COME ENTER THE WORLD OF MY IMAGINATION


ADULT AND JUVENILE FICTION


Archived Blog

Musings from the inner workings of my writer's mind

 Sept. 27 - Day 8


I need to make an exception to my statement yesterday that said my brain shuts down at 2pm, because I actually wrote this at 4 - and to my surprise, I believe it’s relatively coherent.

On my way home yesterday, I decided I needed a little boost and I knew a double shot of espresso would do the trick. After my many mugs of fully-caffeinated, dark roast at my “office” (by now, you know where I mean) every morning while I’m writing away, I often drive-thru later in the day to get a quick, double shot (or doppio, if you want to impress someone.). It’s just the boost I need to keep me going a few more hours. The irony is, is that it’s decaf. Yes, decaf. Now you may be asking yourself, how could two swallows of a non-caffeinated, albeit strong, coffee have that effect? Don’t ask me. Purely psychological, I’m sure. It does seems to be an oxymoron - decaf espresso, but it works for me.

Now, nothing of what I just said has anything to do with the rant I wrote yesterday at 4pm while I sat and chugged it down. Let me get back to that now.

Many coffeehouses now have a mobile app to order your beverages on your phone and have them waiting for you when you arrive. Personally, I’ve never really understood why you would pre-order a drink that you would have to get out of your car to get anyway, and would likely be cold by the time you get there. But then again, I don’t ever order the complicated - grande, venti, half-caff, full-caff, one pump, two pump, mocha, pumpkin, full whip, no whip….Mine is just 2 pitiful shots of liquid, black gold.

So, I don’t know whatever possessed me to do it yesterday. Why would I not just go through the drive-thru where, as soon as they hear my voice, they “pull the shots” in espresso lingo. It took me 8 minutes just to figure out how to place my order. By that time I could have already been there and downed it. But no. Stubborn to the end and determined not to be defeated by the process, I finally managed to place my order. Yay, for me. I knew that in just a few minutes (because I was only about a 2 minute drive away - which in itself makes the whole thing ridiculous) I would park, get out of my car, and walk in and find my tiny cup awaiting me.

But as we all know, things don’t often go as planned. So fast forward 2 minutes…I couldn't believe it….are you kidding me?

You know, it just occurred to me that this prequel to the end of the story has been rather lengthy and I shouldn’t take up any more of your valuable time if you’re getting ready for work, or school, or anything more exciting. So, I’ll end it here, which means if you want to hear the rest of the rant and end of my story, you’ll have to come back tomorrow. I know, crummy thing to do.

And to Danielle, I'm sorry. They'll have to wait until tomorrow to find out what an angel you are. It will be our secret until then.

 Sept. 26 - Day 7


Good afternoon to my loyal followers. Apologies that I'm posting so late in the day. Perhaps not late in the day for some of you, the ones who don't go to bed until 11 or midnight. But to this early riser whose eyes can't stay open past 8:30 and whose brain shuts down from any intelligent thought process by 2pm, it is truly late in the day. Well now there's a long, run-on sentence which only proves my point.

And since it's almost 3pm, I am tempted to just use that excuse to let this be the entire post for day #7.

But being a people-pleasing, over-achiever, the guilt would simply overtake me and send me running to the nearest store for a box of chocolate chip cookies and a pint of Ben and Jerry's chubby hubby ice cream (the flavor choice is no reflection on my husband.) Well it would be a good excuse anyway.

So what to do? There is simply nothing formulating in my mind - but perhaps that is because I'm sitting next to my grandson who is repeatedly bopping his R2-D2 action figure in the head who is making screeching, whistling R2-D2 sounds over, and, over, and over...and over again. If you don't have any idea what I'm talking about, consider yourself supremely lucky. I wish there was audio so I could give you just a little taste. I love this little boy to death, but at the moment....

Well, that's really all I have to say and you have my apologies. Tomorrow is another day and hopefully there won't be anything that prevents me from composing and posting in the early morning when I should be able to be far more coherent. One can only hope.

 Sept. 25 - Day 6


Good morning to you all, and for my friends down South - y'all.

