are true.  I am incredibly tactile (I LOVE to touch things) and I’ve always had pets.

The first pet I had was a black and white female cat from the pound.  I was about 6.  She wanted to be an inside cat and my mother wanted her to be an outside cat.  She clawed the screens trying to get in and then got the final word in by getting nocked up one time when she was forced to be outside. 

She had her kittens on my bed.  While I was in it!  Truly a fascinating and eeww experience to a 6 year old girl.  She had one all black kitten and one all white kitten.  There could have been more but I don’t remember.  We promptly kept the black kitten, gave the white one to the older neighbors across the street and Blackie (as she was called) sadly went back to the pound due to the screen-clawing.

Hey!  It was the Sixties!  Peta didn’t exist… and remember this is the woman who later killed chickens.  (wait… that’s Chicken’s part three… well, you’ll read it later.)

My little black kitten was named Esmerelda after the mother-in-law on Bewitched but we called her Ezzy… because I’m six!  Ezzy grows into the cat my mother can handle… happy to be outside, loves dry cat food, short haired so no shedding and lets us kids do whatever we want to her.  My sister carried her by her upper chest, legs dangling all the time.  Even when Ezzy was pregnant… which was every season because for some reason my parents NEVER fixed her.  Knowing my father, money was the reason.

So I know intimately all about the feline birthing process and the joys of having baby kittens in the house was always part of my life.  I also got to learn the responsibilities of getting rid of those kittens.  My parents would drop us off in front of the Ralphs grocery store with our box of 4 kittens which said “free kittens” on it.  And my brother and I would pester everyone going in and going out “Do you want a kitten?”  It never failed by the end of the day we would walk away with just an empty box.  And so began our career as kitten pushers, because Ezzy gave birth every season which was at least once a year and we had her for oh about 10 of those years.    She eventually died moving her kittens from the garage to the neighbors backyard…where apparently she didn’t know they had a dog.  We did save at least one kitten who six months later committed suicide by car.

See why motherhood is important!

Ezzy did one other really cool thing.  One year for Christmas we got a wrapped present from one of my mother’s eclectic La Leche League friends.  It was obviously a board game and we set it aside for Christmas morning.  Ezzy sat on the box for the whole week from the time we got it until the time we opened it.  She’d come off for food and maybe to poop but my mother swears she never left that box.  Remember Ezzy is an all black, long slinky cat.  When we opened the box it was a ouija board.

My mother freaked and quickly exchanged it for a Game of Life board.    Spooky!

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Crickets in the Silence

Posted on August 17, 2009 by Heather

Lovely silence I get from my blog site.   I am sincerely convinced that no one is reading it anymore.  I do know the handful of people I nag about the blog read it “when they can” and rarely scroll down if they’ve missed a day. 

So I don’t have any guilt over not posting an entry for a day or two due to a dark funk or being sick or just caught up in a book and gave up computer use for a day.    Because apparently no one is eagerly looking forward to the next interesting entry from me! 

And after the last one I truly expected some sort of commentary if only to chastise me!  And the silence was amazing and wonderfully discouraging.  My inner pessimist salutes you all!

Enjoy.

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Nothing says ‘I Love you’ better than a Blow Job

Posted on August 16, 2009 by Heather

Okay, warning to everyone.  The following blog may be a little too… EXPLICIT!  It’s why I’m using a softer color… I’m in hushed tones.

It has been asked if I ever did “experiment” with my perceived new abilities in oral sex I mentioned in the blog GNO-Orlando and how would “Cat” give a blow job.  Well this blog will address both those questions.

First off, for those you have not read my book.  Cat is the Urban Cougar character of my book.  She teaches a new crop of 21-22 year olds every month how to succeed at seduction.   And she’s done a lot of oral sex.  But I wrote her over a year ago and time changes a lot of things.

So would Cat do a blow job differently than most.  Probably, due to sheer experience.  But also because she enjoys it.  And details have been asked for.  Which coincides with my newest experience. 

Step one… find the right position to do this in.  If this is just foreplay it won’t matter what position but if this is to completion the position should be comfortable for you.  No… not for him, for you.  He’s going to love this no matter what and even though you will enjoy it also… it is still work for you.  I find it less comfortable if he’s lying on his back on the bed.    I also found if he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, I can comfortably sit on the floor, but I don’t have great access to his ass or balls.  (This has the same problem if you’re doing him in the car while he’s driving due to the pants he’s wearing AND that damned steering wheel… unless he’s a TALL man with long arms away from the wheel!)

My personal favorite… lean him up against a wall, put a hard padded pillow on the floor and get on your knees.  You can caress and gently scratch (Cat loves her nails) his ass, balls, thighs and abs all you want.  And I’ll have two hands free, the bed position leaves one hand holding my weight, not to mention I’ll have to get a hair tie to keep it out of the way.  Not necessary for the wall position.

