Category Archives: Uncategorized


Writing use to make things easier…today it doesn’t.

I’m reminded of all of the things he and I won’t get to experience and I remember all of the things that we did. It was tough being his daughter, but it was a privilege that I’ll never forget and a want that I’d love to experience again. I know he’s in heaven, and yes, that’s where he is, although he gave us and the world all sorts of hell, and that in spite of him not being physically here, I’m still his daughter. I just wish that I could physically see him and have him tell me. His last words were that he loved me—words that will never mean the same coming from anyone else. I’ll appreciate them from anyone and I’ll believe them from everyone, but the meaning that his last words to me meant…well, it just won’t compare. He spent his life saving others. I spent my life admiring him, sometimes resenting him, for reasons unknown, but I also spent my life appreciating him and loving him more than I ever knew. I miss him, I’m mad as hell that he’s gone. I knew he would leave, had time to prepare, but he was the strongest man on earth…I never believed that he would leave.

He left.

He was supposed to stick around, but he left— I believe of his own freewill because he’d suffered quite enough. This, this, does not erase the pain, this does not bring on a restful night’s sleep, this does not stop the tears from flowing as a type this…but it’s a start.


I love you, Pop. Rest well my dear…protect me.

~ Boo

Vote for the #AEWSOC Fans’ Choice Player of the Year!



Cast your vote for the America East women’s soccer Fans’ Choice Player of the Year! Voting closes Tuesday, October 28 at noon ET.

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So many changes have occurred over the last three to four months.


Things happened that I expected like:


  1. My kid driving – Really Driving. Like For Real All By Herself. Like No One Else In The Car With Her. Like By Herself. You moms out there that have teens that are new drivers how do you deal with this? I don’t know how to deal with this. I literally followed her around the first day, sort of how you do when you’re teaching them to ride a bike, when I couldn’t someone else was. All I could remember is not wanting to let go…eventually I did, but I cried the entire time. Not because of fear, but because of the loss that I felt. She’s growing and less needy and I miss her already.
  2. Moving to a different part of town, leaving the familiarity of a home and neighborhood that I’ve lived in since coming from college.
  3. Weight gain – you can’t eat that much and expect to stay a little chubby…eventually you’ll get fat…I got…a little chubbier, bastards. *offers you shifty side eyes*
  4. Pretty sweet changes at work (The gig that pays the bills right now) – like for real good changes. I’m stoked.


Things happened that I didn’t expect like:


  1. The independence and growth of my little girl.
  2. The independence and growth of myself.
  3. The resilience learned when things DON’T come to pass.
  4. Weight gain—you can’t eat that much and expect to stay a little chubby…eventually you’ll get fat—wait I said this already. I think you get it.
  5. Book legal mumbo jumbo making things official in my (literary) world; which is frightening and also surreal (In a good way).
  6. A HUMONGOUS SLUMP. LIKE WITH LIFE, WORK, KID, MY OWN INVOLVMENT WITH PROCRASTINATION, I WAS IN A SEVERE SLUMP. DIDN’T WRITE A THING. NOT ONE THING. TRIED. BUT NOTHING. LIKE FOR REAL DRY AS MENOPAUSE…or so I hear. I really wish I hadn’t heard that, because it bummed me out. I’ve got about 25-30 good years left apparently. LOL


Things didn’t happen that I expected to happen like:


  1. Releasing Wanted, which is now Wanted, Those Laskins Boys series– Date pushed to December which ultimately bums me out because other things are pushed back because of this. The bright side—and keep it mind that it took me a while to get there—is that I’ve had time to rework/word some things that didn’t work. Figure out another direction and realized that there’s a pretty dope series in this tale. Yeah, that’s it. That’s what I’ll keep telling myself. Anyway, hopefully, it’ll make someone an awesome Christmas gift. In the meantime, stay tuned for excerpts.
  2. Weight loss—you can’t eat that much and expect to stay a litt—to hell with this, I didn’t lose weight, but I didn’t try that hard, so whateves.



Anyway there were changes that happened and changes that didn’t happen, but the constant, change will happen.



I didn’t edit this or proof read it.

I needed to get it out.

If you judge me, then I’ll refer you to the phonetics of the beginning of this sentence…


*chubby girl wink*





Evolving. Revolving. (Happy Birthday, Baby)

I’m writing in an opened space.

