A Princess & Her Chariot

When I was very young, my father had 1957 Chevy Bel-Airs. I remember when I was about 3 or 4, watching him battle an invisible army of mosquitoes as he set the body on the frame (by himself, mind) on the car that I would grow up in, doing donuts, taking long drives on dirt roads, working on until it got too dark to see. I grew up with dirty fingernails, greasy hands, and busted knuckles, helping my Dad and his friends work on their cars.

My Chevelle. It didn't look like much, but, boy, could she go!

As the years went on, Dad got more and more economical (and practical) cars for his job and the commute, but I've always had a giant car with tons of chrome. The first car I bought for myself with my own money was a 1970 Chevelle Malibu. It had a stroked 383 with a 750 CFM Holley, turbo 350 transmission with shift kit and stall converter, weight reduction, roll cage, NOS setup, slap shifter... the works. I bought it for $1,700 from a guy who'd built into a drag car. This thing was wicked fast.  You had to be going 55 MPH to shift it from first to second. The only way to drive it sanely on the street was to turn down the transmission's vacuum advance so it would shift gears and lower speeds. Otherwise, you put it in "Drive," and the car would sit there and shake while you pushed the gas pedal until it hit a certain RPM and then you'd take off like a rocket.

I spent one whole summer drag racing it on back roads. One day, I got a bug in my bonnet to see just how fast the car really was. So, I took it an hour and half to the closest drag strip to find out. When
 I got there, the tech guys weren't going to let me race. Then this one guy - who'd stood off to the sidelines and not said much until then - said, "Let her do a time."

I was so excited! I lined up, slapped it into drive and pushed the gas. The car sat there and shook while I waited for the green light. It popped green and - all the stars in the sky must've lined up all at once that afternoon - I punched the gas to the floor. The front wheels came up off the ground, and all I can see out the windshield is sky...sky... sky... GROUND. And in a few heartbeats, it was over with my heart going BOOM, BOOM, BOOM down at the end of the strip.

All these guys came running over and made me pull to the side and started yelling at me: "You can't drive that here! You need a harness and a helmet and a license..." And the one guy who'd let me race, he said to another guy standing there, "I told you so."

All I could think to ask was, "How fast was I?"

The guy who let me have a go said, "You did it in 9.29. That's too fast to race here without a special license and safety equipment." He handed me my slip. It was there in black and white: 9.29 at 147 MPH. The most exciting thing I have ever done was finished in under 10 seconds. "You're not driving this back home, are you?" he asked.

"Well, I drove it here," I said. And I got under the car and turned the vacuum advance down and drove back home, content in the knowledge that I had a Seriously Hot Car.

Over the years, I have owned several cars - none as hot as my Chevelle - and they all have one thing in common: big, loud motors. I am a firm believer in big pipes and big blocks. For my birthday a few years back, I bought myself a 1971 Ford LTD Brougham with a factory 429, triple black. I love this car. It will never be a race car, but it is a TON of fun to drive. I haven't gotten to drive it much the last couple of years because we're fixing it up, repairing rust and getting ready to put on a custom paint job. I'll update as the job continues. Here's some photos of my Shillelagh:

My design for my LTD

Write On!

For those of you who are new to my page, in addition to being a web designer, social marketer, and graphic designer for work, and being a musician and songwriter for fun, another of my hobbies is writing. To date, I've written four novels, a songbook, and my father's memoirs (links to buy below); I am currently working on the second volume of Dad's memoirs, two more novels, a book of short stories, a poetry book, and a cook book.

Suffice to say, my life is busy enough that I rarely have time to seriously devote to writing any more, but I've decided that I need to finish another novel and at least one other project before the end of the year. In that spirit, I am embarking on my own, personal FebNoWriMo. It'll be like NaNoWriMo except with fewer days and lower word count. I'm shooting to write 25,000 words between February 1st and February 29th (it's a leap year!), which means I have to write around 862 words per day to reach my goal.

Let me tell you, 862 words is nothing. When I was writing my espionage novel, Devil's Handiwork (not yet released), I routinely wrote around 3,000 words per day, but I think that is mostly because I outlined. A lot of writers don't outline, and, you know, whatever works for them. Me, I need an outline, even if I just toss it after it's done, I have a road map. As I am writing, I may deviate from my plans in the outline, and sometimes, that means that the books takes a dramatically different turn that what I'd planned, but that's okay! Most times, the deviation makes the whole thing better. But having a plan definitely helps me write: I wrote the second book in my Sorrow Stones Trilogy in 28 days using that method. I wrote the outline and then just elaborated on that sparse summary, often deviating from it, and the end result was something that I am really proud of, even though almost no one has read either it or the first one in the series.

