Roxanne Bland

I am a genre-bending novelist of fantasy, science fiction and romance. My motto: Reality is highly overrated.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!

My Great Dane Daisy Mae is THIRTEEN today!

Happy Birthday, Daisy–you’re the BEST!!

It’s A Long Night

Anxiety attack. Crap.

Too late to pop a couple of Xanax. I’ll never wake up and I gotta be somewhere later this morning.

CRAP.

Ciao.

Is He Really Dead?

So Epstein was found dead in his cell. How fucking convenient.

It reminds me of Ken Lay, the CEO of Enron back in the day. Lay and his buddies pulled all kinds of bullshit that resulted in Enron’s spectacular crash. Employees lost their like savings because they were strongly encouraged to buy Enron stock. I remember one man who was about a year or two from retirement saying that since he’d lost everything, he’d have to work until he died. He wasn’t kidding, either. Anyway, the day Lay was to be sentenced, he dropped dead from a heart attack. Or so it was said.

Same here. Actually, it’s an even bigger deal than Enron. Epstein was most likely going to go down and if he did, a whole lot of powerful men were going to go down with him. Epstein wouldn’t have kept quiet about who took advantage of his little ring. To get maybe a reduced sentence (not much question he’d go to prison this time), he was probably going to sing like a canary. And then he dies. Or so it is said.

Seems like quite the coincidence, huh? Lay and Epstein were in deep, deep, shit and suddenly they die, just like that. I have a theory. Both men were richer than Croesus. They probably socked away huge bucks and other valuables in secret offshore accounts under assumed names (happens all the time). With all their riches backing them, it would be easy for them to fake… Continue reading

The City Of New Orleans

Good mornin’ America, how are ya?
Say, don’t you know me, I’m your native son
I’m the train they call The City of New Orleans
I’ll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done.

Arlo Guthrie’s The City of New Orleans came out when I was 12. For a long time, it was my favorite song. I’m not a fan of country or folk music–or even Arlo Guthrie–but this song appealed to me in a way I really can’t fathom. In fact, the only reason I probably ever heard it was because it was a bust-out crossover hit. All the pop stations were playing it. I guess the only ones that weren’t were the classical and black stations.

Anyway, this song has been playing in my head lately, in an endless loop. Which means I could be in deep shit. See, it starts with a tune from my childhood, playing day and night. I go to sleep, it’s playing. I wake up, it’s playing. It’s like I can’t NOT hear it. Next comes the numbness. My emotions bottle up and nothing fazes me because nothing matters. Then I get the brain fog. It’s hard for me to think, to comprehend. It’s impossible for me to read. My ability to write is fucked, too. When that happens, I have no idea how I’m still able to do my job. And I can forget about trying to do creative work.

If I pass this point, thoughts of death arrive. The… Continue reading

Gonna Lay My Burden Down

Tired.

Tired of mass shootings. Tired of your thoughts and prayers. Tired of this. Tired of that.

Just tired.

But do you know what I’m really tired of? That the assholes who go out and blow people away are said to be “mentally ill.” I resent the fuck out of that. These white men (yes, white men–you can count the number of shooters of other races on less than five fingers) aren’t crazy. It’s not like these men just casually walk up to a crowd and start blasting. They know exactly what they’re doing and why. These rampages are PLANNED. They are fulfilling their white supremacist bullshit fantasies and they know that it’s more than likely they’ll get away with it. No death penalty for them–oh, no. They’ll go to prison and hook up with more of their asshole compatriots and oh, they’ll be such big, bad men for killing all those innocent people! People who had no beef with them, who didn’t know who the fuck the asshole was before they died, and sure as hell didn’t know afterward! And if the people murdered were of color, why, that’s even better! In any event…they are not insane. They don’t hear voices telling them to go out and kill. They’re not hallucinatory–they don’t think they’re at the firing range when they’re downtown at the club. And then the politicians come and blame video games, music and whatnot. Somehow, society has “failed” these shooters. What the ever-lovin’ fuck?? They tried that… Continue reading

I Bought The T-Shirt

When I saw this on the news the other day, my depressed state flew out the window and I laughed so hard I almost shit my pants. The artist is a fuckin’ genius. He says he did it back in 2016 after 45 won the election. Guy’s a staunch Republican (voted for Dubya twice–that’s gotta tell you something) but he was so disgusted with 45 and his ilk that he switched parties. Anyway, 45 gave a public speech IN FRONT OF THIS PRESIDENTIAL SEAL. And nobody even fuckin’ noticed!!