Feels good.

I got the clarity that I was seeking; the moment that I so strongly wanted all last week, and so much more. I was afforded the thoughts that were jumbled or willed away by the happenings of life.

Here goes:

Today my little baby is a whopping sixteen-years-old.Babe Little

The thought of this seems weird. At 10:16 tonight, it’ll be more than a notion.

I was just holding her on my hip.

Hell, I was just carrying in her my womb.

I was just taking her off to her first day of school.

I just bought her Junior Debutante dress.

I was just explaining the intricacies of being a female and all the weight that, that carries.

And now, my little, semi-sweet, chocolate, pudding is suddenly at the age where independence is hers for the taking.

Life will seem grand through her newly freed eyes. She’ll enjoy it on levels that mommy no longer will be able to supply.

That frightens me.

That makes me happy.

It was during the sixteenth year of my own life, when she came to existence and I pray, preach, and scream for her not to have to write this same post at thirty-two-years old.

Though now, I can count her as a blessing because having another child is nearly medically impossible for me, but who knows things could happen…but it won’t bother me any if they don’t. Because of her early presence in my life, I was afforded something that many women with my disorder won’t be. I got to experience childbirth.

Then it didn’t seem all that fantastic.

Now, I’m thankful.

Happy Birthday, Sweetheart!


Babe 16My pretty, little, darling, will be off to college soon and I’ll be—for the first time—an uninhibited woman free to do the things that being a young mother hadn’t afforded me to do. You know the stuff like just up and moving when I please, kind of just do whatever the heck I want to do without being considerate of someone else’s feelings.

I don’t think any mom can do that…so I digress, but at least I’ll get the chance to live alone.

The thought? At one time sexy to me.

Now? It’s scary.

I’ve lived my life for her and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

She is my everything. EVERYTHING.

The reason to breathe, the reason to love, the reason to believe, the reason to keep going…when I’ve wanted to stop.

I miss her already.

I want to hold her tight and not allow her the freedoms that she deserves.

I want to protect her from the world that she’ll now see through new eyes.

I want to keep her the little baby that held on to me for dear life when strangers were around.

I want to keep her the little one that said, “Don’t worry, mommy. We’ll be okay, huh?” with bright-eyed optimism that said I could and would fix everything for her with just a simple band-aid.

I want to protect her from the heartbreak she’ll experience.

I want to protect her from the failures that she’ll take personally.

I want to protect her from the mistakes that she’ll make and more importantly, I’d like to protect her from herself.

She’s wonderful, adventurous and has no care in the world about being herself.

She calls herself the Black-Hippie. Which, yes. All complete yes.

She’s awesome, dope.

And really, those of us born in the 80s know that being dope is a very important part of life.

She’s dope.

But, that’s scary to a mom that wants her to be the same little one that thought that a band-aid could fix everything.

I’ll have to let go.

I don’t like this idea.

I’ll adhere to the rules.

She’ll be off to live her own life very soon and I’ll have to begin…again.

Yeah, I miss her.

 Evolving. Revolving.

Happy Birthday, Baby.

I love you, lights out!



This Is How I Write

This Is a Blog Post. I Am a Writer. This Is How I Write…and other surly things



Okay, so let me thank my “kindred” and super awesome writer friend, extremely talented, just all around dope person and Author, Kennedy Ryan for even thinking of me for this whole blog hop/how you write thing. Whether I was first on the list or last, it means a ton to a newcomer like myself.


I don’t ever think that I could express the gratitude.

Right now, however, I’m impatiently awaiting the release of the first book in her Bennett’s trilogy, When You Are Mine. Order in advance, stat!


Having said that, I graciously accept the “blog hop baton” from her, as well as the talented and crazy witty gal; Author Eliza Freed

I feel kind of nervous-gutty to be following such wonderful story tellers, but I’ll do my best. Would you like to hear it? Here it go! Those of you who remember the nineties and Calhoun Tubbs from In Living Color definitely remember that line.

Anyway, here goes…


What are you currently writing?

Hmm…well…see…it’s…like…well…wait, what was the question?


I’m working on my FIRST (you read that right) release into the world of fiction. It started off as a novella, one that I was going to just self publish to sort of get my feet wet, but after receiving drafts back from the lady that ensures my stories, you know, make sense (LOL, but serious), I was encouraged to make the short tale a complete novel.

