One Writer's Block Party

On Overcoming My Writer's Block...

2019-10-30T11:52:00.003-05:00

So I finally finished FrankenDom's Monster and released it 7 years to the day after I released FrankenDom. I'm kind of known for my epic episodes of writer's block--in fact, my blog is titled One Writer's Block Party--but I took it to new heights with Monster.

The original FrankenDom took me only 7 weeks to write, from inception of the idea to putting it up for sale, and it was about 10,000 words longer than the sequel. I'd set up Monster pretty well, and I was confident I'd be able to have it up within a year, at most. And I did start writing it almost right away, because the ideas were already percolating in my mind.

Then I ran into a problem--the book demanded a true external plot to complete the main protagonist's arc. To say plotting has never been my strong point would be a massive understatement, so of course I went straight for my favorite parts, the hero's damaged emotions and the healing power of kink. But I kept writing in circles, never able to move the story forward. I changed POV, I started in different places, and tried everything I could to get the story moving. I wrote and wrote and wrote, for YEARS, and eventually I made it to 60,000 words. But the story was boring because it was going nowhere--BECAUSE I COULDN'T PLOT MY WAY OUT OF A PAPER BAG.

But this summer, a friend who's a very good plotter recommended a craft book, Save the Cat Writes A Novel by Jessica Brody, and my writing life was forever changed. It taught me the 15 essential plot points for a successful novel, and compared them to books I'd read and movies I'd seen, and it all finally started to make sense. I read the book in less than 2 hours, and then sat down with that list of 15 plot points and plugged in all the plot elements for Monster I'd had jumbled in my head for literally YEARS...and suddenly I had a coherent rough outline of my plot.

I literally cried. And laughed, because it just seemed too easy. (And it WAS too easy, because my muse is a sadistic bastard.) But that list of 15 plot points helped me start the book over again--and yes, I started all over from the beginning. I only managed to save 3 scenes (less than 5,000 words) from my first 60k partial draft. I actually kept a Cut Stuff document, saving all the large swaths of text I cut in case I wanted to pull them back in later, and that document wound up being 93,000 words, because many times I had to write scenes 2-3 times before I got them right.

But every time I got stuck and started writing in circles, I'd consult that list of plot points and go, "Aha! That's what I'm supposed to be doing with that scene, and this is where I'm going next!" And I'd be unblocked almost immediately.

And in just a few months, the book was finished. Finally. And I love it so much, and it's SO much better than the original draft, I can't even begin to tell you.

So that's the secret of how FrankenDom's Monster finally got written--I learned to plot. If you're a writer and you're having difficulty with plotting and/or writer's block, I'd HIGHLY recommend you buy Save the Cat Writes A Novel. It rescued me from a seven-year block, and now I'll never write a book without plotting it again.

FrankenDom's Monster Releases October 29th!

2019-10-25T19:33:00.002-05:00

Yes, at long last, FrankenDom's Monster will release on October 29, 2019--seven years to the day from when the original FrankenDom was released.

For those of you who pre-ordered it on Amazon already...I'M SORRY! I didn't finish it in time to get it edited and uploaded by the pre-order deadline, so the pre-orders have been canceled.

But don't worry, it will be up on the 29th! You can check here or on my Coming Soon page for buy links on release day!

Blurb:

I’d rather die than live as your monster.

That’s what I told my brother Julian, but he ignored my wishes and performed an experimental transplant. Now the real Jordan Kilmartin is dead, leaving me in his place.

I spend my days hiding in a castle, keeping Julian’s research on a tight leash and searching for clues about my mysterious donor. I’ll never lay hands on another human being until I know I won’t descend into his madness.

Breanna McBride turns that plan on its head when she spies on me in my bath. When I lock her in my dungeon, the sexual energy between us is explosive—and potentially deadly. The only way to ensure we both make it out alive is to negotiate a BDSM scene and call in Hans Hauptman to watch over us as we play—and even that’s a risk, because he’s brutally sexy and determined to bring me back to life, whether I like it or not.

But there are darker forces at work in this cursed castle, and no matter how vigilant we are, someone will wind up dead.

I just hope it’s not one of us.