Step two… lollipop anticipation.  Torture him with your tongue and hands long before you actually take him into your mouth.  And keep your hands right near your mouth because your spit is the best lubricant and you can surreptitiously swipe a tongue along your palm to get it nice and wet.  Although you could hold his gaze and run your tongue straight up your hand to pre-lube.  Watch his eyes get a little wide at the action.  

Your hand is half the work, ladies.  No matter how much you can take you cannot take ALL of him in, over and over in a ‘fucking’ motion very well.  This is where the well placed hand is a necessity and it needs the lubrication of your saliva to move smoothly.  Because you will need the occasional break of almost pulling out to rest your jaw and you should have your hands there ready for it.

And don’t miss the opportunity to suck one of his balls into your mouth.  You get such a wonderful ‘shape’ sensation when you do that.  Much more than you can with caressing them.  And never neglect nails along the pubic hair.  Scratch your own nails along your pubic hair and imagine matching that sensation for him. 

Step three… enjoy that taste.  I didn’t hate but also didn’t like much the taste of men in my 20’s and 30’s but boy has that changed in my 40’s.  You might truly surprise yourself if this isn’t something you’ve done in a long while.  Taste buds change ladies!  And it makes complete sense that as I’ve moved into my sexual peak my taste buds would suddenly love the taste of men.  And my gag reflex is so much less than it was!!  Testing that out was truly fun and well, rather eye-popping for the testee!

Step four… careful use of teeth.  Don’t run them along length of his cock.  Gently run them left to right along the top lip or crest of the head of his cock.  If you’re doing 69 you would use your tongue but if you’re in my favorite position you would use your upper teeth.  And then scrape them gently along the head of his cock during the few times you need to rest your jaw. 

The length of his cock loves it when you tighten your lips completely around him on the pull up, creating almost a suction sensation.  Alternate this with curling your tongue around him on a few up and downs and flattening your tongue along his underside on a few more.   NEVER neglect the Butterfly Flick which is flicking your tongue across the vein along the underside of his cock opposite the crest of  his cockhead.

If you align your head in just the right way your back molars can caress his sides when you deep-throat him.  Those should be done in short motions once you get him down there to space your breathing and make sure he doesn’t accidentally go in at an angle and impact those molars.  That might hurt…  him!

Step five… (God will the steps never end!)  Speed is relative and should be based on HIS sounds.  So before or while you’re stripping him and telling him he’s getting a blow job (watch his face light up!) you firmly tell him you’re expecting him to be completely vocal about it.  You want him to moan or say “yeah, oh yeah” or cuss and most of all you want him to tell you how close he is.  I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had to pull off due to my own jaw stamina only to hear the words, “Oh… I was almost there.”  Hell, boy!  Let me know!  I’m not any more telepathic than you are!

So… good lines for men to use… although you can insert your own personal expletives.       “God your mouth.”  “That hot little mouth.”  “Oh yeah, OMG”  “Yes, right there, shit!”  “Sweet Jesus your tongue…”  “So close, shit!”   And getting them out through gritted teeth better than quietly whispering them afraid the world will hear you.

Words will maximize the pleasure on both your ends.  If I hear the word ‘close’ out of his mouth I’m pulling out all the big guns and working the speed.  Because I enjoy his pleasure as much as getting off myself.  Also because being a compulsive completer… I get excited about finishing a task!

Step six… I haven’t been able to swallow with him in my mouth  WHILE he’s coming.  I can hold it in my mouth and milk him with my tongue while he’s coming (more eye-ball rolling into the back of his head) but once he’s done I had to bring my mouth almost off him before I could swallow.  Be prepared for this.  Better to keep him in your mouth while he’s ejaculating and swallow him after.  Unless you’d rather wear it! 

Lastly I want to mention why men love blow jobs.  Because it is sex that is just about them.  You might think that they’re only interested in their own orgasm when they are having sex with you but they aren’t.  They WANT to know they are  pleasing you, they want to give you as many orgasms as they can (caveat… as they CAN) and they will often work hard NOT to come until they’ve done all they can to do that.  That is pretty self-sacrificial.  Most men could probably come a lot faster with sex than you realize but they are trying very hard NOT to so you get as much pleasure as they’re getting.

So when they get a blow job all the pleasure is for them.  Trust me, they truly appreciate the sentiment.  And if you can give him little noises that you’re enjoying this too, well he’s even happier.   If you really want to make his night… ask him what blow job fantasies he’s ever had.  Most men won’t play dominant to you during a blow job because they’re terrified if THEY suggest any deviation from what YOU’RE planning you’ll change your mind and they won’t get it.

So BJ’m on his birthday but on Valentines Day… ask him if he’d like you to do it in costume or with ropes!  Who wears the ropes is between the two of you!