No problem, right?

Wrong. The short tale went from novella to series in fast-point-zero seconds.

The first book in the series is called Wanted, and without going into a full-fledged synopsis (by the way I detest trying to write those things), it’s about a woman who hasn’t had the easiest of lives, but has tried damned hard to live by the book—not the bible— but, by following the sort of unpaved path and unwritten rules. You know, the ones that say, graduate high school, go to college, get a job, find a husband, have children, live happily ever after.

Yeah, that one.

The thing is, that’s damn hard to do with a mother that’s a drunk (not a lovable one either, but funny as hell), and a father who loves the drunk ’til death (literally) does them part. When things sort of hit the fan for her, she starts to look at life differently.

Enter a sexy man to stir things up right nice.

“Sexy man” has had the complete opposite life of “By the Book Gal,” and has literally followed the rules and succeeded. But within a span of six-months, all the rules fly out of the window. You can’t have rules when your wife dies two months after giving birth—to your first and only child—and four months after that, your mother passes away.

How in hell does one recover from that?

It was ridiculously hard, but regroup he has. He had to; a five-year-old little boy and a sickly father were depending on him. After such an ordeal and few years of living his life numbly, “Sexy Man” begins to reevaluate his life and just as he does, he’s tortured by the likes of a woman that he meets in the worst way possible.

“By the book gal.”

Instantaneous sparks and other cliché romance novel things happened at first sight, but what happens after, has caused me a many sleepless night and a many smiles and giggles.

I’m praying that it’ll do the same for you.


Seriously, that’s not the synopsis, but that tends to sum it up.

You curious or nah? #Hip

Oh yeah, the release date for this was originally in June, but due to the fact that my characters and that lady that I spoke of earlier needed/wanted more, it’s been pushed to July 8th. Be there or be square.

But no, seriously be there. Please?

Please. *offers puppy dog/scared school girl eyes*



What makes your work different?


If you’ve bothered to look at my website, if you’ve seen my tweets, or if you know me personally, I’m sort of The Cosby Show’s, Denise Huxtable, meets Freddy from A Different World, turned Joan Clayton from Girlfriends, sort of girl. I’m slightly a mess, but I’m all for the cause (whichever one I love at the moment), and about my business. I’m polka dots and stripes. I love bright things and bright colors (I think my web layout can attest to that). I wish my house was decorated in all glitter. It’s not, but it’s bright in here. I also love funny stuff and anytime a situation is too heavy for me…I gotta go find something fun and/or funny to do. My work is sort of like that. It’s not the traditional deep romance and I won’t necessarily call it RomCom…it’s fun-love. For a while, admittedly, I struggled with finding MY
voice; because after reading so many wonderful romance novels, it’s hard not to lapse into a tone that belongs to one of your favorite authors.

I digress.

When I did, when I really decided to pursue this writing thing with my all, I realized that what I was missing was me. No, my characters are definitely not me in any likeness, but there are bits of my own personality in my writing. A personality that loves to golf, but hates watching it, that can quote Jay-Z and Biggie in the same sentence, but appreciates and adores the Arias of Giacomo Puccini and Leo Delibes, the one that wears her natural curls when feeling funky, but straightens out the hair when it’s time for business, the one that curses sailor-like during the week and Sunday afternoon, but crosses her legs at the ankle and uses a lap cloth in church if warranted.

Yeah, so, my work and my characters are laced with this.

What makes my work different? It is the exact same thing that makes me different; it’s mine and there’s no one else like me/it.

Did I sell it? If yes, thanks, I felt pretty good about the pitch.

If no, then don’t criticize without direction. Offer up something, damn it. The comments below will allow you to do just that. Thanks! J


Why do you write what you do?


I’m in love with love. I love the idea of love, I love the concept of love, and I loooovvvve loving (yes, in every sense of the word) and I want everyone else to feel the same way. I thought about Women’s Fiction, but at the end of the day, whatever ailment or story that I gave my Heroine, the fix was always love. I feel like that’s the fix for any ailment in real life…but I pilot my own flights of fancy with rose colored aviators.