Reader Advisory: Not for the vanilla at heart! Contains a man on the edge, a nurse on a mission and a gleeful sadist with boundary issues, all of whom practice Risk-Aware Consensual Kink. Their BDSM scenes include breath play, caging, predicament bondage, ménage, m/m sexual encounters, gymnastic positions and cruelty to induce emotional catharsis. Also contains potentially triggering violence. Prepare to bite your nails, wipe your eyes and change your underwear at least once.

About Last Night...

2016-10-29T12:51:00.001-05:00

Let me start by saying that I've unpublished all my blog posts for the moment, because I feel like the people who are most likely to read them right now are the ones who will do it for all the wrong reasons. I'll go through later and repost all my favorites, maybe leave out all the promotional stuff because it's old anyway.

So, I've been mostly in the closet about my writing career because of my mother-in-law. She's deeply religious, and at the time I started writing, she was also depressed because of the death of her husband three years earlier. Although she retreated into her bible and her faith, she remained depressed for eight years, something she said she didn't even realize until she met her new husband. She'd lost her joy when she lost my father-in-law and I didn't see any point in adding to her sorrow.

Her new husband, as it turns out, is even more religious and very outspoken about it. Although my views have become much more liberal over the years, I've done my best to respect their beliefs while remaining true to my own. I believe this is the only way any family can ever get along. Rather than being confrontational and flaunting my career, I've kept it low-key, both to avoid upsetting my mother-in-law unnecessarily and to keep my writing from influencing the children in the family.

Now, fast-forward to last night. My mother-in-law called my husband and me to her house for a family discussion that turned out to be a confrontation about my writing. To "clear the air" and basically convict me and question my spirituality because I write erotic romance novels that include sex outside of marriage, polyamory and alternative sexuality. It wasn't pleasant for any of us, especially when they began trying to convict Mr Robin too. Both of us thought about getting up and walking out, but ultimately I wound up explaining my views very calmly and rationally, which is amazing to me considering I had no advance notice that I was the topic at hand.

So what do I believe? I believe Jesus preached love and acceptance, not hate. I believe He would be the first to open His arms to a loving "sinner" and turn away from a self-righteous "believer" who's anxious to cast the first stone. I believe He would rather see a relationship built on love and mutual respect between two men, or two women or three people, than a "traditional" marriage where the wife is forced to submit to an abusive husband. I believe that in the end, we'll be judged on how much love we had for others, not how much hate we had for their sins.

This is who I am. Who we are. We're the same people we've always been--time and experience have simply made us more tolerant, more patient, and more loving toward others. If you can't accept that, it's your problem, not mine.

Crappily Ever After: My EC Fairy Tale

2016-03-01T21:35:00.000-06:00

Once upon a time, I was a loyal Ellora’s Cave author and reader. I defended EC on the internet when rumors started circulating, and I even stood up for them at an RWA Annual General Meeting, back when the national board of directors still refused to recognize e-publishers.

If EC hadn’t betrayed my trust so completely over the years since then, I’d still be a loyal EC author. They gave me a great start in this industry, and my checks (when EC bothers to send them) are still very nice—I published only five books with them from 2007-09, three novels and two short novellas, and yet my last few royalty checks averaged around $900 a month. Why would I want to throw that away by speaking out against EC?

Because good money—when it comes—no longer outweighs the harm EC is causing with their words and actions.

When EC’s August 2014 layoffs were announced, I’d already believed for years that the company was experiencing cash flow problems, and the layoffs convinced me they were in dire financial straits. However, I never spoke publicly against EC until they filed their SLAPP suit against Dear Author. Even then I behaved professionally, offering an unembellished declaration of my personal experiences and conclusions about EC for official court records. I didn’t blog about it. I didn't ask readers not to buy my EC books. I let my sworn testimony speak for itself.

The same cannot be said of EC. Even as the owner declined to be named in, or provide any sworn testimony for, EC’s SLAPP suit against Dear Author, she enlisted the help of internet trolls to wage a vicious flame war on authors whose only crimes were going public with their experiences at EC and demanding to be paid the royalties they’re owed. While author after author has come forward with sworn statements, financial records, contracts, emails and other proof to back up Dear Author's claims, EC has ignored the mountain of evidence and offered up nothing but bombastic rhetoric and paranoid conspiracy theories.