So, keep me accountable, readers! I am going to post word and page totals every day in February. **finger crossed**

 Night Cry Print book on Lulu | E-book on Amazon | E-book on Barnes&Noble

A Night Borrowed Print book on Lulu | E-book on Amazon | E-book on Barnes&Noble

Hold My Beer! Print book on Lulu | E-book on Amazon | E-book on Barnes&Noble

Outside the Comfort Zone

For a really long time, I didn't do certain things because I was scared. In my youth, I was harassed, bullied, shamed, and so much more to the point that I created a little corner of the world for myself where I barely even had to leave the house. That might sound strange for someone who has performed hundreds of shows with a band over the years, but it's the truth: when you're on stage, there is a buffer between you and the crowd, the uncalled-for commentary. I've been performing since I was very young when my Mom used to manage stage productions at church, so performing has never bothered me. Public speaking, singing, acting... no big deal. It's smaller situations that always got to me. When you're with a group of people and they're all conscientiously ignoring you, or when people you know have gone out of their way to make sure that you're excluded and shamed publicly... yeah, that's when you start to get gun shy and clam up. There were a lot of opportunities I missed, a lot of things I didn't do, because I was afraid of rejection, of the things that might be said to me.

I stopped letting people in a long time ago. When even people I was supposed to be able to rely on for comfort and support during trying times turned on me like so many vipers, that's when I completely retreated. And after my divorce, when I was hurting the most and people still did it to me, that's when I stopped performing, too. I had lost all my confidence. It's taken the love and support of an incredible man - my Tommy Lee - and him giving me the space and leeway to find myself and I finally saw some confidence growing again in the desert of my psyche, to use a metaphor. From being bullied as a pre-teen for experimenting with red lipstick ("Her lips arrive 15 minutes before she does!), to being kicked out of church youth groups for bleaching my hair and wearing tight pants, to being left behind on family outings... Being reduced to nothing but your looks and set of boobs (more on that in a minute)... yeah, I got tired of the crap. And, worse, I blamed myself. I desperately wanted to be someone else, especially when my (now EX) husband kept telling me I wasn't good enough... not thin enough, not pretty enough, not talented enough, too lazy to amount to anything. That shit will wear on you.

I even went to a therapist once to see if there was something that could be done about my depression, and the psychiatrist dismissed me after 15 minutes saying that I didn't have anything to be depressed about and if I felt depressed, I should just give up coffee. (Insert exaggerated eyeroll here.)

It's difficult when people don't take you seriously out of hand. They look no deeper than the surface and dismiss you without a second thought. And I got super tired super fast of pretending to be something I am not in order to fit in or to please someone else. Today, I just don't have any tolerance for things that aren't real. I am not going to be anything other than myself. I gave up looking for a job in the field I got my degrees in because, even though I could basically get the job on paper sending in my resume and over the telephone interviews, the minute I walked in for the "basically just a formality" in-person interview, I was sunk. I could tell by the looks on their faces that I wasn't getting the job, and I hadn't even said anything yet. After two or three times of this, I just gave up and started my own Internet business where people don't get to see me, and, therefore, I wasn't getting judged based solely on my looks. I tried, for a while, to be what I thought people wanted, but it got tiresome. And, in the end, it wasn't worth it. I am happier now than I have ever been, and, to be honest, I had been sad for so long that it actually feels kind of weird.

So, the point of this story: yesterday evening, I did my very first Periscope concert. I played 6 songs for an anonymous audience, and, boy, was I ever nervous. I haven't played for people in almost 5 years. While I have gained a lot of confidence, this was something that was completely outside my comfort zone. But it went okay, I think. There were a lot of boob comments. I wish that there hadn't been, but I've actually gotten used to it. Yes, they're big boobs. Yes, they're real. No, "they" aren't me. They're actually kind of a pain in the ass (or back, as the case may be). Finding bras is next-to-impossible or breaks the bank, the bras you do find are either: 1) not cute at all or 2) painful as shit after a couple of wears, and finding shirts to fit them that don't make the rest of you look like a circus tent... well, that's why I love the repro retro clothes I've gotten into recently. For the first time in a long time, I feel pretty.

