
I’d love to hear your comments. Talk to me. Tell me your story. I’m all ears and look for me on Facebook at SheilaMGood, Pinterest, Bloglovin, Twitter@sheilamgood, Contently, and Instagram. You can follow my reviews on Amazon and Goodreads.

I’d love to hear your comments. Talk to me. Tell me your story. I’m all ears and look for me on Facebook at SheilaMGood, Pinterest, Bloglovin, Twitter@sheilamgood, Contently, and Instagram. You can follow my reviews on Amazon and Goodreads.
No, I haven’t been abducted by Aliens, taken by Zombies,
or, turned into a Vampire.
Okay, that last one could be half-true (without all the blood). One thing for sure is my Insomnia has taken on a whole new dimension this month. So, forgive me if I haven’t been interacting as much.
I’ve been busy with the ChapterBuzz 10,000 Word Challenge. The goal was to write 10,000 words of a new or work in progress. I have been trying to finishing my novel, Hello Hell and this has helped tremendously.
Starting from around 2000 words of my original work in progress, I’ve changed the plot, added new characters and have written a total of 39,194 words! The Challenge ends today, but you can keep cheering me on at ChapterBuzz/Sheila M. Good.
In the meantime, here’s one of my first short stories, perfect for Halloween: Wrong Turn. Enjoy and remember – be safe.
I’d love to hear your thoughts on the subject. Join the conversation. Talk to me or tell me your story. I’m all ears.
The Daily Post Prompt – Deny
I have a name for this and no, it isn’t dementia (Although, I wouldn’t ask my husband) – I call it – the squirrels are loose. More recently, however, I’ve come to realize it’s something more sinister – Mother!
Yep, the ghost of my mother is haunting me. She’s not only dancing in the middle of the squirrels, she’s leading the choir.
Women can deny it all they want that they’re nothing like their mother, but the older we get, the more we become our mothers. And, don’t give me that sappy crap, “I would be honored to be like my mother.” Bull malarkey! Okay, maybe one or two of you … but, I digress.
Growing up, mother was our version of Mr. Clean, and let me tell you, baldy couldn’t hold a candle to mom!
By the time I was a teenager, I knew how to vacuum, mop, strip and wax floors, scrub tile grout, baseboards, and make windows sparkle! You would have thought the Pope was coming for Sunday dinner (we were Baptist, but still).
When she cleaned house, she supervised. At the time I thought I had the meanest mother on the earth, but I did learn some valuable lessons along the way:

I’m sure there are more, but my mind has wandered. So, back to my long, drawn-out point – See?
Last week, while picking up a crumb, I noticed my baseboards, which lead to me (yes me) painting every baseboard in my line of sight, 4 doors, reorganizing my junk drawers, pantry, closet, re-installing my computer software, and joining the Chapter Buzz, 10,000-word Challenge for October!

My arthritic body is faring better than I expected, but my mind is tired as hell. I think I might be possessed.So, yes deny all you want that you look, act, or say things like your mother – but it happens to the best of us, like it or not.
So, yes deny all you want that you look, act, or say things like your mother – but it happens to the best of us, like it or not.
P.S. Did I tell you I’m making homemade sweet potato jerky for my Bichon because they’re her favorite and the stores stopped carrying them?!!
Jesus, mom! Give it a rest!
I’d love to hear your thoughts on the subject. Join the conversation. Talk to me or tell me your story. I’m all ears.
Although I would never call myself a poet under any circumstances, I can’t imagine a girl alive that didn’t at some point try her hand at writing poetry. Usually, and I’m guessing (wink, wink) every girl has poured her young heart out in rhyme and unreasonableness. I’m sure my cow pasture journal was filled with sappy attempts. I don’t have the remnants of those but I do have one special poem, written while in high school with an amusing little back story.
I would rather have been tied to a stake and set afire than forced to take algebra. However, back in the day (don’t ask, it was a long time ago), if you wanted to go to college, you took algebra. My teacher was a young man fresh out of college and for some reason took a special interest in this struggling student. In fact, had I accepted a dinner date with him (sworn to secrecy, of course) I could have come out with an A. I turned his generous invitation down and instead wrote a poem, which he rather liked. I’d take my chances on the grade.
Theorem 31
Oh, that teacher in 1st period
his Theorems and his Proofs!
the more I try, the harder it gets
and, the Lord knows that’s the truth
The corollaries and postulates,
know them one by one
now, get to work and state the Proof
Of Theorem 31
I proudly state the given
then comes L1=L2
man, on my way, am I
and AB=BY.
I look again at what
I am proud to prove and
suddenly see despair
I know that Mr. Morgan’s near
I sense him in the air.
He’s standing there right over me
With ruler in his hand
Sheila that’s wrong,
dear heart
Erase it and try again
Oh, that teacher in 1st period
his Theorems and his Proofs
they’re driving me up the wall
and, God knows that’s the truth.
With a long, deep
and sad, sad sigh
I begin to erase it
I begin to cry
The shreds of hair lay
All around
My tear-stained face
Is streaked
So here, go again
compose yourself
don’t look so stunned
Sheila, it’s really very easy
now, take this sheet
Quit pulling your hair
now, prove Theorem 31

I’d love to hear your thoughts on the subject. Join the conversation. Talk to me or tell me your story. I’m all ears.