Colin’s blog post…

We are starting to get into a world where, instead of having it where you buy a video game and can play it forever, we just can’t. Look at a game like Dark Spore. It was an okay game I’ve heard. I have two copies and I can’t play either, unless I somehow get a crack for it or a server emulator, which is stupid. There are people who probably saw the game and bought it after the servers were brought down. I know that because that’s when I bought mine…

If you’re interested in reading more, please head over to Colin’s blog here.


The wrong way to get recognized…

November 22nd: I’ve read more about Lori Alexander and it turns out she’s an asshole who lives to shame childfree women and basically anyone who doesn’t follow her narrow ideas of living. It’s probably best to completely ignore her.


I’m pretty sure most bloggers want their blog to get noticed, to go viral. Well maybe not the people writing their diary online and, in those cases, I suggest a lovely journal from Marshalls. I know that I’d love to see one of my posts get noticed. I should be more careful about what I wish because sometimes it’s like wishing on a monkey’s paw, you get what you want but in the worst possible way.

There’s a blogger who, like me, has a small blog and a Facebook page. Our content is worlds apart. I write about Colin, LGBTQ issues (mainly trans), vegan recipes, my novels, and mental health issues (mainly my own). I’m also an atheist. Hers is about her interpretation of the Bible, offering suggestions for living a godly life, in full blown posts on her blog and handwritten notes on her Facebook page… with the occasional photo thrown in.

so regrettable

I want that font!

A friend of mine posted against the blog on her page, after getting banned for commenting. I went on as well and, I must admit, I commented too.

“I need to go get another tattoo. Would girls still like me?”

I wondered why I never got banned and then I took another look at the sheer number of posts and their times. I had to scroll up to get out of the 1 minute old messages then the same for two, three, five… there was no way a single person could delete that deluge. Plus many of the posts were people calling friends in to see and comment.

Then I wondered why she didn’t just delete that post… until I scrolled down and realized it wouldn’t make a bit of difference. Her posts were buried under thousands of comments. She’d become viral in the worst possible way. I figured, by then, that she was probably extremely shaken, maybe even crying, and away from the computer. I know I would be. Most of the comments were along the lines of:

No, REAL men preefer strong independent women who dont take.lessons on how to live or who to be from.a FB article. This lady is nuts!

That was an average comment. There were better and there were plenty worse. I did not see a single comment supporting her.

I get that people have the right to their own opinion but if your opinion has already been shared 500 times, do you really need to post too? There’s even an article on Woke Sloth that God helpfully shared (the Facebook persona, not the sky Daddy). Someone, who appears to lead a quiet, sheltered life, has suddenly been shoved into the lime light and it’s all negative.

There are all sorts of people that I don’t care if they get negative press. Actual Nazis, rapists, child molestors, people who make pickle and peanut butter sandwiches, and bigots of any kind. She didn’t fall into any of those categories as far as I could tell. She simply wanted to share her 1950’s views on the Bible. She certainly didn’t deserve what happened to her page.

With any luck, something new will happen in the next few days and she’ll fade, once again, into obscurity. And, hopefully, when the next viral blog shows up, they’ll be remembered as a human and not just something to mock.

The wrong way home…

It wasn’t the stop I’d planned to wait at. My original plan called for me to walk five more blocks but that would take me 10 minutes and my bus app informed me I had nine. So I hurried over to the nearest stop and stood beside the man who was waiting there.

It didn’t take long before he started to chat. His truck was in the shop, otherwise he wouldn’t be here waiting alongside me. A standard topic for drivers who find themselves catching the bus. They wouldn’t normally be there, hanging out on the street corner with us plebeians but circumstances happened. He’d just dropped his truck off and had been up since yesterday so was looking forward to getting home and getting a few hours rest. There wasn’t really any time for me to speak, not that I knew what to say.

Then he asked, “Do you know what bus to take to get to Taunton and Wilson?”

Taunton Road is in the north part of Oshawa. It used to be pretty much the edge of town but the city’s sprawled north of it now. And Wilson was to the east of us by about ten blocks. We were currently downtown, so nowhere near either road.