Seriously, the concept of love has always fascinated me. The one and only emotion that has the ability to provide and prolong other emotions like fulfillment, happiness, courage, passion, etc. to me, is the greatest thing in the world. To watch a person fall in love in real life is amazing, hell, to fall in love in real life is amazing. To be able to orchestrate the process and know the outcome without the proverbial butterflies or fear? Incredible.

Simply incredible.

So, I tried it. I did it.

Now, I do it.

What is your writing process?


I hate everything about structure. It’s a naturally ingrained part of my entire being that won’t allow me to just have a damned process. No matter how hard I try.

And that’s not just with writing, it’s with anything.

When I write, there’s an idea, there’s a beginning and there’s an ending. The direction that I take and the path that I choose is up for grabs. I’ve tried it all; note cards, plot boards, story boards, all sort of damned boards, but nothing has worked…with the exception of just sitting down and writing. I hear you “Writing Gurus” call that being a “Pantser,” well, here’s what I call you “Writing Gurus”…never mind, I may need you later.

I digress…again.

Seriously, I just write. I have a blackberry Q10 because when the ideas are there, I gotta get ’em down. I hate using real paper and pen, though if the battery’s low on the ol’ Q10 then I’ll go for it.


I guess there’s a bit of a process that I use and that’s giving my characters their names and bios as well as their birth certificate, which seriously, I legit have a birth certificate of each of them and in my series cases, I have marriage licenses. Of course, I’ve created each of those, but it helps me keep up with the type of person they were, are or are going to be. I think that’s about it. I’m sure this didn’t provide you with an ounce of enlightenment but who the hell ca—never mind, I meant to say, thank you for reading.




Thank you!


Up next on this blog-hop/writing-process-thingy my lovers and others, Author Necole Ryse Seriously, I can’t wait for hers and I can’t wait to read her new book which is due…well, I’ll let her explain it from here. In the meantime, please, I beg you to check out one of the DOPEST thing I’ve read in a while.

The concept? Brilliant.

Her book Shorties is a must read. Read it! *Passes the baton to Necole* You got it, girly. Good luck! See ya next week!


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Vive Sine Paenitentia

   Res Ipsa Loquitur.
~Uncaught Recidivist


Thrift Store Book Finds…And Other Shit I’m Thankful For!

So…yesterday I went into a thrift store. Reason? My super awesome spawn has this thing about finding old shit and making it new. I dig her. And if she wasn’t mine, you know outright, I would lobby like you wouldn’t believe to be her friend. She’s pretty damned dope that way. Anyway, while she looked for the old shit to make new, I did what I always do (you heard me) anytime I’m in a place with used books. I perused the shelves and this time, I happened upon a book that was a three-in-one deal by Author Felicia Mason, who I learned after a little research when I got home resides in my home-state of Virginia. I was super stoked by the find because one, I had never even heard of her, two, I love to find good books at the thrift store, library sales, wherever. The shelves of the bookcases throughout my home are lined accordingly, and there is no shame there (yeah, don’t you go judging me, you bastard. I buy new books as well, so suck it. Ha!). Even though I own a Nook in just about each generation, with the exception of the Nook touch, I still like flipping the real pages to a novel.
Anyway, the point is, I like finding good books for cheap. Whatever. Like I said I buy new books too, but cheap good ones are the best.

(ASIDE) Is it just me, or does anyone else feel like, a “That’s what she said” line would be perfect after the latter part of the last sentence. *Shrugs* Whatever, it was funny to me.

Anyway, there’s other shit that I’m thankful for as well, and that’s the ability to have patience. The ability to stick with and too my guns, the ability to not give-up when all signs pointed to giving up. Yeah, I’m thankful for that. The decision to write seriously wasn’t one easily decided upon (see other entries, and no, I’m not linking them because it’s Labor Day fools and that’s too much work) however, once the decision, no the need to do this was so overpowering, I poured most of my all into it. The end result was a summer or researching, reading, re-writing, re-inventing, emailing, postal mailing, questioning, querying, and not sleeping wondering if anyone else out there in the world would believe in my stories, my work as much as I do, but I wouldn’t trade a moment of it for the world. Why? Well, it’s because I received approximately twenty-three Nos to one YES. Now, tell me which one matters the most? Yeah, you guessed right. So, I’m thankful for the Nos, I’m thankful for the doubt, and I’m thankful for the tears and fears, because without them, without the deterrents, that one yes, wouldn’t amount to shit. Best YES of the year…and really after that, does aything else matter?

