He Still Won’t Stop Talking

matt clay

This shirt is the representation of the things his mouth says. Just horrible.

Long, long ago in a village far, far away where the local inhabitants wore nothing but yoga pants and prank called their former algebra teacher who once said “math is necessary,” there was a writer named Ericka who punished her husband for saying that she “maybe shouldn’t drive on the sidewalks” and “probably should wear clothes to church” by posting all the other horrifying things he said on the Internet.

You can find those horrifying things here and here.

You’d think said husband would “maybe stop talking, please, seriously, Matt, stop talking, and could you hold this cat while I get more Cheetos?  Don’t worry about where I got the glitter!  Mr. Cattypants likes it!!” but alas, he has not.

Here’s proof:

  • “I chiseled a baby spoon out of wood when I was six months old.”
  • “I am rich in puppy.”
  • “I should suspend your vent privileges.”
  • “I’m about to get wild, and I’m all like, ‘Matt, stop.  That’s too fucking wild.'”
  • “I just hurt my neck with my exaggerated head and eye movements.”
  • “I choose grammar over everyone.”
  • “After this, can you remind me to eat an egg roll and check the mail?”
  • “You have a wonderful hairline.”
  • “I’d risk my life to build a treehouse.”
  • “You know what’s funny?  You’re not a police officer, and you don’t know the definition of ‘cop sexy.'”
  • “A Lincoln Town Car limousine?  Those were simpler times.”
  • “Dennis Quaid is still wide smiling his way around America.”
  • Me: What’s the name of the Ryan Phillippe movie you like?  Matt: Which one?”
  • “I’m sorry, it’s just that I find water’s affinity for itself in glasses interesting.”
  • (His take on papaya) “Nasty.  Disgusting.  I’m going to put it down your shirt.”

Maybe one day he’ll grow up and be a mature adult like me.

Oh God.  Our poor child.

How to Parent a Child

dog in a sombrero

See, Mr. McFluffycakes? This is how you pull of a sombrero you non-sombrero wearing son-of-a-bitch!!

Listen, I know I’m really great at a lot of things like wearing shirts and making my neighbor’s dog feel inferior because he can’t walk on two feet like me, a very smart human being (You hear that, Mr. McFluffycakes?  Huh?  You hear that?  I’m the smart one you sickeningly adorable son of a bitch!), but what I’m really great at is parenting.

Parenting is by far the best thing I’ve ever done because 1) I’ve never lost my child.

So there’s that.

But there’s also the fact that she’s developing into a very not scary person proven by the hilarious non-scary things she says.  Usually in public:

  • “Let’s pretend we’re all at a wedding and don’t know each other. Hi! I’m Tilly, I’m six, and I live alone.”
  • Me: How was the Humane Society presentation at school?  Ava: Well, the dog didn’t have any eyes and the cat died so they brought us a bag of fur to pet.
  • “It smells like eyeballs and helicopters in here.”
  • Ava: Maybe my new friend can be my boyfriend.  Me: Aren’t you a little young to have a boyfriend?  Ava: Don’t judge me!!
  • Me: Ava, guess what! We sold the house!  Ava: I know. I made a few emails on my iPad so you’re welcome.
  • Me: What are you doing?  Ava: Watching a video about Dropbox. It’s relaxing.
  • Me: Why is it you never listen?  Ava (with wide “innocent” eyes): Well, because I’m a little girl and little girls just don’t know how to listen.
  • Me: How did gym camp go?  Ava (laughing): Great! Told some guy I was twenty-five!
  • Me: It’s time to take your bath.  Ava: Okay, give me just one second.  Me: Nope, it’s time now.   Ava (in her best first grade teacher tone): Remember when we talked about patience?
  • “I’m in charge of the world.”
  • Ava: What are these?  Me: Onions.   Ava: Oh, I’m so sorry, but my doctor says I can’t have these.
  • Ava: Want to play Oprah and Gayle?  Me: Sure.  Ava: I’m Oprah.  Me: Okay, hi Oprah.  Ava: Get out of my office Gayle!!
  • Me: Why are you acting like a crazy person?  Ava: Because Jesus made me this way!!!

See?  Parenting isn’t hard.  You just have to be willing to dress up like the best friend of a multi-billionaire and be screamed at from time to time.

And in the end, just realize Jesus made them that way, so really, it’s all his fault.

Things Ericka Does When She’s Tired. Case in Point, This Post.

