JunkFest-Mania - May 25-26, 2024

 

Come visit the FCP tent at JunkFest-Mania, May 25-26, Florida Sand Music Ranch. Rya Wolf will be on hand to sign copies.

Details can be found here: https://www.facebook.com/events/337372115997491/337372122664157

Jolly Holidays!

Oh, my good dear sweet baby Jesus, what a year we’ve had. First, the great news – Sales, sales, and more sales, thanks mostly to the ever-loving persistence of my dear Rya, who just loves to set up tents in the heat of southern Florida, pawning books and magnets and stickers and other cool swag to the uninitiated. They kept coming back, though – to pick up the next book, and then the next one! For the first time since 2015, we actually had to pay a good-sized TAX RETURN for the income we received! So major kudos to Rya for her determination on her sales acumen! Meanwhile, I, who still has to show up at a job (2 years to go until retirement, though), but also prefers to loiter in the back shadowy corners and let Rya have her sunny way with the public, have happily fiddled with the social media pages and the TeeSpring store (We’ve added a lot of stuff there, by the way, go check it out – https://farcrutch-productions-2.creator-spring.com/). Either way, folks have taken notice, we have accumulated several new fans, and we thank you all!

Okay, Book 7 news. We are heavy into Book 7, I promise. The cover is planned, the Ouroboros is already designed, and I’ve actually managed to contribute several chapters to the cause. We know we are way, way behind. But, dammit, LIFE! Life just keeps interfering in the worst way! In addition to work, most of my summer was taken up with requests from my family needing help in everything from driving to appointments (an adventure in itself, as I can’t find my way out of a paper bag) to paying bills to moving patio furniture (which was never used, but it made said family member happy). Thanksgiving was a major bust due to a family member being diagnosed with a brain tumor that needed removal at once, so I had to navigate to Baltimore for the surgery. (I do not recommend this, especially in the dark.) This left me a bigger wreck than the actual emergency. Several days of driving let me pick out landmarks that left my family members in stitches (“Sad Adult McDonalds,” “Hairy Armpit Cemetery,” etc.) and I actually managed to drive to Johns Hopkins Hospital one day without any issue – under supervision from the husband and mother, but I did it, and that has got to be my biggest accomplishment this year. Doesn’t sound that big to others, but like I said – I can’t find my way out of a paper bag! So our suggestion? Read Books 1-6 over…and leave us reviews online…and keep being patient!

At least my Christmas shopping is done. I’m an early shopper, I don’t like to wait until December 24 to scramble around. I loathe having to set foot in Walmart any time of the year, but Walmartians at Christmas are the very devil. I swear they’re waiting for me in my room in hell. Everything is wrapped (thank you, Amazon gift wrapping!), and my Christmas cards are sitting here on my desk, ready to go out. My biggest gift is my family member with the now-removed brain tumor, who gets to be here for Christmas and is doing well.

So here’s to 2024 – we hope to have a new book out for you, if we can find ways to avoid the road blocks of life! Happiest of holidays to everyone!

- Rebecca

Book Cover T-Shirts, Hoodies, and Jackets Now Available!

Check these beauties out, eh? We've gotten a lot of comments on our Ouroboros covers, and thought they'd look great on shirts. So here you go! We have t-shirts, hoodies, and coach jackets available on our TeeSpring site. Go check 'em out at https://farcrutch-productions-2.creator-spring.com/!

The Calendar Says January 2023

 So it is, I guess. New year, new – no…not going down that stupid road. Never understood that. I’m me and that’s a take it or leave it package deal. Some can handle me. Others…well, not so much. 

Honestly though, 2023 doesn’t look any different than last year. Feels a helluva lot different though. Good or bad…well that is yet to be decided. Before we get to 2023, let’s talk a bit about 2022 first since I was really lacking on the blogs.

Excuse me while I pour a glass of Jamison…I need the sarcasm to deal with last year’s shenanigans.

This time last year I was all but ready to quit all social media. I was so sick of the crap and the trolls. But instead, I found the unfriend and unfollow buttons, and I punched them with maniacal gusto! Stress level dropped and so did my blood pressure. Who’da thunk…peace managed. If it weren’t for the great fans we have, I would have just ditched it all. But I’m tellin ya, I cannot stand people being hateful just to be hateful. I’m only hoping Karma lets me be a witness when she catches up with them.

Anyhoo...on with some interesting stuff. 

Junkfest News! There were three events that I was able to get to. We got a whole new batch of fans from those fair outings! They were amazing and great fun! A lot of books found new homes. I met a lot of people, got to talk about the books, show off some of our swag and gear, and just really have a good time.

Dragonspawn Weir News! This ranching thing is a world unto itself. It’s not easy, nor hard, just constantly busy.

First animal story. My farrier is out trimming hooves and tells me about a 19-year-old horse that needs a retirement home. She had spent most of her life as a riding stable mount, teaching beginners to ride. She was free and the stable would even deliver her. I know that damn “sucker” neon sign flashed right up on my forehead. Yep, I was getting another horse…or as my husband calls them – holes in the field to throw my money into with no return.

