Tag Archive | Susan Thatcher

I’m Still Here

How many times have I said that? (I know, I know)

I’m not a Stephen  Sondheim fan (I recognize his genius, but his music doesn’t resonate with me).

It’s been 364 days since my last blog post. That was about how I felt since the death of my friend 15 years ago. I have sisters (more on them in a bit) but that was the loss of a soul sister. Given the number of blunders I’ve made in that time, I think I relied too heavily on her superior common sense and smarts for guidance and didn’t really work to develop my own.

2003 was a suck-ass year.

Followed by 2005.

So was 2008.

And 2015.

2018, too.

I self-diagnose as having situation depression. It manifests as a form of emotional paralysis: I don’t want to do anything. Everything is overwhelming. I just want to hibernate until things are better. I don’t want to be medicated because that won’t resolve the issues (and that goes for drugs and alcohol. They don’t solve the problem, so why bother?).  I can’t afford to go to a psychiatric hospital because I don’t have insurance or the means to pay for it (or a regular prescription. That shit’s expensive). And I don’t want to be on meds anyway. (Sort of a middle finger to Big Pharma)

I looked for an image for this post of a woman wrapped in chains to illustrate the point. However, the ones I found (including strait-jacket photos) were all a bit too BDSM to use. Yeah, no.

Lost a good-paying job in March. Managed to scramble, financially through most of the year, but found another job in September that pays 63% less. No, that was not a typo. Call center. White collar work, but not a living wage. I have never been so over-managed in the 34 years I’ve been a working adult. At any given time, at least 4 people can be monitoring a phone call located in Florida, New York, or Mumbai. The task does not play to my strengths: problem-solving. And my co-workers tell me it’s obvious to them that the manager does not like me. At all. However, I did win a 43″ Sharp smart TV at the Christmas party, so there’s that.

The way out…

In the time in between jobs, I SUCCESSFULLY COMPLETED a course in Web Design and Program Development. Me. I learned HTML, CSS, Bootstrap, JavaScript, JQuery, some graphics work, PHP, and MySQL. The JavaScript and the PHP  haven’t stuck too well, but the coding community is extremely supportive, in terms of fora (plural of forum), chat rooms, and websites to learn/practice coding.  I made what I think is a kick-ass website for my final project (no, I’m not providing the link right now. It’s supposed to be uploaded to here somewhere, but we’ll see if I was successful). Starting wages for web development are still about half of what I was making in mortgage due diligence, but more than what I’m making now.  And I can create tools for folks to complete better, more accurate mortgage reviews.

I am standing in my own way in terms of lacking self-confidence. Potential employers will give you puzzles to code and I am too chickenshit to complete them. Practicing code on a website in order to refresh memory and boost confidence.

And, once again, I need to find a home. (And save my stuff in storage. Seriously. If anyone reading this has a spare $150,000, that’ll pay off all my debts and purchase a nice little condo for me with enough to move CA storage stuff to FL, furnish home, acquire two kitties).

I’ve been ready to throw in the towel for eternity for months. I’m serious.

This week, an old wound that I’ve been trying to heal by ignoring it has reopened. This is where my sisters come in. One of them posted an old photo of the two of them wearing hats from my grandmother. I remember when the picture was taken. In the posted photo, I was cropped out. I’m being erased from my family. And that broke my heart.

I imagine they would say this is all my fault due to issues I had with my mother, but 20 some years ago, I could see that the unity and bonding that my dad wanted so much for us wasn’t going to outlast him. I thought I had worked towards healing old wounds and rebuilding relationships, but I was wrong. Back in 2000, at my sister’s wedding, her co-workers challenged me when I said I was her sister. They pointed at my other sister and said, “No, that’s her sister over there!”

How nice. Of course, she has family pictures all over her houses, but I never saw myself in any of them. Granted, we had a bad relationship as kids. After I moved out, I discovered that she had broken some of my collection of horse statues (including Breyer collectibles which appreciate in value. Dumb fucking move). I don’t think it was accidental. Nor was cutting up my prom dress to make an 8th grade graduation dress without asking me (Thanks, Mom. You knew better). Her boyfriend/husband was not very friendly and the first time I saw her kids beyond being little babies, they thought it was great fun to hit me with duck decoys while their parents stood by and laughed. I should have known.

Of course, the usual comment that follows is “Well, you hold a grudge.” Actions speak louder than words. My words, your actions.

The cropped picture brought it all home. If you bitches wanted to hurt me, you fucking did it. Congratulations. I hope you’re happy with yourselves. You tried to trap me into moving home and being a caretaker for someone who disliked me only slightly less than you did.

Why was it decided that my life and happiness mattered less than yours?

