Tuesday, September 25, 2012
I have always dreamed of being a writer. Well, published author.
I've been a writer all my life. I got my first "official" rejection yesterday. Actually, it's my second rejection.
At age ten, I submitted a teleplay to the fine folks at PBS for Mr. Roger's Neighborhood. I was an ambitious ten year old. It was a fairytale titled, "I Can't!" about a little girl who kept saying, "I can't" to everything. Long story short, the final scene was the confrontation between "Lily" and "King Friday"(anyone old enough to remember him?) He declares,"If you tell your brain 'you can't'--your body won't so from this day forward, "You can't say 'you can't' anymore!" Well, I thought it was pretty good...I was ten, remember. A few weeks later, I got a letter in the mail from the crew at PBS/Mr. Roger's thanking me for submitting my story--even mentioned it by name--but etc. and....to "keep writing."
I have been able to keep writing by incorporating my double majors of Nursing and English from college into patient care all these years.Write it. Describe it. Make everyone see it with your words. The written word is sacred text. It's evidence in the world of healthcare. If you didn't write or "document it"---it didn't happen!
Now back to my rejection.
After speaking to the editor, I finished my article and sent it to the magazine. I felt like I was sending off a child as the envelope left my hand..................Good Luck, My Child!! Go With God!! Dreams of my article being published danced in my head. I was going to be a published author! Wow! First time out! Beginner's luck!!
Yesterday, I got a call from that editor telling me that my article wasn't long enough, etc. It didn't hurt my feelings, wasn't meant to---just one professional talking to another. Afterwards, I started "reading between the lines" of what the editor said and what they really meant. In no time, I had myself thinking that I was the worst writer in the world and had no business sending articles to anybody! "I CAN"T be a writer." I said. But as soon as I said that, it reminded me of the little teleplay I sent to Mr. Roger's decades ago.
King Friday decrees: "You can't say 'I Can't' Anymore!"
Friday, September 14, 2012
My mother gave me the facts of life when I was eleven years old. Actually, I was given the Holy Grail---the secret---the real secret---only "fact of life" I would ever need to know. Mom knocked on my bedroom door, came in, sat down, ducked her cigarette, looked me dead in the eye and said, "Men just want to stick their dick in your pussy." After a triumphant deep breath she added, "I am so glad we talked." I think I answered her with a "Yes ma'am." I may have said,"Thank you." I'm not sure. Don't really remember. Kinda blacked out there for a second. What's the appropriate response when your mom says something like that to you when you're eleven years old? What would you say to that at any age, right?
Once I regained consciousness and my ears had stopped bleeding, I began a research project that has lasted my entire life and continues to this day. What have I found so far? Mom was right. Read on.
First of all, boys know they are boys before girls know they are girls. Duh? What I mean, of course, is that boys discover their ride along "buddy" way before we girls know that we have a secret passenger, too. Boys are introduced and re-introduced to their "buddy" over the course of their lifetime. Girls aren't aware of a "buddy"until somebody-usually a boy--wants to "share and compare." Boys give their "buddy"names. Girls don't do this. In my entire life, I never heard one girl or woman say,"I'm sitting on Margret!" or "Amy needs a tampon."
Men want and expect sex. Women want love and think they can use sex to get it. Not true. Love and sex are completely different things and should never be combined...or even in the same sentence!
A man looks at a woman and rates her "fuck-ability." "Oh, I'd do her." She's a seven--an eight if I drink a little more." Sex is the objective. It is biological. It is a function and if successful it is a muscle relaxer but once he 'comes' he wants to 'go.' That could mean go home or straight to sleep. Mission accomplished. Touchdown. "I got lucky."
Women look at a man and rate his boyfriend/husband/father potential. She wants to know if he would be a good daddy. What would the children look like? What are his dreams for the next twenty, thirty, forty years? She's not looking to leave anything to luck. Women always have a plan.Women spend millions of dollars for clothes, shoes, cosmetics, proceedures and on the occasional therapist, thinking it will bring them a man and love. Men just want to get laid. She is reading Cosmo finding out where to touch her man to ensure love "forever after," while he is on the couch touching himself to see if he has on clean underwear!
Looks don't matter to a man---actually HIS looks don't matter, YOURS do. Men not only have different rules for appearance, they have different mirrors! Mirrors lie to men. A woman looks in a mirror and sees pores, zits wrinkles, flaws, aging, etc. A man looks in that very same mirror and sees nothing but a 'stud,' and a 'ladies man" Seeing his own reflection,even The Elephant Man couldn't understand why the girls weren't going for him!
I love men. I always have. There is nothing like a good stiff one. Men are wonderful things and they are the accessory that makes Life worth living. Contact me if you have any questions or need any advice. Life is too short not to enjoy the gender deemed 'male.'They are creatures who are masterfully crafted, visually stimulated, pussy motivated and easily manipulated. Just shake a little tail at a man and watch the magic happen! That's the beauty of a man. Aren't they wonderful? Every woman should have two or three.
Wednesday, September 5, 2012
Hello and welcome! I am your humble servant, Dyane. You are arriving just as the foundation of this new establishment is being set. Gotta be sturdy and strong. Gotta be reliable. Gotta be here! I want you to want to be here, too.
Introduction? I am a single mother who has been a registered nurse in intensive care for over twenty years. At 32, I finally became a mother, delivered a baby boy by natural childbirth, discovered my son's father was on drugs, left him and have been raising said boy by myself for nearly eighteen years. To tell you the truth, I never wanted to be anybody's wife...I just wanted to be somebody's mommy!
Description? Well, I am a five-five, one hundred and thirty pound, curvy, 38DD, blonde woman with a weakness for wigs, shoes and men. At any moment I could just, "throw my wig in the air---and wave it like I just don't care!" Join me, won't you?
Qualifications? I am a member of the female population...the Southern female population. I survived poverty, high school, cheerleading, dating, partying and danced naked in a well-known club. I survived college, even more partying, marriage, miscarriages, world travel, domestic violence, post-traumatic stress disorder and cancer. I was taught how to cook, curse, fight, fry, bake and bitch by a grandmother who always said, "Live without regret, your ass won't ever get out of this life alive anyway!" That's what I am doing. Join me, won't you?