 

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That First Drunk Experience

Posted on August 15, 2009 by Heather

Everyone has one of these stories in their life.  That first time you got really, really drunk.  And its often the first time you drink because you have no idea what your tolerance is and your body is trying to scream “NO TOLERANCE” but you’re hearing “Mmghdhljgljelj!”

My childhood wasn’t as wild as others but it was extremely unsupervised.  Both my parents worked full time and I think they were under the impression we were being ‘supervised’ when we went to “play” at    “fill in the blank”s    house.

So it was probably the summer between elementary school and Junior High that I was over at Nancy Batiski’s house with a group of kids, her age.  Her parents were not home and we decided to raid the liquor cabinet.  Someone made me a rum and coke.  And probably another one.

I was maybe 13 at the time with a group of 14 year old guys and girls.  I was too drunk to know whether or not I was the only drunk one there and can only pray I wasn’t at the time.  For I did embarrassing things like crawl around the room barking like a dog.  And going up to a boy I had a faint crush on and asking him to speak, because I couldn’t see his face (lost my glasses at that point) but I’d know him by his voice.  All the while knowing exactly who he was.

To my fuddled memory I don’t know why Nancy and some of us moved the “party” six blocks away to the house of her boyfriend but we did.  Once there she ended up in an argument with him.  After a few minutes at the party I found her to tell her I felt sick and she advised me it was ‘all in my head’.  Leaving her to her boyfriend drama I went to the bathroom to puke.  After successfully doing that, Nancy burst in the room, crying and said, “What are you doing?”

I told her, “Don’t worry… its all in my head.” 

So she walks me the 5 blocks to my corner… I have no recollection of that experience I only remember leaving and then saying goodbye to Nancy at the corner of my street.  I have no memory of getting from the corner of my street to my front porch (about half a block down) but I remember standing there and making the inevitable Pact with God.

“I swear if you get me through this without getting caught I will never, never touch alcohol again.”

Miraculously, even though my mother’s car was in the drive, she wasn’t home.  No one was in the living room and I managed to stagger to my room and collapse on the bed, face down.  My brother walks into my room and exclaims,  “Whew!  You reek!”

“Don’t just stand there,” I mumble at him.  “Get me some toothpaste.”   I’m such a problem solver, even when drunk!  He does and (remember I’m drunk here) I stick my tongue out.  With a shrug my brother squirts toothpaste on my tongue and I react with a “Eewww” swipe it off my tongue with my hand, wiping it on my bedspread… and promptly pass out.

About an hour or so later I wake up with no one the wiser.  Completely hangover free (because I’m blessed that way) I go to the kitchen to see what’s for dinner.  I pass my dad’s bottle of port, which I’d been stealing sips from because its sweet and delicious.  I unscrew the cap and take a whiff and almost puke right there and then. 

I was successfully able to keep my pack with God almost until I went to college.  (Hello…Prom Night!)

To this day, wine tends to give me a headache, beer is an acquired taste I will NEVER acquire.  4 sips of beer and I WILL be worshiping the porcelain god.  Basically if it tastes alcoholic… I don’t really enjoy it. 

Oh and I’m a Pepsi Girl thru and thru… can’t stand Coke.

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Then vs Now

Posted on August 13, 2009 by Heather

Like most of my generation I had an unsupervised childhood.  Although I bet every parent says that!  Those of you my age know what I mean.  We had 7 channels if we were lucky and NO kids programs so there wasn’t anything else to do except play with our friends, play board games at home or read.   And being home alone back then was fine once you were 10 or so. 

We lived in a neighborhood that had a bunch of kids.  During the school year we played with our classmates but during the summer we played with the kids in the neighborhood no matter the age group.  I hung with Nancy Batiski who was a year older than I but tolerated me because we both loved horses. 

Now, hard to imagine but try… In elementary School I was a shy girl.  NO REALLY… stop laughing.   I was a follower and I was Nancy’s sidekick.  The person she called when she couldn’t find anyone else to play with.   I was fine with that because she hung with older kids and I got to tag along.  She dragged me to the “Streakers Club” the boys had formed in the basement of the Knovaks house where they’d play music and randomly drop their pants and accuse us of looking if we didn’t cover our eyes fast enough.

I remember being one of about 15 kids in this huge tree.  And I mean IN the tree.  The boys on the limbs to the left “at work” and us girls walking along the limbs on the right “at home”… I mean this tree was huge!  I’m not even sure how we all got up there!  And we had no fear.  And where the hell were the parents!  Amazing that none of us ever broke a limb.  We were a pack of kids running around the neighborhood on our bikes with absolutely no supervision or orchestrated play dates.

Today is so different.  My kids don’t even want to go play at their friends house unless its to play that kids electronics.  So play dates are bonding mommy time and as our lives get more and more complicated its just harder and harder to arrange that.   Add to that the fact my “still in elementary school” kids are just fine with each others company.  Especially if they’re doing their favorite pastime together… television.

