I mean REALLY!

I’ve got some fun stuff after I go off on a nasty rant about my own personal troll-heifer who has gathered up a passel of cronies and started trashing me on Goodreads.

I mean, really? Who buys the high priced sequels to a book they’ve only given one star to? Either an idiot or a troll–there is no middle ground.

It’s funny–the last time this happened to me, I was wondering who did this–who gathered friends into a posse and bullied people on the internet. The general consensus was that it was teenaged boys with time on their hands…and then someone said, “No. Bored housewives–hands down, the biggest internet bullies are bored housewives who are angry about their lives.” I didn’t think much of it, really, until now–when suddenly my Goodreads score has dropped from a 4.36 to a 4.24 in about five minutes, and I’m flummoxed. You’d think these women–at least one of whom is a mother–would recognize this playground behavior and NOT teach it to their children. But no–she bullied me on amazon, and got schooled. (M.Owens. You are my hero. Just saying.) So, in true bully fashion, she goes to a playground where she assumes I don’t play, and badmouths me to whomever listens.

Does she teach her children those tactics? It doesn’t surprise me that she didn’t get Vulnerable–this is the behavior of someone who is enjoying a good karmic fuck at her own expense. Bad guys NEVER know when they’re bad guys. They never think metaphorically, and can, basically, rarely see above the bars of heir own playpens. This woman is a textbook bad guy.

Happy sigh. The good news is, I’m a writer, and you all can bet, sometime, somewhere, I’ll have a vampire rip off her head and use her spinal cord as a jumprope, and REALLY enjoy myself when that happens. (For those of you who think that’s a joke, I hope you all enjoyed the brutal, undignified death of my last principal at the hands of Torrant/Ellyot Moon. Mmmmhmmm… Yahnstone Rath my ASS!)

Unhappy sigh. You know–honestly? Steph handled this much better on her blog. She is a better person than I will ever be. She too, is my hero.

I’m just the ordinary Josephine trying to do an impression of a stainless steel duck and letting all this vitriol roll right off my shiny silver back… I am teflon, hear me quack!

Which brings me to fun things.

The Cave Troll survived another soccer game as Ferdinand the Bull. Seriously–we used to have cats at my parents house who would watch rats run across their own paws with this really puzzled look on their faces. “I know this is something I should be interested in, but I just ate, and, really, what the fuck is the point again?”

Yeah–that’s the Cave Troll’s relationship to the soccer ball. He’s happy to be there and all, but, really. What was the point again?

And Ladybug…

*sigh* Ladybug has been having a very ‘not cute’ week. I think it’s the violation of her entire summer schedule, but somehow, she has turned into her older brother on his worst days. Yesterday, I said, “Come here, sweetie, and give mama a kiss!”

And she said, “Mama, you’re NOT a boy!”

Shoot me. Shoot me now!

Chicken is worried about math–her teacher last year gave her a B+–she was one of four freshmen in the class. This year, she’s one of two sophomores, and her new teacher is telling her she should go into a transition class because “She’ll never get an A.”

What kind of fucked up world do we live in where a teacher doesn’t recognize the power and joy of a hard earned B? Tell me that? Where does it say we have to be perfect to succeed? Yeah–I don’t get this mindset. It’s as alien to me as my bitch-troll-heifer’s… B’s don’t mean failure–they mean this person has a life and limitations and works with them both.

Anyway, we said she’s staying in there. If she fails, she takes it again… since the ‘transitions’ class would take up the same amount of time on her schedule as failing it and taking it again, but it wouldn’t carry the challenge or the self-confidence that passing this class would.

Big T just rolls along. He really is the greatest kid ever–if I ever sell lots and lots of books, I want to buy him a cool car. But not too cool– it’s gotta have a roll bar and several air bags and some sort of insta-foam so he never has to suffer even a scratch at the cruel hands of fate. I want to keep my baby safe! (Besides… all my royalty money right now is going to frivolities–like school clothes and insurance bills. Blegh. That’s not sexy money–really isn’t.)

And me?

I’ve got my head so far up my WIP that I eat, drink, and breathe Declan and Deacon. BTW? If nothing else, this puppy is proving that I CAN write a one volume wonder. And all that angst I tried to take out of Rampant because I wanted happy characters, just this once?

Oh yeah. Dek and Deacon are gonna break your hearts–right after they rip them outta your chests.

*Happy sigh* Good times:-)