Past........

Sometimes I still see you,
you come to me in dreams,

It's like my mind betrays me,
and I wake up saying your name,

I hate that I can still smell you,
that I ache to feel your touch,

I guess it doesn't matter how long it's been or who's in love,

There was just something about you, something deep only I could see,

A spark, a bright shining beacon, drawing you to me,

Is it really just as simple as timing being wrong,

If there's such a thing as soul mates, I've got to wonder if you were the one,

I feel like I'm betraying the one who loves me now,

Except you never loved me, never wanted the wife the kids the house,

A part of me still lingers wanting to hear your voice,

Taste your kiss, feel your passion, give in fully, have a choice,

When will my heart forget you, will it ever, is it true,

God I wish it didn't hurt so much to remember loving you.






I'm sure I'm not the only one who fell for the wrong person. We can't control our hearts anymore than we can control our dreams. I'm probably not the only writer to come across a person who didn't believe in them, but those assholes and jerks serve a purpose. I want to prove them wrong. Luckily I have someone now that believes in me, but that belief isn't half as motivating as the asshole who said I couldn't.


So fellow authors, here's to the assholes who said we couldn't, it will be my ultimate pleasure to prove them wrong!!!!

Accepting imperfection.

We all do it. Some of us more than others, some of us hardly at all. Certain things make it harder for me to control it. I get too caught up in the details, obsessed, whatever you want to call it, I'm a slave to it. It can keep me from sleeping, keep me up until I give in and fix whatever threw off my perfectionists idea of balance. I'm probably more than a little ocd when it comes to certain things. The lines I paint on the wall being perfect, the edge of the sand paper being just right.

I'm a perfectionist.

I'm not sure when I first realized this, high school, college, after having my first child. Over the years it's probably gotten worse, the need to make whatever I do as perfect as absolutely possible. I'm the girl who slaves over the stove and kicks myself after taking the first bite, more garlic, less salt. Whatever it is that the perfectionist doesn't like, I mentally spank myself. Over and over through out the day it cracks the whip. Seriously. I should probably drink more, lighten up. Let go.

Two words.

Let. Go.



Why is it so hard sometimes. When it comes to my story. I am the worlds worst critic. I don't think anyone could say anything that the perfectionist in me wouldn't nod along with and narrow its terrible eyes in my direction. LOL I just had a mental image of myself cowering in the corner before the loud slap. I know, I'm crazy. (Inside the perfectionist is nodding, just so you know).

Anyways to the point..............Oh yea. No one can say something worst than what I tell myself. It isn't possible. If they said my story was unimaginative drivel, inside the perfectionist nods. If they say I should give it up, inside the perfectionist nods. I wish I could slap the crap out of that perfectionist, but it would probably just squeal with glee, excited at the prospect of punishment.......... I'm sure Freud would love me. All the inner turmoil and angst. LOL okay I'm not a young adult novel, but you get the point.

I hate being a perfectionist. I have to remind myself to take a step back, take a deep breath, and except what I'm capable of, and what I'm not. I hate it, not getting it just so, just right, perfect. Is there anything on this earth that is, that isn't somehow slightly off balance, a little too much of this, too little of that. Even though my perfectionist often rules me, I'm learning, however painfully. To let go.

But the novel, the book, I can't seem to ease up on. I just keep beating myself and whimpering, unsure of where to go. Something is off, and my inner perfectionist won't let it go. Refuses. So I'm stuck, writers block............only this time,  it's a million times worse.

Sigh.

So what do I do now? Continue to help with the remodel, take out the sander, and the nail gun and hope the large amount of power tools eases my inner sorrow. I will finish the book.......someday. The moment will come where that aha moment rises and falls and my inner perfectionist will shut up and finally allow my fingers to hit the keys. I know my book will never be perfect (inside I'm cringing, the perfectionist is shaking her head refusing to believe it.) I wonder how many authors suffer from my particular brand of crazy. So many are like other artists, dark and foreboding, alcholics, addicts, with messy lives, and even messier love stories.

So here I am, a little crazy, (inside the perfectionist snorts obnoxiously, she's kind of a bitch.......) and I wonder, how many other people fight their inner compass, accept something that isn't quite right as good enough. Or do they see the imperfection the way I do..............LOL mental spanking, I have to find somewhere to use that, it's kind of funny. Crap, focus Ashley, there was a point, but I've already lost it. Haha Lost it, geez I crack myself up. (The IP, inner perfectionist, rolls her eyes.) See I even annoy me, but the point I'm grasping for is...... I hate being a perfectionist, hate, hate, HATE. But I am who I am, so the hiatus is still on. But I'm hoping the block breaks soon. Cross your fingers for me. I need all the positive I can get.

.........over the edge

Well I really have no terribly annoying excuses this time around. Life. In one word it catches up with you. Lately I've been helping my mom remodel her house. Which has been extremely fun for me. So I've taken a break from all forms of writing including the blog. I'm not sure how often I'll be around while this re-model is going on. Its work, to say the least. But I will say this.........I love power tools. Seriously. Have you ever used a nail gun? If not then you have no idea the awesome power it is to use such a thing. LOL.

So far we have sanded, re-painted, distressed, and sealed one built in cabinet, a hallway cabinet, half the kitchen cabinets, and one bathroom. We have also put up beadboard (wainscotting) in the master bedroom and a chair-rail. In the newly re-done bathroom we put up beadboard, and new baseboards, door trim and chair rail. Every ceiling has been painted, including all of the rooms, the ugly brown bricked fireplace, and numerous other small projects. IE wallpaper border, mirror frame, painted doors, hinges etc.