I already had a subject in mind for this morning's post, and there was going to be a slightly derogatory mention of the aforementioned squirrels from above, but on my way here another thought popped into this sometimes scattered brain.

Last night, my husband and I watched the new 'Mummy' movie on tv. He had rented it the night before and said it was great, even better than the last one, and even better than the original Boris Karloff one from 1932, (no, we are not that old, but we watched it on tv as kids, and it scared the bejeebers out of us.

I am not a fan of bloody, gory, action films, at all, and he is fully aware of it. So, when he suggested I watch it with him (because it was so good he wanted watch it again) I asked him if there was any knife-slashing, blood-spurting, bone-crushing or facsimile of the same, and he said, no - it just had a very good plot line and great acting, and he knew I would enjoy it.

So, why would I not believe him. After 49 years, I knew I could trust his judgement.

Wrong, wrong...wrong!

Yes, it did have a great plot and great acting. He did not fib about that.

If you have not seen it and don't want to read a very slight spoiler, skip this and tune back in tomorrow.

Somehow, my husband didn't think that the mummy slashing her father's throat and black blood came spurting out, or violently driving a sword-like knife into the chest of her beloved, was gory. I suppose he thought that because the blood was black it wouldn't gross me out.

Wrong, wrong, and yet again, wrong!

I will not reveal any other movie details so as not to ruin it for you, except to say that it was only mildly scary, but exceedingly stomach-churning.

I will say, that if you took out all the disgusting parts, it was a very good movie and the ending was a great cliff-hanger. If these kinds of movies are your right up your alley, you will love it.

But leave me to the old black and white tear-jerkers and modern chick flicks, and I'll be a happy woman.

If you're wondering if I made my husband sleep on the couch...keep wondering.

 Sept. 24 - Day 5


  I awoke to the gentle sounds of nature and lazily arose from the luxuriant tranquility of my bed. Leisurely prepared myself for the day ahead, the day fraught with the promise of new and exciting things to come. Drove down the beautifully bucolic tree-lined street, looking at the majestic, orange and purple-streaked sky in the distance.

Lovely sight, lovely thoughts. Are visions of lush, green foliage turning vibrant shades of red and yellow in the autumnal light dancing in your head? Can you hear the cheerful sound of chirping robins? Are the tranquil environs filling you with serenity and hope?

Well, back to reality then.

5:26a.m. - awoke to the god-awful, scratching sound of the family of squirrels that have taken up residence in the attic.

5:35a.m. - struggled to extricate myself from the damp, tangled mess of bedsheets, the sheets winning the fight.

5:40a.m. - finally free - dragged myself to the bathroom. Looked in the mirror. Ugh. What did I expect? No magical, mystical transformation has occurred. Same old, same old. Brushed the teeth, washed the face, plumped up the hair and ready to go.

5:56a.m. - carefully removed the downed, dead tree limb from the roof of my car that fell from one of the hundreds of scraggly, scrub pine trees that surround us. Watched as the chipmunks and squirrels scurried out from beneath my car, praying none of them were holed up in one of the wheel wells.

5:58a.m. - drove down the street trying to avoid hitting any of the aforementioned vermin (secretly harboring the thought that ridding the world of one or two of them might be heralded as heroic by anyone else at the mercy of the screechy, little critters.)

5:59a.m. - nearly hit a stop sign as the unmerciful orange glare of the sunrise shone directly in to my eyes, blinding me completely.

6:20a.m. - finally arrived safely at my 'office' and sitting with my mug of dark-roast, laptop in front of me, typing away.

And you, my faithful friends and followers, are the lucky (or unlucky, depending on your perspective) recipients of my squirrely (pardon the pun) thoughts.

 Sept. 23 - Day 4


Woke up this morning to find that 21 people have been curious enough to check out this blog. What a great way to start the day. To those 21 people, you have my deepest gratitude and if there's anything I can ever do for you...mow your lawn...shovel your driveway...give you my first-born child (although she's 50)...message me and I'll see what I can do.

