Lila's Antics and blueberries...

Now don’t stop reading just because I said something about blueberries. My newsletters are never about the subject line, really.   Or are they?   Back to the subject. I used to be scared of blueberries. I’m serious. Stop laughing. I mean it, stop laughing. They are plump and I was scared of what exactly made them plump. I didn’t know if they were going to burst like a Gusher or have some kind of awful pit in them. They weren’t really blue, they are kind of purple. And do they have to turn everything they touch purple? Who do they think they are, beets? They freaked me out. On the other hand, I loved the flavor of blueberries. Imitation blueberry bits in my muffins and cereal and waffles—blueberry / cranberry juice—you name it, I loved blueberry ‘flavoring’. Then one day I was like, “You are so stupid. Put the berry in your mouth, you big baby.” And so I did. Now there are three, five-pound bags of frozen blueberries in my freezer. Do I have a point? Duh. My point goes way beyond blueberries—or fruit—or food. I’m talking about how genuine our lives are.  Or how genuine our experiences are—our friends—our relationships—our relationship with ourselves. Sometimes knowing the difference is painful. Finding out that a Facebook friend isn’t a friend at all, but sees you as just another click on their scroll through their day. Realizing that no matter how many positive mantras we speak to ourselves in the morning—they are all counterfeit if we don’t believe them and actually love ourselves. Getting hit in the head with how little you mean to another person. Finding out that things you value aren’t authentic is painful and slices me open. Here’s what I realized. And it took a LONG time to realize this.  I’d rather have five genuine, sincere friends than groups and groups of friends who keep score or make me question whether or not what they are saying is façade. I’d rather get off of my computer and talk to my husband for ten minutes than to just nod and agree, not really listening, while distracted by whatever for an hour. If I watch a movie, I want to be watching the movie, not checking my phone or checking my watch to see how much time I’ve wasted. I don’t want to waste anything. Time—money—energy—love. I want my effing life to be genuine. I want the real blueberries. Screw the imitation bits. Life is too short for the imitation bits. Yeah, I just turned blueberries into some kind of Dear Abby shit. Now, I’ve got a task for those of you who have stayed with me through all of this blueberry stuff. I dare you to post a pic of blueberries onto my Facebook wall. I will know what you mean and everyone else will be baffled. What I’m reading: Pride and Prejudice and Zombies. And it is yummy. What I’m watching: Vikings, The Walking Dead, and ANIME! What I’m listening to: Angry girl rock of the indie persuasion. Know what movie that’s from? What I’m working on: Lucent series #3, Hip Whip (Love and Skate #7) and then Beholden (Bayou Bears #4) Still eating my blueberries. Still making mountains out of sand. Still typing until my fingertips go numb. Lila

TEASERS!!   Teaser 1: From Beholden (Bayou Bear Chronicles #4)   Aspen's name is now synonymous with vomit. I swear to all that's holy if Dahlia says Aspen one more time I'm going to projectile blow chunks all over her. It can't be helped. The physical reaction to--him--is involuntary and violent. She's across the room trying to console me and it's not working. Nothing works. Her precious shifting and running, swimming--none of it do a damn thing to get him out of my head. Eating certainly doesn't help--my stomach rejects it all. "Cia, you have to get out of here. Tarrow says that As.." I jump to my to my feet and point in her direction. "Dahlia, I can make it the five feet over to you and my aim has become extremely precise over the last few days. I could puke into a straw from a mile away. Go ahead. Say the name. But you've been warned."   ***   Teaser 2: From Hip Whip (Love and Skate #7)   Scout & Magnus   From Magnus' POV:    “Shut up! You have to get me a picture with her or her autograph or something. Usually she just darts out the minute the bout is over. Please, Magnus! I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!” Jenny is pulling on my arm and Joshua doesn’t look too happy about it. He doesn’t have anything to worry about—aside from me never snaking another guy’s girl, I’ve got my eye on something much better. I shrugged her off gently. “Yeah, I mean, I can try. I’ve got the feeling she doesn’t like me very much. It might not work.” “Just try!” Her pleads bordered on whining. “Okay, okay. When it’s over.” But when it was over, there was no stopping Scout. Before I could even get out of my seat, before the winner was announced, which was her team, she had bee-lined out of the rink with her head down, stripping herself of her pads and helmet. What was she running from? We waited while Jenny and Joshua took pictures with the rest of the team. They asked about Scout, but no one would give a straight answer. I watched the door to what I figured was the locker room the whole time—hoping she would make a showing.  But even as the place emptied—there was no Scout.