Whatever. You can block me on Facebook, refuse to acknowledge my existence, not communicate with me unless you want something (which has been the case since we were teens. I only exist if I’m useful to you. The sad smile and tears with “We really should be closer” only comes out when the wine flows. I’m willing to be closer, just not on your terms). However, like science, whether you like it or not, I’m still your sister. Those were my parents. I don’t even know what you did with the bodies. NONE of you had the maturity, courage, or grace to reach to tell me my mother was dying, was dead, the date/time of the memorial, or even offer me the pictures of myself from the hall. I didn’t want money (this was a discussion I’d had with Mom several times. And Dad. Because he and I were both ATTORNEYS who had studied wealth transmission, we knew the best estate planning was to spend it all (including transfers) during your lifetime). All I wanted were the cross-stitch pictures I’d made for them, the photos of me as a baby and little girl, me with Ralph, my graduation pictures, the Fidelity publicity photo of me wearing a headset. That’s it. My stuff. Given the treatment years prior of my collectibles, I wouldn’t be surprised if they were tossed the first day of cleaning out the Rutland house. And I’m pretty sure I was lied to about them.

Anger is like  drinking poison and hoping it kills the other person. I have to forgive you for myself. I can also forgive you because you have to live with yourselves. I don’t.

I have been working on some short stories. I will finish those sumbitches if it kills me. Which is ironic because they’re supposed to be funny erotica, not Swedish death metal (shout-out to a friend). And not under my name. Someone I respect told me I need to focus and commit to something, then success will follow. Also commented that the comerotica (comedy + erotica. Portmanteau word. May catch on. May not) would be successful. I can do that.

And that’s the state of me right now.

Still here. The Iron Rose will bloom again.

 

 

An Offer

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Hi there! First of all, don’t be put off by the large picture of me in front of you. I’m not that much of an egomaniac, but I am a novice at Mail Chimp and don’t have a great logo. Yet. Remember “Murphy Brown”? She was never able to keep a secretary?  Same with logos and me. I lack the skill to design my own, but cannot get someone else to meet my needs (PS. If any of you are graphic designers, email me. We’ll talk).

I am freshly back from For Love of Books and Florida 2017, held at the OMG SERIOUSLY swank Ritz-Carlton of Sarasota. The For Love of Books and Alcohol blog put on the event and they did a bang-up job. If you see a “For Love of Books and ____” near you, go. Don’t hesitate, either as a reader or an author. The big blue blob in the picture below (on the left. You can’t miss me) is happy and smiling (and the boot is broken toe due to tripping over a dog toy).

I’m writing under two names, Susan Thatcher and Monique DeSoto. Susan writes more mainstream fiction. Monique writes humorous erotica, currently focusing on short stories.

I have been lackadaisical about marketing and engagement. I could blame my day job, but as I say to people who don’t follow up on promises (and I say it in a nasty tone), “If it was a priority, you would have found a way.” The truth of the matter is that I’d rather wave a magic wand and “Bippity boppity boo” a completed novel into existence than do the actual work (come to think of it, if I had a magic wand, I’d be freaking dangerous). Sloth is tied for Gluttony in the Favorite Sin category.

I want to write more, be read more, earn a living (or supplement income) through creative endeavors.

I’m asking a favor: I need reviews. On Goodreads, on Amazon, on other outlets like Barnes & Noble. Amazon may be the 800 lb. gorilla, but they’re not the only seller of books.

Let’s start with liking Facebook pages:

Here’s for Susan:

https://www.facebook.com/spthatcherauthor/

Here’s for Monique:

https://www.facebook.com/MoniqueDeSoto61/

Monique needs some love. Susan has over 1,000 followers, but Monique only has 55 (was 56 on Friday. I lost someone).

We’ll get to Twitter and Instagram later.

Okay, I need volunteers to read and review. “These Foolish Things” is a full novel. “Patti Goes to the Dungeon” is a short story under 6,000 words (take you about 20 minutes).

I make healing bracelets, matching gemstones up to particular needs. And they’re pretty, don’t you think?

So…

If you like both pages, read and review both books on a seller’s site (Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Powells, the big guys) and send me a link to it, I will draw a name and the winner will receive a custom-made bracelet in the size and color of the winner’s choosing. This is a $50 value.

Got to finish up because “Game of Thrones” came on, but I mean it: If you will help me out, I’ll give you freebies and first shots.

Have a good evening.

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The WordPress App for IPad…

Reminder: e-books, sale, all platforms, Sept 30.

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Need a link?
Buy Now!

We also now have a banner for the Burbank event on October 18. If you are within striking distance, please do come by:

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(This has gotten so much easier since I installed the WordPress app. Somewhere, the ghost of Steve Jobs is snickering at me)

And since I’m testing out the “can I actually get this stupid furshlugger ipad to do what I want?”…
promo video

And since I can easily link to YouTube here, I’m going to close with one of. Y favorite things from this year. I don’t really stay up on pop music, but K Allen and company did a heroic spoof of “Talk Dirty to Me” which I’ve watched many times and it still makes me chuckle:

Talk Nerdy To Me