So, if you're on this site and clicked on the HOME page, you'll know that I'm an author of fiction books for kids and adults -- no, not that kind of "adult" books. Although the title of my book FIFTY SHADES OF GREEN OR COFFEEHOUSE CONFESSIONS OF THE UNCOMMON JOE, might be a little misleading, so perhaps I should clarify it.

All of my writing is done at Starbucks every day. I don't know why it has to be that way, but it does. I simply can not write anywhere else. Even on vacation, I have to seek out the local Starbucks to write. I am standing at their door every morning before they open, laptop bag slung over my shoulder, anxiously awaiting one of my favorite early morning baristas to unlock the door. Then I plop my portable office down in the corner that has a big, comfy leather chair and wander to the counter where my mug of dark roast is already waiting for me. They are my 'barista family' and it seemed only right to write about them. So that inspired the FIFTY SHADES book.

As I sat there every day, busily typing away on my second book SAINTS AND SINNERS, I stealthily (if that's a word) watched and listened to the conversations of the customers sitting around me, and the busy baristas as the prepared latte after latte (decaf, hal-calf, full-fat, non-fat, one pump, two pump, no whip, and so on and so forth) I got the idea to write about it. I had to assure them that the stories were purely fictitious and bore no resemblance to them, because some of the stories were just a little dark and twisted.

It truly warmed my heart that when I had my book release for the book at a local bookstore, all my green-aproned 'family' were there and it was a great hit. So much so, that a sequel was requested and therefore FIFTY-ONE SHADES OF GREEN - THE EMERALD INN or BEHIND CLOSED DOORS was born.

So here I am this morning at 5:30, sipping my coffee, typing away, sharing the experience with you.

4 days down, 361 days to go.

Have a sparkling day, my friends. 

 Sept. 22 - Day 3


So, I am not unaware that I start many thoughts using the word “so” which is not particularly ideal in a writers world. There are ‘do’s and don’ts’ and too many literary faux pas to list, but there are also certain words that don’t convey the message as well, so, pardon moi. When I rattle on with the nebulous thoughts in my head, words just spill out and have a life of their own.

So, that being said, it’s day 3 and I just couldn’t seem to settle my brain down enough to get a good nights sleep last night. Not that that is an unusual occurrence. Since the dreaded “M” at the age of 56, sleep has become an elusive thing of the past. Oh, how I long for the days (nights, actually) of climbing into a nice warm bed, with crisp white sheets, pulling the covers up and drifting into a lusciously peaceful sleep that wasn’t disturbed until that unmerciful cricket chirping of the alarm. But at least that was the only complaint I had — crickets from the nightstand. Oh what I wouldn’t give for them to return. Now, it’s tangled, damp sheets and matted hair from tossing and turning in an internal oven. My poor husband is used to the dilemma and has adapted himself accordingly. Wisely, ten years ago, after hearing the horror stories from his friends about the “change” in their wives, he foresaw the future and persuaded me to purchase a king-size bed. No more snuggling, no more spooning (not that there had been all that much of that after 40 years of marriage). But still, I always felt safe and secure when I could reach over and know he was next to me. From the moment we started sharing a bed all those many years ago, I had a habit (comforting to me, not so much to him) of grabbing hold of the waist of his PJ bottoms until I fell asleep. He is an incredibly patient man and he knew that he was stuck in one position until I fell asleep. But back in those days that meant a matter of minutes. Now it was hours.

So,now, back to the current bed status and nightly ritual

First, I put my white, cotton comforter on top of the sheets and comforter that are already there. I accidentally stumbled upon a cotton fabric that stays blissfully cool during the night as long as it doesn’t touch my body. Then, I pull it out and fold it over to the cool other side. Bliss. It’s kind of like turning a rotisserie chicken on a spit. Then, no matter what season it is, I turn on the window air conditioner. My husband has long-since given up the question of why I need it on in winter when the room temperature is already 65 degrees (since our bedroom doesn’t heat very efficiently.) I can’t really explain it either. I often wonder myself why 65 degrees in the summer feels lovely, but just the opposite in winter. Makes no sense to me at all. But there you have it. He goes to bed in thermal pajamas and sleeps under two blankets and a comforter, while I slip into nothing more than cotton panties (sorry for the distasteful visual) and sleep on top of my best friend (the aforementioned comforter, in case your mind conjured up anything more disturbing.) Then I surround myself with five pillows. Two king-size ones to separate me from him because the heat from his frozen body radiates

“So,” there you have it. I know I am far from the only woman in this position and their husbands far from the only recipients of nightly distress and what possessed me to write this in the first place?