Unkept by Ericka Clay

Photo credit: BillBadzo on Flickr
Design Credit: Ericka Clay


Okay, see I have this problem where my brain works a million miles per second so one moment I’m happily typing along on White Smoke, and then it hits me – time to update Unkept’s cover for the millionth time! So I’ve come up with said schmancy fancy new cover that you can see here.

You like?  Seriously, tell me what you think in a comment below, and I’ll send you a lock of my hair from the sixth grade when Billy Hutcherson said I had alien eyes.

It was a fabulous year.

What the Frick is Ello?

There’s a new social media site in town called Ello and it’s the anti-facebook so you already know I lurve it.  It’s a great place for writers to share their drafts and post pictures of their dogs in sombreros.

Go friend me over there, and let’s be scared together.

Everybody Get Tipsy

Tipsy Lit Magazine Oh what’s this? Just a brand new poetry magazine I started at Tipsy Lit because I have a knack for creating labor intensive jobs for myself that pay absolutely nothing. BAM! IN YOUR FACE! Oh my God, are you okay? I really didn’t mean to get carried away like that.

Our first issue went live today, and we’d love to have you submit poetry for October’s issue.  You can even submit your short stories for our story blog.

We’re kinda snazzy like that.  Oh and don’t forget to subscribe to Tipsy Lit to get a free copy of our magazine in our inbox.  Because I want you to subscribe to things until your fingers fall off.

Bloggity Bloggity Bloggity…I give up on titles

If you’re anything like me, you just misread “titles” as “titties” and laughed for seven minutes.  So if you ARE like me, be sure to sign up on my subscription page to receive updates about my latest novel, signed book giveaways, and the nursing home I’ve chosen for my grandmother.  Hahahaha, hi, Grandma!

I’m really tired and I have no more coffee.  Sigh.

Also, I have a new poetry blog AND I’m thinking of blogging here again and being funny every once in awhile.  Imagine that.  In fact, I have a new list of 21 things my husband has said and it will burn your retinas.  Literally burn them.


Goodbye, you guys.  I’m gonna go sleep with my eyes opened now.


writing room

Photo credit: Alex ZIMMERHACKL Design by: Ericka Clay

I’m working on revisions for Unkept which is a lot like carefully removing my heart with a scalpel just to watch it beat.

It’s like going back in time, reworking history, rethinking all of the things I want to say and finding new ways to say them.

It’s a puzzle, a mystery, a million little paper cuts delivered every time I hit a key.  It’s opening old wounds and crafting fresh ones and bleeding until my insides are shriveled dry.

It’s a painful act, remolding words.  It’s painful because there’s a mirror there reflecting your paper cut hand, your heart in your palm.

The hardest thing in the world is remembering not to squeeze too tightly.



This piece is part of a round robin story I’m doing with the Bannerwing Write Club.  To read the beginning of the story, be sure to visit When and Where at Sure D, It’s All Good.  


girl in cemetary

Photo Credit: Lexie Alley on Flickr

The name read: Allen Henry Buell.

Her heart, her joints, the sinewy tissue that aligned her spine popped and tore, so one moment Robin was flanked by the twins and the next she wasn’t inside her body.

She was inside her memory.

“Nothing good comes with babies,” her father had whispered when she first told him, and it was worse than if he had yelled it because Robin knew there was a tumor of disgust inside of him, and she wouldn’t be able to find it, to cut it out.

But Robin proved him wrong and gave birth to goodness personified: Eleanor Lynn.

Life was rougher but better.  School (tenth grade) where the boys called her a slut, a job at Pickwick’s Pizza where the air moved heavy with oil, then to Mrs. Garrity’s next door to pick up her daughter who loved the woman with gnarled hands and a lovely voice still tinged from her British upbringing.

And then home.  It was an interesting word, home, because it was where the blinds were always shut tight and the bitter taste of beer hooked her attention whenever her father said, “Trash.  Needs to go out,” from back inside his cave of a bedroom.  His doorway vibrated with color and sound from his always on TV set, and Robin would strap Eleanor to her chest to the beat of that noise, the baby clinging warmly against her.

She’d take the cans out in the broken ink jar of an evening and watch the stars, watch the skies for hints of her mother.

This went on for years, three to be specific.  And everything was mapped out, rough but better, until the day Robin came home to find her father and daughter missing.

The past ripped through her, sewed her back together while the present battered her body like a pair of angry fists.

“You will pay,” Robin said, balancing on knees and hands in the wet cemetery grass, tempering her nausea against the bitter tang of beer in the air.

For the next part of the story, head over to My Write Side.