Second animal story. Dragonspawn Weir got its first sheep! We bought a full dozen of the cute little buggers. They were all 6 months old or less, and all little ewe lambs. They were so cute! Rams will come later (no pun intended) to the ranch once the girls are older. Did I mention they were cute? Good thing that…because we quickly learned they are also stupid, so very, very stupid. There are not enough pages in a ream of paper to describe the dumb shit that ensued due to their antics! One ended up with the name “Bucket Head” just to give you an example.

Third animal story. There isn’t one. There should be because when you write examples you do a minimum of three, but that’s not happening here so deal…HAHA! 

**Finishes whiskey** Be back. Need a second round. This one for emotional reinforcement.

The biggest news on the ranch though was my grandmother – who has lived with me since 2003. She turned 100 in the first part of the year. But 7 months later she was gone. Yes, I’m heartbroken. Yes, I miss her terribly. No, I’m not a basket case. No, I’m not always holding it together. That is life…and death.

My grandmother had a spectacular life. She was mouthy, and headstrong, and definitely not a wallflower. Her wit was razor sharp, more like broken glass in a beer bottle fight sharp actually. Not as sharp as my grandfather’s had been, but she could handle herself.

I was her caretaker for so long that it’s hard to realize the freedom I now have. I do not begrudge a single moment that I had her. The house just feels weird without her. I won’t say empty, or hollow, or any of those other phrases, because that’s not the sensation. She was 100, for God’s sake. It was an acknowledged eventuality. She was on soooooo much borrowed time. Having her around as long as I did – and although she needed physical help, mentally she never failed. If we all could be so good right up to the very end… 

**Looks one-eyed into empty glass** Shit, that went quick. Be right back. Pouring another glass just because.

Time to switch gears.

 Now along comes 2023…big plans, big dreams, resolutions and whatever you do, have at it. I’ve got plans and ideas, and not one of them is a “new me.” I just cruise along, drink, and say “dafuq, what the fuck, for fuck’s sake, and fuck it” a lot. Just like I always have. Just like I always will. Sometimes I think I can stop, but then, well, people…it’s the only appropriate thing to say most times!

 There are 4 Junkfests scheduled for this year so come out and see us…or just me probably. Watch our FB page for the events and locations. Rebecca is not a fan of the craft venue thing. She has lamented on that before in her blogs, and I understand why. But if I can get Becca down here she will find that there are real bathrooms in a brick-and-mortar building (not port-a-potties)…so that excuse is now invalid! HAHAHA!!!

 Book VII is still forthcoming. Becca and I have been working on it. Life just keeps getting in the way…but we are making progress. It is slow, but it is not at a standstill. We promise that it is getting attention. Please be patient with us!

To address the rest of the year…one day at a time.

**Upends empty glass** Fuck it, give me that bottle.

– Rya

 

Small Business Ventures

Anyone ever realized just how fun it is to get a attention for a small business? I mean, it’s hard, people! I’ve been sitting here trying to think up new, innovative ways to bring FCP into the light. Oh sure, the family pitches in, hands out our business cards, tells everyone about “those books they’ve been writing forever.” And the friends and family all smile and say, “oh, how nice” and continue on buying butter or knitting or changing diapers or whatever the hell they were doing previously. Meanwhile, Rya and I are looking at our small deposit in our bank account and are wondering how we can expand that little bundle o’dough without killing it. Exponentially. Okay, sure, we’re not J.K. Rowling by any means, but I think we’ve got a thing going. We should have some more money in there.

So Rya got going on the craft circuit in Florida, setting up a tent and selling books and gadgets – we are always on the lookout for any kind of promotional item that doesn’t cost a lot but still would get someone’s attention. I’m still working, so I can’t take off on a dime and head down to Florida – and furthermore, I have this serious thing about porta-potties in the middle of fields that Rya can’t fathom and just laughs at me. When she starts selling in a hotel with modern plumbing, I’ll think about jumping a plane, but until then, I’m staying put! That being said, she sold a shit-ton of books down there…got us a lot of new fans, had a great time with her new Square system. She’s definitely got the knack for this kind of thing.

Meanwhile, I set up shop online with the good folks at TeeSpring (https://farcrutch-productions-2.creator-spring.com/), adding our cool FCP Double Dragon^© logo on shirts and stickers and aprons and shoes and stuff – and the items are actually great, but due to their lousy website kicking off every chance it gets, I haven't been able to add any new stuff lately, and that’s frustrating. I’ve purchased a lot of the stuff myself, and I wear the shirts and display the magnets, etc. etc. Folks think they’re neat, but when I hold one out – “Would you display it?” – they immediately come up with all kinds of excuses – “oh, I don’t want to lose it in the carwash, I’ll mess it up, I don't wear tee shirts,” etc. I think my mother and my sister bought shirts just to shut me up. My husband kind of grunted and went to watch football. The struggle continues.

And then there’s social media. Facebook is heaven-sent for getting the word out. Loads of homemade ads, posts about authors and writing, posts that practically beg for everyone to just read ONE book. (I even put them up for free at one point – I’m pretty sure that’s what got us our first hundred fans, actually, that one free book...that and our nagging.) Kindly asking for folks to leave us reviews. (Thanks for all the good ones, by the way.) Setting up this blog. (Anyone reading it, besides me and Rya? Is Rya even reading it? You there, girl? LOL – okay, at least I am keeping it alive.)