The list is long, and all done during ten hour days in the last two months. Yesterday the new counter tops were put in. I'm going to upload some pictures when I can, there is just something so satisfying about doing work with your hands. I grew up watching my father and grandfather working on cars, houses, etc. The hardware store was at least a weekly visit. I have fond memories of that hardware store..........

The point is I've been busy. And as soon as I'm done with this project (moms house) I'll be back, with more energy because of this little vacation from writing. So grab your power tools and join the fun. I'm sure you can find some small project at home to attack. You'll have a blast between all the cuts, cussing, and missing tools! I know I am.

Dream House

Being as I haven't reviewed a book in a while, I know I also haven't reviewed any movies. This one, although tragic, wasn't what I thought it was going to be...........it was better.

Soon after moving into their seemingly idyllic new home,

a family learns of a brutal crime committed against former

residents of the dwelling.

Let me just say that the previews for this movie didn't do it justice, but without the previews, I wouldn't have been surprised when this movie turned out to be different. My inner obsession with all things serial killer, attracted me to this film. I thought this was going to be a slasher flick, or at the very least some sort of terrifying stalker movie about a family that moved into a home where a family was slaughtered.

Much to my surprise it wasn't that kind of scary, it was about a man trying to find out if he was capable of murdering his entire family. I teared up, I cringed, I hated the person that was capable of taking such pure innocent lives, and I was entertained, even when I wanted to stop watching. It was very well done.  Definitely a must watch.



Bad Girls Don't Die

When Alexis's little sister Kasey becomes obsessed with an antique doll, Alexis thinks nothing of it. Kasey is a weird kid. Period. Alexis is considered weird, too, by the kids in her high school, by her parents, even by her own Goth friends. Things get weirder, though, when the old house they live in starts changing. Doors open and close by themselves; water boils on the unlit stove; and an unplugged air conditioner turns the house cold enough to see their breath in. Kasey is changing, too. Her blue eyes go green and she speaks in old-fashioned language, then forgets chunks of time.
Most disturbing of all is the dangerous new chip on Kasey's shoulder. The formerly gentle, doll-loving child is gone, and the new Kasey is angry. Alexis is the only one who can stop her sister — but what if that green-eyed girl isn't even Kasey anymore?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Okay so it has been a while, a long while, since I have liked a book enough to actually review it. The last one was Anna Dressed in Blood by Kendare Blake. Needless to say it took quite a book to live up to that novel. Not that Bad Girls Don't Die is better than Anna, no, I don't think that's possible. Even months after I read Anna, it's still there just beneath the surface, a story that gets under your skin. But Bad Girls, has something in common with Anna, ghosts!!!! And I love me some ghosts.

As my grandma likes to recount, over and over again, I used to believe the Ghostbusters were my brothers. (Insert snort.)

My poor mom had to replay Ghostbusters over and over again on VHS until the damn thing broke and she had to buy me another one. I watched it that much. Now me I remember liking it, loving the ghost story, but hell calling them my brothers, I was a precocious kid, what can I say. My grandma bless her, is slowly forgetting things, but I don't think she will ever forget that story!

Anyways long story short I love Bad Girls Don't Die, it was creepy, at times horrifying, and a little evil. Throw in the possessed Victorian Doll and bamm, you've hooked me. A definite must read!!

Music......inspiration.

I've totally been neglecting my blog. Not only have I not been posting, but I haven't been writing too much this month either. I've been busy. Blah, blah blah, excuse bullshit excuse. So whatever the reason I'll try to be a better girl next month.

I will say that despite my non-writing month, I did discover quite a few new pieces of music I'm in LOVE with. I came across the Irish band The Frames first. It just kept popping up on my Pandora, and I liked it. Then the song Falling Slowly found its way to my ear and I had to look it up. That's when I came across the movie Once, and Glen Hansard. OMG I'm in love. It's a wee bit creepy that Glen looks a little like a redheaded doppelganger for my high school boyfriend, but I can overlook that one misgiving for the music.

The music.

Maybe I've been on a folky kick lately, although Glen Hansard doesn't exactly fit that mold, but since The Civil Wars, I've just been craving that same sound. That harmony with the guitar and lyrics that actually make you feel something. Sometimes I think my aversion to anything mainstream has made me hate anything on the radio, but this, Falling Slowly, the sound of Glen's voice when he belts it out from the heart. Damn it makes me get goosebumps. I find myself closing my eyes to better hear. It's awe inspiring, and it makes me connect with a part of me I haven't paid much attention to. The music lover. So after watching Once, and buying the entire soundtrack, I've found my fingers itching to write. I'm inspired, I feel deeply that these songs will help me tap into something I've been trying to find.

Ironic that its a Irish artist, when Celtic myth has such a place in my story. But alas, here I am editing, getting ready to really write, to finish, and I'm not panicky, or even nervous I feel at peace.

When he yells this song at 1:13 it gives me chills soooo sooo good! Listen enjoy. I'm going to keep editing and write something actually new!!! Yea

Happy New Year!!!

Every year on January 1st (or the 3rd in this case) I find myself reflecting back on the last year, and hating that I now have to remember to write a new stinking year on checks, documents, etc. I always forget in the beginning, it usually lasts for  few months, I'll keep writing 2011 instead of 2012. It's scary how quickly a year can go by. Just yesterday it felt like my youngest boy Ethan was born. He's now three, in the midst of terrible toddler-hood, and I'm starting to miss the baby days.

I never really feel any older either, birthday's come and go, and I still feel the same. I still make mistakes, and say things I shouldn't, maybe older, a little wiser, but still the same person, still the same inside. I wonder if my eighty year old grandma feels that way. The outside changes, the world keeps moving but inside, we're always the same. The same person that loves old rock, and reading, the same person that cusses to much, and let's her mouth get her in trouble. No matter how long I live I hope I keep that part of me, the kindred spirit, the stubborn soul, the child.