So what are the facts?

1. EC has been continually paying me (and most, if not all, EC authors) outside of contract terms since 2009, when they pushed royalty payments from the end of the first month after monies were received to the end of the second month, and began sitting on royalty monies for an extra month. This is a clear violation of the contract terms. EC’s own Accounting clause spells it out in black and white: every time EC pays royalties, they're required to send authors “any amount(s) then owing” “for all monies actually received by publisher”. There’s no provision allowing them to make a partial payment or to withhold royalties for an extra month or two (or six or eight). If they pay royalties every three months, they must pay ALL the royalties owed for those three months. The CEO's sworn testimony that EC had never paid outside of contract terms, that they'd simply paid us “less early”, is erroneous at best. I have to wonder if any of EC's principals has ever actually read their own contract.

Here is the Accounting clause in all my contracts:

2. EC is now seven months behind on my royalty payments. According to the payment schedule Ellora’s Cave provided when they signed my first book, they should have mailed royalties for monies they’ve received through January 2016 by now. But the last check they sent me, dated November 5th, was for monies they’d received from March through June of 2015. They’re still sitting on seven months’ worth of my royalties.

3. EC made a deliberate unilateral change to the payment terms of my books (and those of many other authors) contracted before the spring of 2008, and as a result, they’ve underpaid my royalties by more than $18,000 since late 2011. Because they’d suddenly made their royalty statements long and difficult to analyze, with many and varied amounts supposedly received from Amazon for each book, I didn’t detect the underpayment until late 2014, when I audited all of my royalty statements. I sent EC a spreadsheet detailing the underpayments, demanded immediate payment and offered to accept the rights to my books in lieu of payment. In reply, EC's CEO claimed they had notified authors about the change of payment terms on the business loop in 2011, and since I didn’t object within 18 months, the statements became final and binding on me—therefore EC owed me nothing. However, there are several major flaws in her argument:

a) Unilateral notification on a Yahoo loop does not meet the contract’s requirements for changing payment terms. The contracts call for any changes to be agreed to in writing by both parties. That could have been accomplished very easily. All EC had to do was post a contract addendum in the business loop files for authors to sign and return—and in fact they’ve done this for other contract changes—but that time they chose not to. They CHOSE to breach my contracts rather than negotiate in good faith. I can only assume they did this to me and the other authors because they were afraid we would refuse to sign the addendum and then EC would be forced to accept less third-party vendor profit on those older books, which in my case had already paid for themselves many times over. Here is the modification clause in all my contracts:

b) The messages posted on the business loop did NOT inform authors EC would be disregarding the contract language in older contracts that prohibited them from paying less than the required 37.5% of EC’s webstore price. They touted a new higher royalty rate on net, which didn’t seem suspicious because EC's publisher had already explained to us at a conference luncheon that EC is allowed to pay authors MORE than the contract stipulates, but NOT LESS. That was why EC came up with their higher “list price” on digital books, so that they could pay Amazon’s cut and still make an acceptable profit while paying royalties in accordance with those earlier contract terms. I have screen shots of their messages to the author loops proving that they said nothing about paying less than the contract terms allowed.

c) Even if the eighteen-month clause did apply (which I don’t believe it should since EC deliberately breached the contract and, in my opinion, obfuscated their royalty statements to hide that breach), EC still owes me more than $13,000 for the 18 months preceding the date I first notified them. When I told the CEO that, she reiterated that their attorneys had determined EC owes me nothing. Since then, I’ve sent EC a couple of reminders of what they owe me, and not only have they NOT paid it, but they’ve actually suggested that I offer THEM $18,000 to buy back the rights to my books.

4. Several of my more recent statements have been incorrect. Print books were paid at ebook rates, ebooks were paid at the wrong prices, and at reduced prices a month before the prices were actually reduced—multiple errors on the same statements. And even after I sent emails to EC’s CFO explaining exactly what was wrong and what the rates and prices should be, the adjustments were sometimes incorrect too. This ongoing lack of accuracy in their royalty accounting flies directly in the face of the owner's claims that, because of the alleged “new accounting system”, EC “must verify and re-verify every statement by hand”. As far as I can tell, no one is verifying, much less re-verifying, anything.