My breasts have defined me for so long that I am used to the commentary about them. God gave them to me, so, they are what they are. I can't do anything about people who choose to define me by one or two physical attributes (and then seemingly attach whatever kind of personality traits they want to those attributes) and don't bother to get to know me. The people who are really going to end up mattering are those who do look beyond the surface to see all my facets... because I am a diamond. ;)

Welcome to Molly Starlite's!

Me and my Tommy Lee at the Spokane County Raceway

Welcome to Molly Starlite's... where it's retro every day!!

It wasn't so long ago that I wasn't sure of who I was. I'd just gotten out of a disastrous relationship that included over a decade of emotional and mental abuse and I was pretty lost. And then I found pinup culture, and it was like the sun suddenly came up for the first time in my life. I suddenly knew exactly who I was. I felt like I fit in for the first time ever. And so, I want to share my journey with you, my readers, whoever you are, so that maybe I'll inspire someone, or just entertain someone for a while. Whatever your reasons for coming here, welcome.

A little bit about me... I grew up in rural north Idaho, with only three TV channels (only one came in very well at all), a menagerie of farm animals and pets (over 100 animals lived on the place at one time), two siblings, and an overabundance of boredom to cope with. I began writing from a young age, writing short stories, newspaper articles, and other materials from the age of 9. Around the same age, I started teaching myself piano and writing songs; by age 16, I had a catalogue of (self-described) atrocious songs that I burned. I first started writing what would become Night Cry, my first novel, in 1996 on a typewriter. After many drafts, incarnations, and hundreds of rejections from agents and publishers alike, I finally realized that two books I was writing were actually the same story and the Sorrow Stones legend was born. Since then, I have written two of the three books in the Sorrow Stones Trilogy, my father's recently-published memoirs, and am currently at work on Night Fades, the third installment of the Sorrow Stones trilogy, and another, unrelated novel, Devil's Handiwork, which tells the tale of a disaffected corporate super-spy with a secret. Also in the works: a cookbook, a book of poetry, and a book of sci-fi/fantasy short stories.

Musically, I started a band in 2003 that would eventually (after 15 drummers, two bassists, and the loss of a guitarist) become Make Me Shiver, a virtually unknown band with a metric buttload of awesome songs. We released our first record, Too Much To Dream, in 2006, which is made up of 11 songs, all written by me. The band's second record, Moonshine Valentine, contains 13 songs, 12 written by me and one written by current drummer, Steven. The record was not properly promoted despite being chock-full of awesome pop-blues-folk-rock fusion music due to a surprise divorce the day the CD was released in April 2010. Make Me Shiver is currently at work on our third record, tentatively titled BitterSweet, a double album written over the course of my break-up, divorce, meeting my soul mate, marriage, and new-found happiness, and the songs follow the whole story from beginning to end. Should be something to hear, whenever it finally gets done.

Homeschooled through high school, I eventually went on to pursue higher education, getting an Associate of Arts degree in 2001, a Bachelor of Science degree from Lewis-Clark State College in Interdisciplinary Studies (Communications and English) in 2006, and a Master of Arts degree in Communication and Leadership from Gonzaga University in 2010.

I currently own and operate a web design, graphic design, and Internet and social marketing company, Crescent Moon Design Studio, a business I originally started in 2004 to supplement my income while in school. Since the economy tanked and there weren't any jobs, I have thrown myself into the business full-force, designing web sites, social media marketing campaigns, Internet marketing campaigns, short-form videos, jingles, graphics, books, and more.

In my spare time (HA!), I enjoy restoring classic cars with my husband, driving said cars, painting, playing music, cooking, playing with my four kids, watching Steelers football, and decorating my house. A vintage and retro enthusiast, you'll often find my pinning Mid Century Modern design stuff and Sputnik starbursts to my Pinterest boards or haunting Craigslist for atomic-age lamps or yardsales looking for MCM treasures. I still lives in rural north Idaho, 300 feet from the house where I grew up.

Pinup culture helped me heal from years of abuse and self hatred, and it all got started when I bought a dress from Pinup Girl Clothing. Since then, I have thrown myself into the lifestyle; I even entered the Viva Las Vegas Pinup contest for 2016... my first pinup contest ever. (Maybe I should have started smaller, eh?) So, this blog will detail that journey, as well as any clothing reviews, makeup tips and tricks, hair tips and tricks, midcentury style (clothing, decor, whatever strikes me). Won't you come along with me?