Well, at any rate, I’ll keep plugging to find new methods. Might hire a herald if he doesn’t cost too much. Hear ye, hear ye.

 - Becca

Junk Fest Fun!

It was a banner day at the 6th annual Junkfest in the Field in Dade City, Florida! It was sponsored by the Blooming House Junk Shop, and in addition to the fun of antiques, Rya set up a booth and sold a bunch of books! Check out her cool table! Due to a family emergency I couldn't make it, but she handled it all like the pro she is. So awesome!!

The Uselessness of Psychology Textbooks

Current mood:  Powder keg 💣💥

It’s September. Ya know what, this year has sucked royally. I thought last year was bad, but Jesus...I jinxed the almighty hell out of that with my last post. COVID is still running rampant, the politicians are slurping everyone dry, social media keyboard warriors continue to inflame everyone with its lies and hypocrisy. My father died.

That last one cancels out everything else. I look at those three words, and the previous complaints just vanish into useless dust. My father died. My fantastic,  perfect, ever-loving dad is gone. I can kick everything else pretty much to the curb, but not the loss of my dad. I can't think of a big enough word for the enormity of his passing.

My family is pretty tight. We do everything together. We vacation together, we talk to each other every day, we SEE each other every day. My husband and I live in the house I grew up in (everyone else left), and my dad pretty much built everything I see. He’s everywhere, in every piece of paneling, in every carpet, in every piece of striped wallpaper. (He hated stripes. “Can you pick something OTHER than stripes?” he’d grouse. “Do you not understand that no wall is level in this house?” Yet he’d put it up straight every time.) Pictures of him are all over the place. It’s become a habit to blow a kiss at his picture before I go to bed at night.

And then, in June, during what should have been a simple outpatient procedure, he went into V-FIB, and bang, he was gone, just like that. Thanks to the COVID rules that wouldn’t let me and my sister into the hospital to see him before his procedure – “sign here, answer these questions, give me your driver’s licenses, wait until I xerox this and this and THIS” – the last image we have of our father is of him sprawled on a table in the ICU while a doctor straddled him, administering CPR. That image is seared into my brain. He would have been horrified for us to see him like that, and yet that was the only way we could. And so now, 3 months later, here I am. The first man in my life – the only one, for so many years – is no more.

How do I feel? What a stupid question that is. How the fuck do you think I feel?

Lost.

Rudderless.

Mad.

Depressed as hell.

According to the Psychology 101 twits, I’m stuck in the swirling mess of a Kübler-Ross chart. About the time I feel like I’m getting out, I fall right back in again. All it takes is a picture on the wall. The sound of his voice on the answering machine. His chair, still in the upright position in which he left it as the paramedics helped him out of it to take him to the hospital. His handwriting on a box in the closet. A random thought – “I need to tell Dad about that” – and then realizing I can’t.

Now my acquaintances are sympathetic, sure. But I swear to God if I hear one more time that it “gets better” and “he’s always with you” and more and more of the dime-store Hallmark/Psych 101 stuff, I might cut someone. My sarcasm is pretty sharp, and is a hell of a lot more prominent these days.

“He’s out of pain now.” Really? That’s great, Psych 101 textbook page 10.

“You should talk to someone.” Wow, Psych 101, page 14. I don’t talk to anyone normally, so why would I pay someone? The first thing they’d do is prescribe something that can mess with my head. My head’s enough of a mess, thanks. Pass.

“I’m praying for you.” Aw, really? Thanks. You go home to your family now, your sympathy card has been played. Pat yourself on the back for your ingenuity and sacrifice. Meanwhile, I'll look at the empty chair my dad sat in to watch TV and remember how you're "praying."

“You’ll see him again someday.” This one really makes me want to punch through a wall. Irrationality be damned. I don’t want someday, I want now. I want to go to Disney World and ride Pirates of the Caribbean with him. I want to go on a cruise with him and watch his delight when they bring cherries jubilee to our table. I want to listen to music with him in my car, with the volume turned way up. I’ll even watch old cowboy movies with him. I want his hugs and his laughter and his jokes and his voice. I just want him here, with us, where he belongs.

Death is a wakeup call, you know? You find out who your friends are, you realize just how much of your life is cluttered with stuff that doesn’t matter, and you discover REAL quick that dying, not living, is expensive and confusing and uncaring. Throw in a fucked-up U.S. postal system, a heartless bunch of government officials, and a pile of bills for lawyers, funeral parlors, and accountants, and you’re stuck in the seventh level of Chaos with no exit sign and the elevator is out of order.

You know what’s really best? Just say “I’m sorry.” Even if you’re not. Because unless you’re someone who can rewind time, or bring them back, all that other stuff is complete rot, despite what Hallmark and Psych 101 want you to believe. Just shut up, sit down, offer a Kleenex, and say "I'm sorry." That goes a long way.

Okay, time to get out of this mire. Anyone know a good mechanic? Things can only go up. I hope so.

-Becca