5. EC routinely violates USPS regulations, making it difficult for authors to prove when royalty checks were mailed. For years, EC made a practice of turning off the date on their postage meter machine whenever they mailed royalty checks, and now that they've switched to Stamps.com, they continue to abuse their metering privilege. Section 604.4.6.1 of the USPS Domestic Mail Manual states that, for all metered first-class mail except return envelopes, the meter stamp must contain a human-readable date. Our local postmaster verified this regulation, and confirmed that PC postage is considered metered mail and therefore subject to the same restrictions. Here is the last envelope I received from EC, folded so that both the return address and postage meter stamp are showing:

I have royalty statements, contracts, spreadsheets, envelopes, emails and lots of screen shots to back up all these claims and more.

I’m not responsible for EC’s downward spiral, any more than Ann Jacobs, Cat Grant, Avril Ashton, Joanna Wylde or any other EC author is. In fact, our unpaid royalties are probably the only thing allowing the company to dangle from that crumbling financial cliff by its fingernails.

Bloggers and other interested parties like Dear Author, Courtney Milan, Dierdre Saoirse Moen, Tejas and Karen aren't responsible for EC's spiral either, and I, for one, am grateful for their persistence in holding EC accountable.

And while Amazon, with their lowball pricing, deep publisher discounts and self-serving marketing strategies, has no doubt contributed heavily to EC's financial straits, they aren't responsible for how EC has reacted to them.

EC's principals alone are responsible for their actions. Their questionable (and in my opinion, unethical) business practices, their dogged denials in the face of a mountain of evidence, their desperate attempt to silence authors and critics with that SLAPP suit, their habit of “losing” readers’ bookshelves every time they upgrade their website... It's these factors, along with the owner’s flaming attempts to blame EC's problems on some racist, misogynistic, industry-wide conspiracy, that have destroyed Ellora's Cave’s reputation. And now, rather than rebuilding the company’s public image by owning up to its responsibilities and paying authors in full, the owner is openly devoting the company’s time, energy and resources to waging war on romance authors and bloggers—and even the romance industry itself—while portraying herself and EC as martyrs on a level with Joan of Arc. She’s making a laughingstock of both herself and EC, and I can’t imagine either will ever recover from it on a professional level.

So here’s where I finally ask my readers to please stop buying my EC books—not so that I can get the rights to them back, but because I’m tired of financing the owner’s malicious, deluded attacks on decent authors and bloggers.

It’s a sad conclusion to what started out as a wonderful fairy tale, dragging on long after it should have reached The End. I hope for EC’s sake that they finally do the right thing and either pay their authors or give us back the rights to our books and call it a day before it’s too late for all of us.

ETA: I'm closing comments on this post to prevent further flame wars.

A Carnal Christmas Is UP!

2014-12-21T07:46:00.000-06:00

You can buy it in any format NOW at Amazon!

And Nook!

And Smashwords!

IT. IS. DONE.

2014-12-20T08:16:00.000-06:00

Yes, I finally finished A Carnal Christmas! It's about 10,000 words more than I was expecting. NEVER AGAIN will I tempt fate by saying a book I'm writing is coming easily...

Anyway, it needs a fast edit, and then I'll get it uploaded, so hopefully by the end of the day or early tomorrow, you should be able to get your copy. Thank you so much for your patience!

And now, at 8:15am, I'm finally going to bed. *thud*

FrankenDom's Monster Revised Playlist

2014-03-01T12:52:00.000-06:00

Back by popular demand is my FrankenDom's Monster playlist. Thanks to my 17yo son, I've revised it quite a bit since the last time I posted--he's got great taste in music! See anything you like on this list? :D

2013-11-21T17:09:00.000-06:00

Yay, it’s finally release day for Amorous Overnight, and I’m thrilled to be here with the lovely and generous Cristal Ryder!

When I wrote Alien Overnight lo these many years ago, I had no idea that Shelley Bonham would have her own book—I just thought she was a nurse (one of my own personal heroes), a great friend and the perfect foil for the heroine of that book, Dr. Monica Teague (aka Monica the Intrepid). Monica was thrilled to be living among the aliens and headed to a distant planet, while Shelley was practically afraid of her own shadow—she only took the job at the alien mating compound for the money and couldn’t wait to get away from the aliens themselves.

