R.M. Gilmore's Blog

The Drunk Live Crew Has Escaped the Bar and Taken Over the Kitchen! **NEW** Show from K.G. and Me DrunkS Can Cook!

Watch the first episode now!
LIKE - SUBSCRIBE - SHARE because no YouTube show should be lonely.

The drunk how-to guide to making *the best* drunk food, like, ever.
Weenie and potato tacos, formally known as weenie and potato burritos, are a spicy, cheesy mash up of everything you want when you're drunk. 
Weens and pots, intermingled with a spicy tomato sauce, topped with cheese, and served in a floppy street taco shell. Close out your night with a metric sh*t ton of Weenie P's and you'll be good to go!
Drunk food has gone to a whole new level. Trust us, we're fat...and drunk.
Love food? Let us know in the comments what you want to see on Drunk Kitchen.

 Drunk Live Episode #14 - Playing With Aliens​We'd like to thank the sellers on eBay for making this show possible.
In space no one can hear you puke.
Nostalgia warning in 3...2...1...

Grab you buds. Grab your beers. It's playtime!

Tonight's show:
Beer Wars - Fuego Fight
Playing with toys from the 90's
**Alien Giveaway**
Talking about aliens

Drunk Live has moved!We left Facebook in our dust, moving to the 'Tube without a second glance.
Join us for the premier of Drunk Live on YouTube!

Beer!
Chips!
Toys!
​Giveaways!
Shenanigans!
All live. All Saturday night.

​Catch up on past shows now on YouTube.

Available now!

The final novel in the Dylan Hart series is here and it's one hell of a ride!

 

Where do the damned go when they die? Hell, of course. But as Dylan Hart discovers in this sixth and final novel, there’s more than one way to spend eternal damnation.

Waking up in a new and disturbing world, Dylan fights to keep her grip on reality. As old foes surface, so do the memories she has been trying to keep hidden from the world and herself.

Trapped in the abyss of her own personal Hell, Dylan is faced with the realities of the world she's fallen into and the consequences of her depravities.

Unfortunately for Dylan, this revelation could mean the end of life as she knows it.

 

Available where eBooks are sold

  

Signed paperbacks also available at www.RMGilmoreAuthor.com

Start the series now for FREE!

 "Couldn't put it down!"

 "If I could I'd give this series 1000 Stars!!!!!

 "Wow! Every. Single. Time."

Visit R.M. Gilmore and score your chance to

Win $80 + Signed Paperbacks!

 

 

Join me and scads of other authors from all over the nation at the 5th annual Great Valley BookFest, October 8th!

Visit me on Stage A at 11:30 Am to chat about the behind the scenes business of Indie and Self Publishing. 

Please RSVP and invite your friends right from facebook!

​

The following is an excerpt of real events. The Piano (excerpt)
​
 My mom always said I was…off. Said I’d scare the pants off her pointing into darkened corners and down vacant hallways. Once, when I got old enough to gabber away, I let it be known there were others around me my mother wasn’t aware of. I was almost five when I explained, in great detail, the appearance of a woman I had seen walking around the corner toward my bedroom. On it went for years, fading in and out, terrifying my mother in the process. My brother wasn’t too far behind and tagged along with a few of my paranormal experiences before he started with his own.

 As I grew older and less in tune with my otherworldly surroundings the events became fewer and farther between. The sightings had nearly stopped by the summer before my thirteenth birthday. Life had gone on. I'd grown up, and everyone moved on from the strange little blonde girl who saw dead people. We moved to the country that summer.   Our small family unit hefted our stuff a town over to live with my mom’s new beau in his large country home. The house held an oversized great room at the entrance and in it an antique piano. My mom loves anything old and she herself owned an ancient standing radio and ivory rotary phone, which she immediately displayed in the great room beside the piano. In the first few weeks, the three of us settled in and found our place within the household.   One day, in the middle of the afternoon, I came home from school to hear piano music coming from inside the house. Expecting to see my mom or quasi-stepbrother at the keys, I opened the front door with little apprehension.