Stop Comparing Yourself

Photo Credit: jaci XIII via Compfight cc

Photo Credit: jaci XIII via Compfight cc

Have you ever read something so good that it knocked your own voice out of you?

You lost yourself because that piece of writing affected you to your core. You wanted to write like that author, you wanted to be that author. You thought you would never get back your own voice again so you were left staring at a blank screen, struggling with words that never came.

Sometimes when we are thrown like that, we just have to let the piece sit with ourselves for a while. Don’t worry, your voice will come back to you.

But you have to let it back in. You have to stop comparing yourself to that writer. You’re trying to capture that person’s voice and shove it down through your fingers but it doesn’t fit. It’s amazing to have writers we look up to—heroes, heroines. And you will always have your influences. Maybe someday someone will tell you that your writing resembles someone famous and you will glow at the compliment. But don’t try to be someone else. Don’t try to trap their voice and put your name on it. You have your own style. The way you choose your words to express yourself to the world is wholly and uniquely yours. Remember that.

Strive to be a good writer, a great writer, but don’t lose yourself.

jessica sita  Jessica Sita is an author and poet who you can find writing at her blog Watchful Creature. She is often blown away by such writers as Shirley Jackson, Richard Matheson, ee cummings and recently Ksenia Anske’s “Rosehead,” as well as our own Ericka Clay.

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Being Ericka Clay: Cristina & Dawn

drunk turkey

You may be Ericka Clay if you take pictures of drunk turkeys in stores and then immediately feel guilty because you didn’t buy anything. #CatholicGuilt

Welcome, folks!  Today, two brave readers have stepped up to the plate of being Ericka Clay.  Let’s all hold hands and support them on this journey as they don these extremely delicate ankles for the first time.


1.  Why do you think Ericka’s ankles are so beautifully delicate?  How could she make fun of all of us with cankles?! Only one with delicate ankles can call out those with cankles. Rule # 8,701 in the “Being Ericka Clay Handbook for Dummies”.

2.  If you were Ericka Clay, how many mirrors would you look into every day?  I wouldn’t be looking into mirrors, they would be looking at me! From full length, to hand mirrors, rear view mirrors and those on the ceiling, especially. Have you seen my ankles? GORG!

3.  If you could change one thing about Ericka Clay, what would it be?  Be specific so she knows how hard to punch you.  Her freakin’ arms. Those arms have me thinking about finally cracking that Jillian Michaels DVD that I’ve had collecting dust for 18 months now. No it doesn’t. I hate to sweat. She can have her freakin’ Madonna arms.

4.  If your name was Ericka Clay, what would you do with your life?  (Besides be awesome, of course.)  Headmistress of an all-girls school. I’d mold them like the pliable clay they are into writing ninja killers, covered in glitter of course. Pretty and not to be messed with.

5.  If you were going to make a statue in honor of Ericka Clay (which you should), what would you make it out of?  Gin and Juice. I know that sounds messy, but who doesn’t lean back and catch swag when they say Gin and Juice?! Ericka Clay, ahem, me ALL DAY!

The end.

Blurb: Cristina is a blogger living in Pennsylvania with her husband and two boys. A mix of faith and sass, Cristina blogs real talk about her conversion and is always looking to shake it up where stereotypes are concerned – especially if there are *snaps* involved.  Full disclosure, Cristina’s left ankle is cankle-ish – she’s sprained it 4 times. Klutz.

Blog: http://fillingmyprayercloset.com
Google+: https://plus.google.com/u/0/+CristinaTblog/posts
Twitter: http://twitter.com/fillpraycloset.com


1.  Why do you think Ericka’s ankles are so beautifully delicate?  Because clearly she is lighter than air and floats through life as if conveyed on a cloud. Cloud transport is out of the question if you have elephant cankles (indecipherable width change from calf to ankle).

2.  If you were Ericka Clay, how many mirrors would you look into every day?  Incalculable, I’ve heard she even lives in a mirrored house, and don’t let those Youtube videos fool you, there’s probably a wall of mirrors behind that computer, that’s why she always looks so dazzled.

3.  If you could change one thing about Ericka Clay, what would it be?  Be specific so she knows how hard to punch you.  The vest tops. Always vests, but even layered vests cannot transform you into Bruce Willis. I think a full sleaved cable knit sweater with applique kitten would be much more plausible.

4. If your name was Ericka Clay, what would you do with your life?  (Besides be awesome, of course.)  Write, write, write, breath, write, write, write, publish. Repeat.