It took me a while to dig out the real Shelley, the one who was a heroine rather than a victim—the nurturing protector I’d planted the seeds for in Alien Overnight—but I think it was worth the time and effort. She turned out to be someone I’d really love to hang out and be friends with. I hope you like her, too. :D

And as for the sexy alien heroes of this story…Cecine and Hastion turned absolutely everything I’d originally thought about them upside down. Both of them proved once again that appearances can be deceptive—that strength can cover deep vulnerability and looking meek and mild-mannered doesn’t mean you can’t kick ass and take names later when the need arises.

Blurb:

What's better than one hot alien at your service? Two hot aliens in your bed!

After four months of orbiting Earth in a spaceship bursting with sex-starved aliens, nurse Shelley Bonham will do just about anything to get off. The ship, that is.

Not that the aliens aren’t hot enough to put her hormones on red alert. In fact, the more time she spends with the Garathani leader and his personal guard Hastion, the more she wants them. Knowing what Cecine and Hastion are doing to each other when nobody's looking only makes it harder to keep her hands to herself.

But she’s already been betrayed by one alien—her dead douchebag of a husband. Can she trust her future—and her children—to another?

Reader Advisory: Contains the usual Robin L. Rotham smorgasbord of m/m/f ménage and D/s elements, plus a shipload of alien alphas in outer space.

R-Rated Excerpt:

Cecine’s naked torso streamed with sweat as he ran uphill, using one of the scenic programs Jasmine had designed. It was a challenging course, with steep slopes, panoramic mountain vistas, and an abundance of Terran flora and fauna, but he saw little beyond his upcoming engagement with the ensign. Anticipation had taken a severe enough toll on his own concentration that he’d excused himself from the council’s morning meeting and come to the training center to work off some of his excitement.

After his workout, he might make use of the probe too so that he had all his wits about him in the arena. It wouldn’t do to spook the ensign or betray the intimate nature of their relationship to any warriors who happened to be in attendance.

“Minister Cecine, Shelley Bonham seeks an audience with you.”

Frowning, he slowed to a walk. “End program, Empran, and direct her to come to my quarters in ten minutes.”

“Affirmative.”

The flare field vanished and he leapt off the aerobic platform. Slinging his towel around his neck, he picked up his hydration bottle and drained it before exiting the Command training center. When he strode through the door, he nearly collided with Shelley Bonham.

She reeled back with a squeak and would have fallen if he hadn’t seized her flailing arm to yank her upright. Pulling away at once, she stood there gawking at him and rubbing the spot on her bare arm where he’d touched her.

“Ms. Bonham,” he acknowledged with a nod. “I beg your pardon. I’d intended to shower and dress before greeting you.”

Her mouth still slightly ajar, she nodded at him, her eyes flickering up and down between his face and his bare chest, which was still dripping with sweat. Amused, he grabbed the towel and mopped off his face and neck while her gaze ventured all the way down to his bare feet and back up.

“You’re welcome to wait in my sitting area while I make myself more presentable,” he invited, gesturing down the curving corridor.

The rosy hue in her cheeks deepened to a splotchy red. “No! I mean, that’s okay, I…”

Her eyes slid down to his chest again as if drawn by a powerful magnet and Cecine bit the inner skin of his lower lip to keep from grinning. If he’d known she would react this strongly to the sight of his body, he’d have made it a point to accidentally intrude on one of her private sessions in the Ccommand training center weeks ago.

Then the tip of her little pink tongue darted out to moisten her lips.

Swearing silently, he closed his eyes for a moment and tried to stem the rush of arousal. Peserin, did she truly have no idea what the sight of a wet, healthy tongue did to a horny male?

When he opened them, her gaze had drifted below his waist once more.

So much for stemming the arousal. Against his will, hot blood pounded through his already overwarm body, tightening every muscle and thickening his cock.

He subdued a growl of frustration. As her mate, he had every right to grab her by her lacy tail of yellow hair, claim her pretty tongue and lush pink rosebud lips with his mouth and then pull down his exercise brief and claim them again with his cock. If she had any idea of the restraint he was exercising at the moment, she’d run all the way to her quarters without looking back.