​I stopped dead in my tracks when the door swung open and the piano seat sat vacant. Immediately, the music stopped and the house was as silent as it always was that time of the day. My gut sank to my feet. A life I’d all but forgotten had found me alone in the middle of nowhere. ​ Music played softly from the old piano at random for weeks on end. Middle of the day, while I would try to sleep, bright and early in the morning while eating my breakfast, without prejudice it played. When I finally grew the courage to mentioned the noise I was told this wasn’t a new phenomenon. In fact, it had happened consistently since the say they had brought the piano home. I couldn’t believe this had been allowed to continue. Why would someone choose to allow these ghostly shenanigans to go on? Why didn’t they just get rid of the damn thing?
Why in the hell did we move  here ?  To Be Continued... Want more of My Haunted Life? Let me know in the comments to unleash more!

The never ending battle of youth... Wrote this after I turned the big 3-0. Weeks away from yet another year older and it still holds true.
Please tell me I'm not the only one hanging on for dear life... The idea of getting old is a hard one to wrap around. Like a punch, hard and fast to the gut, it’s a concept that becomes more real with each passing year. When I was a teenager I never thought I’d live to see thirty. Shit, I never thought I’d live to see tomorrow. But, like those who came before me, I did. The years passed and with them my youth.
I miss my twenties. A time when nothing mattered but answering the burning question, what’s coming next? What’s happening tomorrow? Living in the moment and have the energy to let those moments last all night. Twenties is when waking up with one shoe on and little recollection of who’s in your bed equates to a fairly decent Saturday night. When the word tequila didn’t give you a headache. When two shots and a beer got the night started and didn’t cause a three-day hangover. Twenties meant exploring the world, yourself, and what it meant to be in it. Changing meant growing and you could change yourself once a week and twice on Sunday. Twenties was supposed to be the beginning of the rest of your life.

Younger, leaner, better, faster, dumber twenty-five hit like a ton of bricks. There were only five years left until I was officially an adult. Twenties is grown up, but mistakes in your twenties are easily waved off by lack of experience, a youthful indiscretion. Thirty, thirty would bring with it the expectations of success. How many kids to you have? What’s your annual gross income? You’re thirty years old and you haven’t—fill in the blank as necessary--yet?
Growing up and becoming an adult are two very different things. Growing up allows for mistakes. There is a margin of error allowed while you’re growing up. That margin gets smaller every year until one day it’s gone. The space for errors is no more. Suddenly and without warning, you are responsible for more than you bargained for and left wondering, when the fuck did that happen? Adult happens when you least expect it. I awoke on my thirtieth birthday like Nosfuratu from his tomb. A creaking sound followed my rising body, arms crossed over my chest as if prepared for burial, a sallow tone to my skin. Thirty could only be compared to begrudgingly rising from your grave morning after morning. The youth I’d taken for granted had been rode hard and put out wet and I was paying for it.

It hadn’t been that long since twenty-five and the realization that I was getting older minute by minute, I couldn’t figure out what changed. How quickly could a person’s body really change? The answer that question is fucking fast. Thirty meant two-drink hangovers. It meant random diarrhea—how many times can a person shit, really? Never fear, constipation is also inevitable.

The day after my thirtieth an epiphany hit me that to this day I wish had stayed the fuck out of my head. I’m going to die. If fact, I’m going to die sooner today than I was yesterday. Every day I’m alive is just another day closer to the day I will die. But, a glimmer of hope, before I die I’m going to get old. Not older, old. Wrinkly and bitter and weak and closer to death with each year.

That year flew by—because why not, right?—and I found myself thinking about getting old more and more. I’d see women in their fifties and realize, they’re going to die soon. I will be them soon. I will not look like me soon. I don’t look like I did when I was twenty. And I sure as fuck won’t look like I did at thirty when I’m forty. My body is on a slow--not slow enough—path of decay. I never considered my high school career more than I did in the year after I turned thirty. Songs, movies, the scent of cheap perfume and Mr. Sketch would take me right back. Why? I don’t know. I didn’t like those assholes then and I don’t see why I’d like them now, but there’s something in nostalgia the makes us cling to it like shit to the side of the bowl. A sense of the past that if we hold onto tight enough will keep us young forever.

Nostalgia is a lie. It’s a bundle of bullshit we tell ourselves actually happened. You were never that cool. They were never that cool. Memories of your youth will not save you from your future. Because they’re bullshit. I heard once our memories merely exist from the last time we recalled them. That memory of senior prom we’re clinging to for dear life likely wasn’t exactly how we remember it today just as it won’t be exactly how we remembered it today when we think of it again next week. 

Nostalgia, a series of bullshit we tell ourselves to convince our brains there was a time better than now.