So you know I had to get me one of those. You can get one too, at: https://one-term-donnie.myshopify.com/?fbclid=IwAR2NS0tYMcJ78KETvWoYC3C6uoGHqJ9pIof3qf6bTqPWKjgOQX6Cj-tzsGw

Says it all, doesn’t it?

Ghost Hunters Extraordinaire

I’ve been watching these ghost hunter videos on YouTube and some of them are pretty funny. I mean really–you’re supposed to be a big, bad ghost hunter and when you hear or see a door slam all by itself you shit your pants? One of my favorite videos was made by this guy in Saudi Arabia exploring this abandoned house (I think) that’s supposed to be haunted. So this guy is wandering through the house with his camera. Doors start slamming all over the place, swinging back and forth and whatnot while he’s recording so you see all this madness going on. The whole time, he’s breathing like a spent racehorse and screaming prayers. Hilarious. There are lots more like that. I look at these clips and wonder why the hell do they do it if they’re just going to crap their pants the minute the lights start flickering? I dunno–maybe they’re just thrill junkies.

A bunch of posts back, I said I believed in the paranormal. I do. But I also think a lot of what’s labeled as paranormal have more prosaic explanations. Still, it makes me wonder if there really are houses haunted by spirits out there. Like, the house I pass by when on my way to my parents’ place. It’s a beautiful brick house, probably 4-5 bedrooms, nice sized yard. Right now it needs a paint job but that’s neither here nor there. A murder occurred in that house. It was all over the local papers… Continue reading

Moving Along

So I’m hard at work with this author thing. Took a rest from editing The Underground manuscript. I finished editing, but I want to go over the 1st 10 chapters or so to make sure I’m happy with the text. For the last go-round, I was working off the formatted copy where I’d highlighted changes I wanted to make, but around 10 I saw I needed to make changes that weren’t highlighted–i.e., the ones I missed. On the formatted draft, if I didn’t see yellow highlights, I passed over the corresponding text on the Word doc. Got to make sure it’s fine and dandy because I ain’t doing this again. Yes, the nice thing about self-publishing is that if you see something funky, you can pull the book and re-work it but it’s best not to fuck up in the first place. I cut myself some slack because there’s been a long learning curve, but I’m far along enough now that I know what NOT to do.

While I’ve been resting from editing, I’ve been working to build my author platform. I’m concentrating on Twitter at the moment, interacting with people, letting folks know I’m out there. It’s working. Still, I have some concerns. It seems that most of my new followers are also authors. Nothing wrong with that in and of itself but I don’t want to be author-heavy. What I want are people who are potential or actual readers to follow me. My fellow authors are not the… Continue reading

The Road Not Taken

A few posts ago, I ranted about how jealous I was of my high school friends who’d pursued a musical career.

I talked to one of those friends today and told him how I felt. He said his career had been a hard road, what with having to perform day after day with people he hated, riding a bus with a bunch of “stinky feet” guys and so on. Many times he wanted to quit but what kept him going was that so many people got pleasure out of his music.

I don’t doubt him. In fact, I know exactly what he’s talking about. After high school and college, I hung around enough musicians to know how hard it is. Chasing gigs all the time, wondering if and hoping that people show up for your show because what you get paid depends on how many drinks the nightclub owner sells. And so much more.

But the key here is that the pleasure he gave his listeners is what kept him going. My day jobs never afforded me that. I didn’t and don’t care if people get anything out of what I do. It’s a paycheck and I need the money. If I could, I’d walk away from it tomorrow. Or right now, even.

That’s where writing comes in. It’s what keeps me going. I love to write my stories, and it gives me pleasure that other people get pleasure from reading them. It’s a shame I came to the realization… Continue reading

Day of Anger

I really shouldn’t be blogging because right now I’m pretty deep in the pit. Or the black dog has come to visit. Or whatever your preferred euphemism. But I need to say something.

Today I turn fifty fucking nine years old. I’m pissed about it. I’m so mad I could just spit. If you’ve been following my posts, you know why.

I hate birthdays.

Ciao.