Fortunately for her, his brief constricted all movement of his privates, so the discomfort was all his.

“Ms. Bonham,” he said abruptly, making her jump. “Do you wish to stand here or accompany me to my quarters?”

Contests!

To celebrate the release of Amorous Overnight, I’m giving away a Kindle Fire on the Smutketeers blog. I’m also giving away a $25 gift card to one lucky visitor to Cristal’s blog—just comment on this post, telling me why you like to read alien romance, and you’ll be entered. :D

Thanks for dropping by, and a special thanks to Cristal for hosting me today!

One Stormy Night

2012-11-10T19:08:00.000-06:00

I've been posting all over about what a great day I had today. First I got to sleep in (after staying up until 5 a.m. to finish a marvelous historical!), then the girls and I went to see Skyfall, which was AMAZING! When I got home from the movie, there were tear-inducing fan emails waiting for me, and then as I cooked supper, it started to rain. I mean real rain, not just the sprinkles we've had to content ourselves with since last spring.

Right now, there's lightning and thunder and heavy rain outside, and it reminds me of an album that my mother used to play all the time when I was a kid. It's called One Stormy Night by the Mystic Moods Orchestra.

Yes, I can see all you youngsters out there rolling your eyes at anything with the word orchestra in it. And listening to it now, I have to admit it sounds a lot like elevator music. From my childhood.

But back then (40+ years ago) it was so romantic! I wasn't aware of it at the time, since we didn't go to church, but in the 60s and early 70s, some church youth/young adults were admonished not to listen to this album, especially in the presence of the opposite sex, because it was too romantic and might put young persons in a frame of mind to go too far on a date.

I still like to listen to bits of it once in a while because it's so nostalgic. And it really is romantic, and mysterious, and evocative, at least for the 1960s. Listen to a few of the tracks and maybe you'll hear what I mean. ;)

Just thought I'd let you in on that little secret. So what kind of music do you remember from childhood? Any make-out music on the list?

Grandmother's Masterpiece

2007-09-10T08:06:00.000-05:00

Here's another one for my Grandmother, one of the few poems I wrote with a smile on my face. She took more pictures of my sister and me when we were children than anyone else -- unfortunately, she was also the worst photographer.
Still, the photographs she took always manage to make me grin.

Grandmother's Masterpiece

I just can't help but smile
at this poorly centered snapshot;
you really couldn't take
a decent picture.

Summer sun beat down
upon our brown impromptu crowns,
two rolled-up paper sacks
a bit askew atop our heads.
Dimpled knees peeked out
from hems of homemade cotton gowns
as we posed, our arms akimbo,
by your net-strewn berry patch.
Bright red sticky smears
on both our fingers and our lips
tell the tale of little girls
who ate as many as we picked.

Your slender shadow sneaked
into the lower right-hand corner
and for once I'm very pleased
to see your total lack of skill.
Whether it was shaky hands
or faulty composition,
you managed to create
our family portrait.

© 2004 Robin L. Rotham

When Canada's Gone

2007-08-20T08:04:00.000-05:00

This is a poem I wrote when I was into those creative writing classes a few years ago, before I started writing romance. I belonged to a different sort of online writers' group then, a literary group, and members tended to be very polarized in their political beliefs and very vocal about them within the group -- which is one reason I'm no longer there. It was during the last presidential election, during which I kept hearing the comment, "If Bush is re-elected, I'm moving to Canada!" This hit my funny bone pretty hard because I'd heard the exact same comment from the other side ("If Gore wins, I'm moving to Canada!") many times in the previous election.
Obviously not too many people actually followed through on that threat, and I'll bet the Canadians heaved a collective sigh of relief that a buttload of intolerant Americans didn't head for the border.

So this poem isn't written from the POV of either the Left or the Right, because it could be from either. It has two titles because I can never seem to pick one.

When Canada's Gone
(or Heaven On Mars)

Where will we go when Canada's gone,
When the last frontier is our front lawn
And all the world's arable acres are taken,
Leaving us only the lands forsaken?

How will we find a place to be
Just what we want in society,
But free of society's bothersome rules
That govern our homes and jobs and schools?

How can they even say with pride,
"I'm an American on right's side!"
When all they ever do for me
Is hinder my individuality?

