Author: Leslie Ray

I am a Christian…and I am a sinner.

I am kind…and I am unfair.

I am thoughtful…and I am judgemental.

I am passionate…and I am spiteful.

I am right…and I am wrong.

I am heterosexual…but I am not homophobic.

I am a lot of things…but perfect is not one of them.

I am two sides of the same coin.

Today the Supreme Court legalized same-sex marriage nationwide. A decision that will divide. A decision that will bring out more hate and negative comments when all that is desired is love. A decision that will show the true colors of the rainbow.

No matter what side you fall on, no matter what your “religion” says, we all want the same thing. To be treated as an equal. Just the same as the color of our skin should not legally differentiate our rights, nor should any pairing of genders.

See the truth is, we don’t have to agree. I believe in equal rights, but in doing so I don’t believe you should change your views to match mine. Just as I believe in same-sex marriage, I believe you have the right not to. But when it comes to a legality, is it really fair to withhold rights from one person over another? Is it fair to say that this is a downfall of our country? Is it fair to spew hate towards something simply because it’s not what you would choose?

I will grant you that bathing the White House in an array of rainbow-colored lights may have been a bit of overkill, but…

As a Christian and heterosexual, I do not believe that in allowing someone to have the same legal rights dilutes the sanctity of my marriage. Who someone else chooses to love actually has zero barring on my relationship. Nor does it cause me any harm. So why then should I not allow someone the same legal right?

I mean, honestly, if two men or women want to join the world of matrimony, who am I to deny them the misery, right? 😉

(Just kidding, I love my husband and wouldn’t trade him for the world)

They say the road to hell is paved in good intentions…well, I don’t know about that, but I know that the road to staying on schedule definitely was.

I had great plans, such as having all the revisions to Run To Me complete and the manuscript sent to the editor before Newest made her arrival…and then life got complicated. Not only was my day job hectic, but the last few months of pregnancy were far from easy.

And then I foolishly thought I would get work done while on maternity leave…now there’s a good laugh. But it’s finally done! The revisions are complete! Off to the editor the manuscript goes!

Unfortunately, the Diva Princess sometimes has bad dreams, but we’ve been lucky that they aren’t the night terrors I have heard other people talk about. Usually with a little cuddling, she will go right back to sleep, and on a bad night she might wake up a second time. I’ve often asked in the morning if she remembers what the bad dream was about, hoping that maybe I can find a trigger, but her response is always the same. She doesn’t remember.

Except for today…

Normally, her dreams occur in the middle of the night. Somewhere around 3 am seems to be the sweet – or not so sweet – spot. At that hour of the morning, I am usually focused on getting her back to sleep – in her own bed – rather than discussing what the dream was about and risking further upset. But this morning, her bad dream just so happened to be when it was time to get up for school anyway. When I asked her what was wrong, why she was crying, I nearly died at the answer.

Any time your child is upset, you want nothing more than to make it all better. When it comes to bad dreams, as a parent you want to find the source and fix the problem. Was it something she saw, something we read in a book, or God forbid, something happened that you didn’t know about? Nope, not with my child. No, my child has to have nightmares of much deeper rooted problems…

Play-Doh!

Yes, you read that correctly. Play-Doh! I am going to be paying for therapy in ten years because we don’t own Play-Doh. Hand to Heaven, honest to God, my child woke up crying because we don’t have Play-Doh. I couldn’t make this stuff up if I tried!

Do you know how hard it is to not laugh at your child when they are hysterical that you don’t own Play-Doh? Impossibly Hard!!! Here I am expecting monsters and bad guys and she’s dreaming about Play-Doh…or the lack there of.

Only in a Diva world!

Did you read yesterday’s blog? Well, let’s just say it went downhill after that.

After my lunch date with a spider dangling in my face, which nearly sent me into cardiac arrest, I decided that luck – or some other divine intervention – was on my side when I didn’t crash the car. And then four hours later I decided life hates me.

Now, there are two things you may or may not know about my current state…1) I have an irrational fear of spiders in my immediate proximity, and 2) I’m 32 weeks pregnant (i.e. I have a very large belly).

So, four hours later (post yesterday’s blog) after stopping by the local CVS for some shampoo, the last thing I expected was another passenger in my car. And by passenger, I mean the second spider of the day crawling up my seat belt, across my very large belly.

Two! Spiders! In one flipping day!

That’s even cruel for Karma! But bad went to worse in a hurry. Once again panicked, on a four lane road, I began to smack at the pesky, eight-legged bane of my existence. Now, I know for a fact the first one was dead, so I am assuming this was his cousin Carlos out for blood and revenge. And boy was Carlos a stealthy ninja.

In my smacking rage, Carlos retreated to my leg – which I obviously began to beat – before disappearing into no-man’s land. If you have ever had the pleasure of being uber pregnant, you know what I am talking about…the area between your navel and mid-thigh that disappears for months. Honest, there could be a party happening in “the zone” and I wouldn’t have a clue, I haven’t seen it for at least a month. Left with no option, I began to smack/brush/swipe hoping like hell that Carlos would meet his demise. By time I pulled into our driveway a mile later, I was covered in sweat from the panic and exertion, but my mind was made up. There was only one thing to do.