Oh, yes — last night. I have much more to say on the subject, but that is best left for another day, another blogpost. I guess it turns out that I have more to say than I originally thought.

If anyone is out there, I’m signing off until tomorrow.

 Sept. 21 - Day 2

Okay, so I'm back, day two. Surprise, surprise. Maybe not to you (the 13 wonderful people who read yesterday's post), but certainly to me.

As I referenced yesterday, in the movie Julie and Julia, Julie started a blog to chronicle her way through 365 days of learning to cook every recipe in Julia Child's cookbook. She set herself a goal of one year because she never finished anything she started.

So in thinking about it, except for writing all my books, I have a tendency to give up relatively easily, and the thought of a year-long commitment seems like an insane idea. Who in their right mind would want to tie themselves down for 365 days. I mean after all, who can predict what twists and turns life will take in one day, one week, or one month for that matter, much less an entire year.

That being said, a little voice whispered, "what the heck, go for it."

"Go for what?" I whispered back.

"C'mon. Go for it!"

Seriously? 365 days, blogging every day? No way. I might make it 3 or 4 days, maybe even a week, but sorry to say, my track record doesn't bode well for anything much more than that.

"Chicken!"

That did it. Goading is one thing, insults are another matter altogether.

So what's a girl (a very old girl) to do?

Take on the challenge, of course, knowing full well that I'm never going to make it. I simply don't don't have enough to say (although friends and family seem to think I have more than enough to say. Usually more than they want to hear.)

I figure I need as much motivation as I can muster up, so I decided that if I do make it, I deserve one heck of a gift. So I throw it out there -- any suggestions? - to prop me up during those days I'm on my deathbed during flu season, or in the middle of a book deadline, or just feel like pulling the covers up over my head because things aren't going my way, or it's raining, or it's snowing...or because I just don't feel like.

So come on people, help me out -- think of something that at the end of a year would make me sing -- something that will keep me going, today, tomorrow, and every day after that until Sept. 20, 2018.

If you're up to the challenge, I'd appreciate it if you would please post your ideas on my FB author [email protected] authorjudithsessler.

Of course, if no one reads this, then I suppose I'm off the hook anyway, because you'll never know the difference, lol


 Sept. 20 - Day 1


Okay, so bear with me. This is my first time out into the world of a million and one blogs and I openly and honestly have no idea what I'm doing. So why then am I doing this? Because someone (who will remain nameless,) suggested it. Not that I always listen to or follow suggestions. Actually, the reality is that I rarely listen because I have a somewhat rebellious and suspicious nature and have to test the waters for myself.

So the first and foremost question I asked myself is...what on earth do I have to say that anyone in their right mind would want to hear? Even my blessed husband of 49 years who listens to everything I have to say, because he knows what's good for him, asked me "What's a blog? Why do you need one? And what the heck would you talk about? And who on earth would read it?" Now there's a vote of confidence and a shot in the arm, don't you think?

Why am I taking the plunge? Well, one of my favorite movies, the one I've watched so many times I can voice the dialogue right along with them, is Julie and Julia. If you haven't seen it, without going into the details of why, Julie starts a blog, and her initial reaction is that no-one is ever going to read it, so it really doesn't matter what she writes. So I'm taking my hat off to Julie for the notion that no-one will ever read this. Q.E.D. I can blog my little heart out because there isn't anybody out there reading this anyway.

So greetings to all of you, or more likely none of you. This is the first of either many posts or the last of them. Tune in tomorrow for something I might just have to say...or nothing at all.

So how did I do blogworld? Actually? I don't think I want to know.