Can't they see how narrow their view,
Allowing no room for different or new,
Condemning my instincts as base or wrong
Just because I'm not singing their song?

Curtailing my freedoms, promoting their laws,
Is leaving me feeling angry and raw.
I'm about ready to leave this place,
But the only land vacant's in outer space.

I'd better get cracking on manned space flight
If I want a new place to live tonight.
Since no one here agrees with me,
I'll fly away and soon be free

To carry on just as I'd rather
Without a thought for whom I'll bother,
Escaping hate and rules and wars
To make my own little heaven on Mars.

But uh-oh, wait--I just remembered,
I won't get there 'til next September.
That's too long before I arrive,
with no guarantee I'll make it alive.

Perhaps there's nothing for me there,
No water, no food, oh yeah, no air.
At home, these things are always near--
Guess I should learn to get along here.

© 2004 Robin L. Rotham

The Stuff of Dreams

2007-08-12T17:34:00.000-05:00

Today's poem is another exercise in catharsis for me. Back in the late '80s and early '90s, I worked for a man who just about gave me a nervous breakdown -- Angela Knight would call him a Bosshole. (Wish I'd known that term back then, LOL!)

His name was Will, and he was a "recovering" alcoholic and a diagnosed bipolar who regularly went off his meds because he didn't like the way they made him feel. It was a Jekyll and Hyde story -- Will was a very intelligent man, an innovative risk-taker, and he could be quite generous with his employees. Hell, sometimes he was even loving -- he'd break down into tears of gratitude for all of us and tell us how much we meant to him. We were his family, since he didn't have a family of his own. But when he got into Hyde mode, he was condescending, manipulative, vindictive, and paranoid.

Meanwhile I was the child of an alcoholic, so my reaction to him was predictably codependent -- I thought if I could just be more perfect, he'd be happy.

God, what a horrendous six years that was! I dreamed about him periodically for ten years afterward, dreamed that I was back at work for him and wondering how the hell that had happened. It wasn't until I wrote this poem that the dreams finally stopped.

But before I show you the poem, I have to tell you about the dream I woke up to on Mother's Day. It was a nightmare, actually. I dreamed that the kids and I were driving down the road in the Suburban, and when we came over a hill, we saw that the road was covered with water at the bottom. I crept closer, wondering how deep the water might be -- I couldn't tell because it was kind of around a curve -- when suddenly the road gave way beneath us.

I saw that the Suburban was about to be swept away in a torrent of water, so I yelled at the kids to jump out. I saw Randy and Erin jump to safety, but Jana wasn't with them. I searched the Suburban frantically but couldn't find her. In a strange twist, the Suburban changed, growing smaller and gradually morphing into a long piece of woven material that used to be a boat. I picked it up and shook it, hoping to find her, but she wasn't there. I was standing on the shore and Randy and Erin were still there...and I looked at the huge river of muddy brown water roaring by and realized Jana was in there somewhere. She was gone. I only had two children left, and it was my fault -- I shouldn't have driven so close to the water. I doubled over with the pain and started screaming her name over and over...

And that's when I woke up. Of course, I burst into tears. OMG, I've NEVER been so glad to wake up and discover I'd been dreaming! (Not even after the agent dream.) I tried to tell Mr. Robin about it, but I was crying too hard.

Then I tried to go back to sleep because it was still pretty early, but I was too shaken up. And wonder of wonders, Jana came down early, while everyone else was still asleep, and crawled in with me. We snuggled for a while and then she wanted to play one of her old favorite games; she likes to crawl up inside my nightgown and pretend she's a baby in my tummy again. Normally I'm not fond of this game -- she's about to turn six and it's a pretty tight fit -- but this time I was more than willing. She tucked her little body inside the front of my nightie, her head just under my chin, and asked, "Mommy, can I suck my thumb?"

"Sure, baby," I told her.

So she sucked her thumb and made gurgling baby sounds while I held her close to my naked breast, and it was so incredibly wonderful, I thought my heart would burst.

Then she started giggling and squishing my breasts and the moment passed. I laughed and told her to quit that and she giggled some more and said, "But Mommy, I like jiggling your boobies!"