I was burning the car to the ground!

Okay, I can’t actually afford a new one, so that option was off the table, but you better believe I was on the lookout this morning when I got back in it.

Not cool spiders. Not cool!

Today, I almost died! Literally!

I’m serious!

Heart attack inducing, accident causing, never to return again…all because of eight little legs dangling in my face!

But I was brave my friends and did the unthinkable! I squished the spider!

Honestly, he left me no option. I’m okay with spiders, as in, we can coexist with them staying far far away from me, as long as they promise to not move quickly or run at me. Then we’re good…or at least I will pretend we’re good. But dangling in my face while I drive 45 mph down a four lane road? No, sir! Not okay. Ever. And I do mean in my face, so much so we shared a breath together. At 32 weeks pregnant, I have enough trouble breathing. I really don’t need a spider stealing my breath away. If he were a hot, hunky fireman, steal away, but he wasn’t. He was a spider, which I am going to claim was much larger than he really was to save at least a little of my dignity here.

The good news is, I survived…and he did not! Also, I didn’t hit anyone, anything or cause any wrecks. Well, I don’t think I did anyway. I can’t really say, I was a little focused on not hyperventilating.

So tell me, what’s your biggest fear? Or crazy near death experience story?

I had my million dollar idea last night, and I couldn’t wait to tell you…but then I went to sleep.

What is it about the moments when we first start to drift that our brains can come up with the most clever ideas? Honestly, I could solve all the world problems in those few nanoseconds between consciousness and sleep, but when I wake up it’s just gone. Like a blank canvas waiting for inspiration to hit. I even find myself often repeating the thought over and over in hopes that something will stick in the morning, but the only thing I wake to is the nagging thought that there was a perfect, beautiful, mother of all ideas and now it’s gone. Whisked away life a thief in the night.

They say (sidebar: I would really love to meet this They person someday) that you should leave a pad and pencil by your bed, then you can easily jot down these great ideas. And it’s an admirable thought, but by time my life altering thoughts occur, I’m too far gone to open my eyes. Maybe it’s the constant self-induced lack of sleep or the fact that I’m 30 weeks pregnant, but the moment my eyes close there is no coming back from the dark side.

So you’re just going to have to trust me.

Somewhere, locked in a deep dark vault in my brain is the most wonderful idea ever. Who knows, maybe it’s locked away with the same piece of knowledge that knows where I put my wedding bands that are still MIA?

When do you do your best thinking?

 

I’m fairly certain my wedding bands are lost somewhere in my house. No Bueno!

For a while now, I have ignored the fact that they were no longer sitting nicely on my nightstand where usually leave them. I kept telling myself that my pregnant brain had decided to put them away somewhere and now I just can’t remember where that safe place is. The other week, I made the mistake of actually looking for them. And not only did I look for them, but I admitted to my husband that I didn’t know where they were.

At this point, Dr. Seuss could write a book, “All The Places I Have Looked” but to no avail.

See, about four or five years ago, I decided to have my wedding band tattooed on. It was my first tattoo and I love it. It’s been nice, no matter what I was doing, to still have the symbol of my love. Gardening, painting, hiking (okay, that one might be a stretch, I don’t really hike), it didn’t matter, my ring is always with me. No worries of chipped diamonds, scratched bands, or losing them…until I lost them in my own house, that is. Did I mention the part about how my darling husband had my engagement ring hand designed by a diamond broker, thus it truly is a one of kind? Yep, I’m that girl who lost it.

I may not have worn the original set often, but I still like to slip them on every now and then.

I’m fairly certain, at least 99% sure, that they are somewhere in my house, but it doesn’t change the fact that currently they are MIA. I do live with a 3-year-old hurricane, but she’s usually pretty good to not touch my rings or at the very least is vocal when she has something of mine on.

I’ve searched high. I’ve searched low. But where oh where did my little rings go?

Don’t leave me hanging. Help a girl feel better and tell me I’m not the only one to lose something important and irreplaceable?

There is one thing in life I will always admit, and that’s the fact that I am just as guilty as the next person when it comes to just about every social faux pa. I don’t point fingers without pointing one first at my own self. Whether it’s intentional or not, we so often open our mouths without thinking.

Trust me, I’ve put my foot in my mouth so many times I’ve acquired a taste for rubber soles.

It happens a lot when you are pregnant – and sometimes even when you’re not – that people like to tell you how big your baby is. The thing is, I find myself wondering, “Do they think I don’t know?”

With our first daughter, the great and wonderful Diva Princess, it took a long time to show. For the first few months I just felt terrible, then the second trimester I just looked like I needed to avoid Taco Bell a little more often, and then finally somewhere around 7 months I actually had a baby bump that looked like a baby bump. With Nameless, however, I think I started showing at conception…at least by week 4 no doubt. Everything I read, and from what my doctor says, you just show sooner with the second one. And truth be told, I’m glad. I bypassed the “over indulging Taco Bell” stage in record speed and headed straight for obviously pregnant without passing go. But apparently, being bigger sooner just means more time for the peanut gallery to remark.