5. If you were going to make a statue in honor of Ericka Clay (which you should), what would you make it out of?  Conglomerated glitter and kittens.

Blurb: Dawn Silversides is a poet, photographer, and writer in her head and occasionally these thoughts manifest into something real and tangible that one day will be made into a compelling resume with her creative writing skills.

Blog: http://wordswithnannaprawn.com/
Instagram: http://instagram.com/ozprawn#
Twitter: https://twitter.com/ozprawn


D Is For Dysfunctional

d is for dysfunctionalWattpad asked if they could include my book, D is for Dysfunctional, in their official Literary Fiction list so that’s pretty exciting!

Why don’t we celebrate by doing a little reading? :)  You can read the entire book (FOR FREE!) here: http://bit.ly/1f66Z56

Happy reading, you glittery monkeys, you!  And if you’d like to leave a review, you can do so here or on the story.

Many thanks!!

How to Use Facebook to Promote Your Book

pony tails

Side ponying my way into your hearts.

Step One: Delete your Facebook author’s page.

You right now: “This bitch be tripping!”

Okay, maybe that’s not EXACTLY what you’re thinking, but if it were, I wouldn’t blame you.  We’re all supposed to have very lively, very vibrant pages with a bajillion followers who yearn for our every Facebook move.


Well, not so much anymore.  If you’ve been paying attention to the way Facebook pages have been decreasing in reach, you’ve probably realized there’s a crucial problem when trying to connect with your readership on the social platform.

So now what?

Facebook Groups and You

Facebook groups.  If I could be addicted to anything other than looking in a mirror, it would be Facebook groups.  Not only have I created my own to promote my work, I also hang out in a few other groups to network with fellow writers and to of course scare people.  Boo!

I highly recommend starting your own Facebook group.  “But that’s why I have a page!” you protest wearing a beautiful glittery scarf you found in the bargain bin at Marshall’s.  Well, not really.  A page is great to update your readers about blog posts, your books, stuff you’ve read and loved on the interwebs, but wouldn’t it be cool if you could create an environment for your DIEHARD FANS who will do everything in their power to spread the word online (and in person) about your writing??

That’s worth way more than a Facebook page like, my friend.

With my group, The EC Readers, I’ve created a tight knit group of promoters who I reward for being a whole bunch of awesome.  It’s much more of a reciprocal relationship instead of me just publishing a bunch of stuff and cluttering up my readers’ newsfeeds.  My Facebook group is about readership, friendship and sharing the perks of my success, because I’m kind of a big believer in karma.  And all I know is that I’ve tried to be as helpful and kind and smiley as I can be all my life and now I’m getting a book published.  So…science.

Make Sure Your Facebook Profile Packs a Punch

Listen, we’re authors here, not businesses.  I mean, don’t get me wrong.  I’m the first in line to tell you to treat your online presence and your entire writing career as a business because dreams only become achievable goals when your head is ripely plucked out of your ass.  And trust me, I only know this because I used to wear my ass like a beautiful, nicely toned helmet.

So in order to connect with readers, why not allow people to follow your personal profile?  Your public posts will be tailored to your audience but you can still publish private posts for family and friends.   Best of both world, right?  Plus, you can even decide whether you’d like your followers to comment on your posts or just hit the “like” button.  Check out how I’ve made my own profile accessible to my readers.

Lastly, I’m a big believer in getting personal with my readers (haha, ew!) so I’d much rather have them feel like a part of my life versus being fed posts through a Facebook page that kind of feels like a wall that’s built between us.  But, hey, that’s just me, the girl who’s been know to wear a nicely toned ass on her head.

SIDE NOTE: Do you know there are people out there who think I’m shy?  Hahahaha!  Ass helmets.

Anyways, let me know what’s working for you Facebook-wise.  Love using a page?  Comment about it.  Think I’m on track with the whole group thing?  Let me know.  Like the idea of ass helmets?  Sing their nicely toned praises.

I’ll Roast You a Ham. Promise.

story about a boy in love


This isn’t a real post as much as it is an opportunity to mention two things:

  1. I’m on Wattpad and obsessed with posting my stories there so please follow me, and I’ll roast you a ham.  Can you do that?  Roast a ham?  I’ve never tried.
  2. Oh my God, there’s this thing called iPiccy that makes it horribly easy to make book covers and now I’ve found a new hobby which worries me because I already have a backlog of cats to glitter.

The photo in this post is of a cover I made with iPiccy that belongs to a story I wrote on Wattpad.  Insert mind explosions here.

Anyways, happy vodka day you glittery monkeys!!