First and foremost -- happy birthday Ginger! I hope it's wonderful and I want to thank you for inviting me to come hang out here today. Thank you :)
Now, on what I swear is an unrelated topic, I have a question for all you readers. Do you ever feel like you're racing death? I do! I don't know when it started really, but I am very well aware of the fact there aren't enough years in the human lifespan to do everything I want to. Not even close. With that in the back of my mind, I am driven to get as many things on my 'Lifetime To-Do' list as I can before the grim reaper cuts me down. I am, in essence, racing death.
The good thing about racing death is that you get a lot done, you're never bored and you really appreciate the time you've got. Or at least, I do. It does cause me to wear a lot of hats, as it were. I have a ridiculous amount of roles. I'm a mother, a wife, a volunteer, a writer, a poet, an editor, a-- you get the idea.
That can make it tricky when I'm invited to blog at someone else's blog -- I never know which hat to put on and talk about, which role I should be fulfilling.
Today I've decided to touch on two of them; Editor and Writer.
I am the founder and editor-in-chief of Niteblade Magazine. Niteblade is a fantasy and horror magazine and in September we put out our very first print anthology. You can check it out by clicking the image to the left. I love Niteblade, the publication itself, my role as editor and most of all, the wonderful people I've met while wearing my 'editor' hat. It's given me a perspective on the publishing industry I wouldn't otherwise have, and thus has definitely helped me when I'm functioning in one of my other favorite roles -- writer.
I write a lot and in all sorts of genres. The lack of specialization that typifys my life is present, also, in my writing. I write everything from BDSM poetry to zombie novels. I love the diversity in my work and I have a few dozen publications to my credit. I wanted to share something before I left, but I appear to have rambled too much to post anything very long. Thus, I'll end with a short poem. I hope you enjoy it.
House, But Not A Home
by Rhonda Parrish
You left me all alone,
like a house that’s not a home.
Homes are built of love and joy,
children’s laughter and yards with toys.
A house is made of wood and stone,
It’s empty of feeling, vacant and alone.
Both have four walls, this much is true –
but one is incomplete – like me, without you.
Thank you again for having me Ginger :)