So today I told them we would be having one day a month of no electronics except radio.  (Can’t live without my music!)  All of us… including the parents.  Which means we will ALL find a way to entertain ourselves like I used to when I was a kid.

Fine with me… I always have a good book to read!

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Chickens, part two

Posted on August 12, 2009 by Heather

So in the mini-farm saga of my mother’s hippie version of my growing up years we left off at the arrival of the 100 baby chicks.

They were quickly transported to the built coop of my mother’s friend, Karen Flinders.  And they quickly became sick.  The vet pronounced them sick with a virus that made them not want to eat so they would starve to death. 

Undaunted my mother and Karen began a two family regime of force feeding food into each chick.  Everyone took shifts and did their part, either to catch a new chick for the adult to feed or transport the fed one to a new area and try to keep these areas separated.

My mother said they lost about half.  When they were older and well enough we took our share home to our house where Mr. Flinders had built us a long coop.  It was an incredibly well thought out chicken coop.  An adult might have to stoop but a kid could walk mostly upright inside.  Either end of this long rectangular coup had double-decker egg laying boxes with ramps for the chickens because the boxes were about 3 feet off the ground.  In other words, easy human height to open from the outside to retrieve eggs daily. 

The new chickens were added to the original six, one of which turned out to be a rooster and we had our group.  A motley crew for certain.  The original six were the classic Leghorn chicken (picture Foghorn Leghorn, white chicken, white eggs).  About half of the others were what’s known as Buff chickens.  Large (although not as large as the Leghorns) fluffy light brown feathers chickens which laid brown eggs.  Pretty common looking.  Ah, but they were balanced out by the South American breed called Aracana.  Mostly dark feathered birds but they always had incredibly individual markings.  And they laid blue/green tinted eggs.  We even had some Banty chickens, littler than the others but feisty.

And then they all matured and the males began to crow.   This is when I remind everyone we are smack dab in the residential area of Burbank.  The noise is NOT appreciated.  So, first we figure out who’s doing it and we pack them up to the vet.  Because my mother has heard of this surgery called, “De-crowing”. 

The vet says he’s never done it but he’s willing to learn if she’s willing to accept the possible results (death!) as he tries.  She’s got a surplus of chickens so she agrees… since he’ll do it for cheap while he figures it out.  After the sacrifice (death!) of several roosters he finally gets the hang of it and she’s left with several males who now cannot crow.

Ah, but THEY don’t know this.  So it is a source of great amusement to bring over our friends and say… “Watch this!”   The rooster would strut about, flap his wings, stretch his neck out and go “huh, huh-huh, huh-huuuuuuuh!”  and think he’d accomplished something.

Hmmm… sounds like some men I know.

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A good Gaffaw on Men

Posted on August 11, 2009 by Heather

This is really just too cute not to pass on!

1.   Don’t imagine you can change a man – unless he’s in diapers.

2.  What do you do if your boyfriend walks out?     You shut the door!

3.  If they put a man on the moon… they should be able to put them ALL up there.

4.  Go for the younger man… you might as well, they never mature anyway.

5.  Best way to get a man to do something is to tell him he’s too old for it or its too hard for him.

6.  Love is blind… but Marriage is a real EYE-Opener!

8.  If he asks what sort of books you’re interested in… tell him checkbooks!

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Greener Grass

Posted on August 10, 2009 by Heather

I’ve had some wise counsel recently.   The old saying “The grass is always greener” adage was brought up at a GNO.   (For any newbies that’s “Girls Night Out.)

Yes, we do more than just ogle the men around us at GNO.  We talk.     A lot.      About everything.     But mostly we enjoy an evening that is about us and not YOU or THEM or WORK or the many, many plates we have spinning simultaneously in the air.  Those plates only exist in the abstract as a mild subject of conversation during GNO.

So the adage was brought out as a cautionary flag and as usual I picture it.  A nice small pasture with a fence and beyond the fence… very interesting areas.  I realize the true caution of the adage is that if you leave your fenced pasture you are still in a fenced area… just the opposite side of the fence.

My answer to the wise counsel…  “Well, if you never put up any fences then you wouldn’t see the grass as greener because ALL the grass would be yours.”

Eithne’s dry response… “Ah, free range Heather.”

Brilliant!

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Update

Posted on August 7, 2009 by Heather

Hello, my few friends.

Just an update.  The fire did not eat my house.  It did go over the hill into my neighborhood but it was many, many blocks away.  We didn’t get back to our house until after 11 pm that night.  I was so exhausted.

Top all that off with this cold still trying to kick my butt and well, the blog has fallen to the wayside!  I should be able to catch up soon because… YEA it’s Friday!!!

And I think I might start on the Dayquil!

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