The moral? Fuck them No’s, your yes will come. Write-On! (Oh, and in case you’re wondering, that sentence is PERFECT.)

~Vive Sine Paenitentia~

Res Ipsa Loquitur

~Uncaught Recidivist

Note: This is a happy post, which means, it was only spelled checked and I don’t have the ability at the present moment to give a whole damn about the grammar. Consider this free-writing, and if you don’t…kiss my sass.

Naked. Honest.

Naked. Honest.

I’m not who you think I am.
Don’t feel bad, I’m not who I think I am either.
I’m not what you want me to be.
Don’t feel bad, I’m not who I want to be either.
I’m not where you thought I am.
Don’t feel bad, I’m not sure how I got here.
I’m not going where you think I’m going.
Don’t feel bad, I got lost.
I’m not going back to being who you thought I was.
Don’t feel bad, I wasn’t happy there, so I had to leave.
I’m not the smile you see on my face.
Don’t feel bad, it was faux anyway.

                       You’re bare.
I know.
                       You’re lost.
I know.
                       You’re drifting.
I know.
                       You’re scared.
I know.
                       You’re here.
I know.
                       You’re leaving.
I know.
                       Will you stay?
I can’t.
I’m cold.
I’m naked.
I’m honest.
I’m free.

~Vive Sine Paententia~


Res Ipsa Loquitur
~Uncaught Recidivist

Creative Blah’s…and other messy tidbits

Tyler Durden’s 8 Rules of Innovation:

1. “No fear. No distractions! The ability to let that which does not matter truly slide.”
2. “No fear. No distractions! The ability to let that which does not matter truly slide.”
3. “I say never be complete, I say stop being perfect, I say let’s evolve, let the chips fall where they may.”
4. “It’s only after we’ve lost everything that we’re free to do anything.”
5. “You’re not your job. You’re not how much money you have in the bank. You’re not the car you drive. You’re not the contents of your wallet. You’re not your fucking khakis.”
6. “People do it everyday, they talk to themselves…they see themselves as they’d like to be they don’t have the courage you have, to just run with it.”
7. “Sticking feathers up your butt does not make you a chicken.”
8. “This is your life, and it’s ending one minute at a time.”

I start out this post with the above posted because, hell no, I’m not trying to teach a lesson. Nor am I hoping you learn a goddamn thing…I just thought this spoke to my need and like the ever-present divined intervention that I believe is my life, I stumbled upon this nugget and decided that, yes indeed, Ye Ole Intervention struck again. Look at the Lord…won’t he do it? *Smacks teeth and performs the ever formidable and sometimes ethnicity defining neck roll.* This little gift was bestowed upon on twitter (@pcosstinks) from a person that I don’t even follow, haven’t a clue who this person is, but it was retweeted and I happened upon it, and I know this may be a little self-righteous, but I sweadagod that it was meant for me. Whatever, it’s my blog, you can go write your own and deal with it. Anyway, as I read these rules and truly began to understand them I, in all of my unknowledgeable and sometimes too knowledgeable glory decided to apply them to my way of thinking. Now, if you’re reading this as one of my friends, family, close acquaintances, you know that I am struggling with self-definition at the moment. If you’re not any of the aforementioned and happened by, “Welcome, my name is Uncaught Recidivist and I am pleased to have you eavesdrop on the mess that is my life at the moment. Thank you and your comments are welcomed.” Being that at this season in my life I am caught in that ever fermenting battle, this was like a breath of a fresh air (seriously, I hate clichés and analogies, but this one nails the feeling); these 8 rules spoke to everything that I need and want to be and it speaks also to everything that I despise I was. Having said that, I’m bored with this typing now and really just wanted to share this great bit of information, so now, I’ll let you talk amongst yourselves! You’re welcome. *Shoos you away with a flippant right hand vaguely remembering your presence.*

Res Ipsa Loquitur,
~Uncaught Recidivist


Addendum: I think Tyler Durden…whoever the hell he is, is savant.

Note: To Self, do a little research on this dude, may have something sustaining to say. hmm…oh, is that a cookie, yeah, what was I saying. Oh yeah, I like cookies.

Note: To You Guys….HELP!