All this time. On and on I've no regrets.

Here are some more answers to this post. Enjoy or whatever.

Sabrina (who has a blog open to invited readers only) asks:
When your child asks you how babies are born and you tell her "you go to the hospital and the doctor helps you deliver the baby" and then she says "no mommy, How does the baby get out of your tummy, does he cut it out?" how do you explain vagina's and pushing and all that fun stuff? bear in mind she's 4.

Here's what I did when the Boy Child asked me.

I raised up the side of my shirt and said, "See this little scar right here? That's where you came out!"

Because I had a c-section. And not a traditional C. They came out the hole on my side.

That probably doesn't apply to you so allow me to apologize. Here's what I would say:

"I'll tell you when you are a little older".

Repeat as necessary.


squishytushy (who actually has a microscopic hiney) asks:
Are we going to learn Boy Child & Girl Child's real names in your book?

No ma'am.

Boy and Girl Child are the most valuable things I have in this world. I will do whatever I can to keep them safe and respect their privacy.

Boy Child asked me if I would please dedicate a book to him using his real name when he turns eighteen. I promised him I would. God willing


Fine for now asks:
How did you get to be so awesome?

Bless your heart...I never realized you were questionable.

Also? XOXO!



La Petite Redhead asks:
How did you end up writing the book and getting it published?

It's interesting, actually. Well, interesting, might be a bit strong. It's interesting to me.

I started writing a novel back in November 2006. I plodded along with this, despite the fact that my computer took a huge crap and died at one point and I lost EVERY SINGLE WORD I HAD WRITTEN, until about April of 2008. Then I called it done and started sending out query letters.

The novel? Well, it sucks.

I mean no one has ever said it sucks. But I know. It sucks. Truly. It Lamey McLame with Lame dressing.

So I started editing and rewriting it and trying to take it from a huge, steaming pile of crap to something that I wasn't ashamed of for years to come, and I came to a realization.

I couldn't make it any better.
It just sucked.

So I got really sad and frustrated and irritated and said something like, "The hell with this" and I haven't opened the file in months.

What I did, instead, was write a book of funny little stories about when I was dating after my first husband left me. I wrote it and I read it and I didn't absolutely hate it and want it dead.

I took it as a good sign.

So I worked on it some more. And I read it, and it? Wasn't bad.

I gave it to my good friend Dawn and asked her to edit/read it. She did. And she loved it. Or she told me she did, anyway.

That was encouraging.

As for the actual publishing part? I'm going to answer that in more detail because of someone else's comment. So I'll hold off for now.



This is getting long, so I'll stop for now. You still have time to leave your comment on this post and get the chance to get my book with my fancy, schmancy autograph. So if that kind of thing turns you on, help yourself.