Three years ago he could have caught the 407 Ritson bus and it would have taken him straight down Taunton but, short of a time machine, that wasn’t going to happen. However, the 416 Kedron did go down there. Plus it left from the college bus loop. The 401 Simcoe, one of the main buses in Oshawa, ended there and it conveniently came to the stop where we waited. So I told him just that. He thanked me and continued on with his one sided conversation.

“My house is worth 800 thousand dollars,” he proudly informed me. “When I bought it in 2009, it was worth only 300 thousand.”

I was about to congratulate him when he continued. “My wife is indicting me. You know, for the house. You women have way too much power in this country.”

I silently cheered for his wife.

“See?” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of money, sliding one twenty from the top. “Who’s on all your money?”

“Queen Elizabeth,” I replied simply.

“See, a woman. That’s my proof,” he said this cheerfully, smiling the whole time. “Every time I look at money, I’m reminded of who’s in power here.”

The 401 bus arrived and he climbed on then back off within seconds. The bus pulled away without him.

“Why did you get off?” I asked.

“The (male) driver told me to catch the 407,” he replied.

“It won’t take you to Taunton,” I cautioned him. “But it will take you to Coldstream and Wilson.”

“That’s even better!” the man said happily.

The 407 came along moments later. I got on first and settled myself while he sat down behind me a bit later. Two blocks later he was up and out of his seat.

“Where are you going?” I asked in bewilderment. He had at least another twenty minutes left before his stop.

“The (male) driver told me to go to Centre Street,” he replied as he slipped out the back doors.

Oshawa has one way streets through their downtown. Simcoe Street runs north and Centre Street runs south. There’s no way on earth he could catch a southbound bus on Centre to get to the north west part of town. No way at all.

I looked out the window at him standing there, still happy, clutching his transfer in one hand then settled back in my seat to go home. I wonder how long it took him to get to his?


The bus he should have taken

My spring book sale…

I probably shouldn’t have ran. I was different enough to begin with and running attracted attention. But I was scared and I needed Papa.

I didn’t know what I’d do when he was gone.

The soles of my shoes slipped in the dust as I turned the corner toward home, making me stagger a little, but I was used to how worn they were and quickly caught my balance. One leap let me avoid the wobbly bit of our front steps then I slipped inside.

Papa lay on his bed in the front room, cocooned in blankets. He stared at me blankly for a moment before recognition slowly seeped in.

“Aren? Is something wrong?” His words were whisper thin and edged in pain.

“Papa? What’s treason?” I gasped as I leaned against the door. The sweat wicked into my dress as I stood waiting for his reply.

I’d understood most of the notice in the village square, more than enough to terrify me. The rest hinged on that one unknown word. Hopefully it wasn’t as bad as I feared although, judging by experience, things tended to be worse than expected and not better.

Papa pulled himself up a bit more onto his pillow. “Treason? It’s when you go against the king,” he replied. He coughed and the sound echoed through the mostly empty room. “Of course you need to have a king in order to be charged with that.”

I couldn’t stop the shiver that traced a path along my spine.

“It’s okay Aren, I know what Robert’s calling himself,” he assured me. “Smallest province in Avenna and he claims he’s king. I could call myself king of this bed just as easily and it would mean as much.”

He gestured briefly across the bed then he winced and his hand dropped.

“Papa?” I took a step forward then stopped when he smiled.

“I’m fine,” he whispered. He coughed again and raised his voice slightly. “When King Nicholas was alive, treason was one of the few crimes with a death penalty. I assume that much hasn’t changed.”

It felt like my heart dropped into my stomach. I stared at him in horror. He stared back, his face was so pale it looked waxy.

“It’s that bad Aren? What is he calling treason?”

“Half-elven babies,” I replied. I was right, it was worse.


If the above couple of paragraphs interest you, you’re in luck! My book is currently on sale for $2.99 (or $10.99 for a kick ass paperback). For the price of a Starbucks coffee, you can have an enjoyable read. Every person who has read this book so far has loved it and several are eagerly waiting for a sequel (something that’s not happening until I have more sales). The book is also LGBTQ friendly (the T is fleshed out in the second book, which is already half written).

If you are in the United States, you can find the ebook here. If you’re in the UK, you can find the ebook here. And if you’re in Canada the book is here.

I am currently nearing the top of a subsidized wait list for housing and every penny I make is going towards moving expenses.

Thank you and enjoy!

heart book