That was when I decided it was time to get up and make breakfast. I discovered to my dismay that there were only six strips of bacon left, but Erin doesn't like bacon, so I figured I'd give two to Mr. Robin, two to Randy and two to Jana. I cooked them up and then scrambled some eggs before getting down paper plates. As usual, I went to make Mr. Robin's plate first, and when I reached for the bacon, there were only two pieces on the paper towel.

"Who ate all the..." I turned around and there was Jana, clutching the tail end of a piece of bacon and giving me a guilty grin.

"I just love bacon so much, Mommy," she said earnestly.

Any other day, I'd have been annoyed with her, but all I could do was laugh. Randy, the little sweetie, gave up his two pieces so that his dad could have some, and we all had a nice morning.

It was, indeed, the stuff of dreams.

So here's today's contribution to the Poetry Train.

Way Overdue Purging Acrostic

Mystical swirling dispatched by a scream.
Yesterday's drama is this night's dream;
Sweating the truth of a job gone wrong,
Trembling with anger I've swallowed too long,
Eyes dripping hopelessness stare in the dark,
Realize crawling is leaving its mark
In a psyche too precious to squander on Will;
Only in nightmares of him do I kill--
Until now, I recall, lying back with a yawn,
Sunrise will find my boss stabbed on his lawn.

(Oh, I needed that!)

© 2003 Robin L. Rotham

(I'm still using the same old Mr. Linky, so if you've signed in once, you don't need to do it again.)

Mathe-Manic Monday

2007-06-25T00:26:00.000-05:00

No clever or insightful lead-in this week. I'm just too tired! But here's another egghead poem of mine. In high school, when I was deep into algebra, geometry, and trig classes, I did actually dream in mathematical symbols and equations, which was very freaky. My writing instructor told me that one day, this would be plastered on the doors of mathematics departments everywhere, but that day hasn't arrived yet.

Mathe-Manic Dreams

Triangle burns
with abstraction keen,
grappling with theory
and searching for mean.

Add me to tangent,
divide me by pi--
must be obtuse,
'cause I can't figure why

all these symbols are people
and functions, relations.
What's the solution
to all these equations?

Wake with a start,
wipe the drool from my desk--
yawn and keep cramming
for algebra test.

© 2003 Robin L. Rotham

My Poetry Monday

2007-04-23T00:23:00.000-05:00

I know, I know -- I shared a silly limerick on my last post, which probably led you to expect more of the same today. Sorry to disappoint, but this is my favorite of my poems and I really wanted to share it. It's for someone I've blogged about before. If you need a refresher, here's the post.

Don't forget to leave a link if you're posting something of yours today!

Grandmother

More than thirty years have flown
since fate first found me
dreaming in your nest.

You, all wrapped in cotton
shuffling slippered down the hall,
still tuck me in.

Bathroom lights reveal the pins
in curls that always envied mine,
and tissues in your sleeve.

Rings not ever parted from you
spin upon your sparrow’s hand
as diamonds pat my cheek.

Balm of favored lotion
soothes my heart and it’s as if
I’ve never gone.

Eyes in hollows forged by age
and illness ever present
smile and know me.

Bending down, you offer one last kiss
without a word
and I am eager.

Toothpaste and a hint of you
speak comfort always found
beneath your wing.

I wake and know the stone that bears
your name is all my lips
can ever touch.

Still, I sleep within your walls
and hoard your kisses
till we’re home again.

© 2003 Robin L. Rotham

Mr. Linky is acting up in the dead of night, so if he's still on the fritz, just leave a comment and I'll hunt you down. :D

Jump Aboard the Poetry Train

2007-04-21T17:43:00.000-05:00

The Creative Goddess and I are feeling the urge to bare our innermost souls (I mean even more than usual), so we're going to begin posting our poetry on Mondays, and we'd like to encourage all of you to join us.

Of course, it doesn't have to be poetry. Any sort of creative expression you've indulged in -- an anecdote, short story, cartoon, etc. -- would be great.

Just to get everyone in the mood, here's a little gem I wrote for Mr. Robin:

Romance (a limerick)

I knew that romance had departed,
Though the honeymoon barely had started--
As we flew down the road
My dear prince, now a toad,
Left the window rolled up when he farted.

Now, you've got to be able to come up with something better than that!