Now, the thing is, it doesn’t actually offend me – I’m big, I’ll admit – but let’s talk about the principle of the matter. When choosing to comment on someone’s belly, I think there should be an extra moment of “pause and reconsider” before you actually speak. For instance, when uttering any of the following statements; “Wow, she’s a big girl…”, “Damn, how far along are you again?”, “She might be a ten pounder…”, “you’re really getting out there” or anything else along those lines, well, the truth is you’re just calling me fat! Yep, no way around it, you called me fat. In your attempt to be cute, funny, or blatantly obvious, you really made an overly emotional, hormonal woman’s day!

The irony of my never ending comments is that I have actually gained significantly less amount of weight with Nameless than I did with the Diva Princess. By this point in my first pregnancy, I had gained about 40-50 lbs (mostly thanks to my pre-eclampsia and rapid fluid retention), with Nameless I have only gained 17 lbs. Personally, I’m feeling quite accomplished.

But sometimes our situations, our stories, are not always intentional. My pregnancy was planned, purposeful, I knew the score. But sometimes life throws us an unexpected curve ball.

“The Big C”

I’ve watched while cancer has done its best to wreak havoc on a dear friend of mine. Through all the treatments, she’s battled with all her might. She’s lost her hair, dealt with bad reactions to the drugs and the swelling, along with the simple fact, she has cancer. She’s taken everything in stride and never once given up hope. And she’s brave. I don’t think I could ever go out in public, as shallow as it may make me sound, without a wig. I’m just not that brave. I want to not care, but I’m just not sure I could really let go. But today she was hurt, maybe more deeply than any physical wound could cut. All because someone didn’t think before they spoke.

As I said, and will say again, I am not guilt free, but I think that it’s very important that we all remember that we don’t know someone else’s story. We don’t know the hardships and struggles they are under. So before we speak, take a moment to pause and reconsider your words, because our simple words could turn someone’s great day into their worst.

For my friend, I love you! #FightLikeAGirl

Have you ever wanted to be the first to read a book? Before it hit the shelves?

Well, you’re in luck!

In honor of my upcoming Local Author Fair on Saturday, March 21st, hosted by Alamance County Libraries, I will be giving away advanced reader copies of FORGIVE ME (upon publication) to four lucky winners. Sound too good to be true? It’s not.

There are only two simple rules:

1) Complete your contact information on this ENTRY FORM (click the words “entry form” to access link) by midnight on Wednesday, March 25th. I promise, I will not be contacting you unless you win.

and

2) Like my professional Facebook page – Leslie Ray Author

Participants must follow both steps to be eligible. 

I will be drawing the four lucky winner on Thursday, March 26th, so don’t wait. Winners will be notified via email, so please be sure to use a valid email address.

Wait, there’s more! (Like my infomercial voice?) I will also be drawing one lucky winner for an Ultimate Reader Basket (includes: $25 Barnes and Noble Gift Card, Bookmarks, LeslieRayAuthor.com pen, pad and mouse pad, and Chocolate, of course). Must be present at the 1st Annual Local Author Fair to enter drawing. Saturday, March 21st, May Memorial Library, Burlington, NC (downtown), 11am to 2pm. Light refreshments will be provided.

“May the odds ever be in your favor.” ~Effie Trinket

 

Picture it…

Your feet are firmly pressed against the pale oak flooring of the stage. You can barely make out the mic standing merely six inches from your face in the soft red glow of the exit signs. You can feel the hum of a packed house, feel their eyes trained on your position. It’s quiet. Too quiet. Only a soft rustle from the impatient man in the fifth row fills the silent void. A loud clank echoes throughout the auditorium and suddenly you’re engulfed in the bright steady stream of light pouring down on you. The spotlight momentarily blinding you. You should speak, say something. Anything. But the words are caught in your throat, beavered up like a dam. Your heart begins to race like Nightshade chasing the Triple Crown. A tiny droplet beads at your temple and for a moment you’re paralyzed. There’s not a cell in your body you can render under your control…

This is what it’s like when I hear the words Brief Bio.

I can write you novels. 90,000+ words of conflict, passion and life, but I can’t write a brief bio. It’s insane. It’s illogical.

I equate it much the same as my love-hate relationship with Twitter. I just don’t do brief. Have you met me? I love to talk. Nice, long-winded, drive you insane because I won’t stop talking, conversations. 140 characters? Come on Twitter, you gotta give me more than that. My hashtags are longer than 140 characters. Want the most detailed, overly helpful directions? Ask me. I’ll give you road names, landmarks, historical facts and the color of every house on the road. Ask me to describe myself in one word, and all I got it “stumped”.

And the problem is not talking about myself. Obviously.

I don’t’ know what it is. Maybe it’s that it feels forced? Or cheesy? It’s not like it’s the most exciting or entertaining thing I write, for sure. Or maybe it’s the whole writing about yourself in the third person? I like to feel more like I am having a conversation with my audience, not talking at them. Whatever it is, it’s a pain in my tuckus.

So tell me, what’s your spotlight?