Even if now is old, tomorrow will be older. Tomorrow might be thinner, calmer, cleaner, better, but it will always be older. That’s the one thing we truly have zero control over. Time. Time moves fast and means business. It slows down for no man—or woman, you sly thing, you—and makes no apologies for its consistent inconveniences.
​
There is no time other than now. There was no time better than then, but that’s long past. Then is gone and now is all we have. Tomorrow isn’t promised and each tomorrow we get is just one day closer to old and dead. Now is all we have. So, there you have it. Getting older sucks. It's just another day closer to dying.
If there's anything I've learned since writing this it's this:
​
Drink beer and prosper.
Nobody's getting out this alive.

​Slainte! 

Thanks, Nancy! Day: Made

 This morning I came across a blog post in my Facebook newsfeed that must be shared with the world.

 If you've yet to catch Stranger Things on Netflix (what the hell are you waiting for?) stop reading now, turn on your TV and get to binge watching. Otherwise, tallyho!

​
 Those of us who lived with a chunky ass through the formative years of high school will 100% relate to Virgie Tovar's take on Barb, the expendable fat girl destined for death from minute one.

 Like Virgie, when Barb, played by
 Not only did she bite it, which was shitty in and of itself, she bit it while Nancy, her supposed best friend, banged token hottie Steve.

 Check out Virgie's eloquent observations and tell me if you agree.  

  In conclusion, to all the Barbs out there, don't let your friend Nancy get you killed, boo. To all the Nancys out there, look out for your fat friend Barb, because she’s fucking amazing and precious. - Virgie Tovar

Check out the full post by Virgie Tovar here...

WARNING: This ride includes sudden, jarring movements. 

After Lupe drops her into the abyss of the otherworld, better known to Dylan as Hell, she wakes in a strange place. Terrified, Dylan attempts to regain control of her life for good.

Struggling to cope, she searches resolutely for the cause of her plight, while Mike, ever vigilant, remains skeptical and leaves her no choice but to lie to him.

Having survived a world beyond our own, Dylan comes face-to-face with a familiar foe, a fierce adversary she never thought she would have to encounter. Herself.

Fifth in the Dylan Hart series, Bound drags us further into the occult than we've ever traveled before.

Join the odyssey and discover how deep the rabbit hole goes.

  

Want me? Win me!

Signed paperbacks + Kindle + More!!

  

Start the journey from the begining. 

  

[image error]  [image error]

New from RM Gilmore, creator of the bestselling Dylan Hart series.

 

17 Marigold Lane (a Prudence Penderhaus novel)

Prudence Penderhaus was just an ordinary weirdo until the day one word changed the course of her life forever.

Giving up on life, a risky move turns her world upside down and uncovers an odd boy no one knew existed. 

Trying to cope with her life at it stands, Prudence juggles her own emotions as she peels back layers of small-town secrecy that have been hiding right under her nose.

With a newfound purpose, she and her odd boy turn the town of Flintlock on its butt in the pursuit of truth. Uncovering more than she bargained for. Murder.

 

"My name is Prudence Penderhaus. I've never done anything remarkable. Never even bothered to look up. Until the day I realized I was dying."

 

      [image error]           [image error]          [image error]            [image error]  

 

An excerpt from the story:

“You mean… she might have to lose her arm?” Mom’s voice was shrill with tears on the verge of spilling.

“We’re not even considering that at this point, so please don’t worry.” She looked at me and changed the subject. “How’s your pain? I see you’re guarding that arm.”

“Your nurse wrenched it and damn near killed me.” I had no patience for anything at that moment and wanted nothing more than to be at school with Cassius. “I’ll be fine. I just want to go to school. Can we go now?”

“You’re still in school? Excellent. That’s what we like to hear. Just be sure you take it easy, get plenty of sleep and don’t forget to eat. You’d be surprised how quickly your body can turn against you when you’re neglectful to it.” She smiled, charming and radiant; it was no wonder she went into medicine, she certainly had excellent bedside manner. “Have a boyfriend waiting to hear the good news?”

“He’s not my boyfriend.” I said too quickly. “I mean, he’s a boy and he’s my friend, but he’s not my boyfriend. He’s just a good friend that needs me.”

“That’s good you’ve got someone you’re close to. Just make sure he’s giving back what he’s taking. You’ll be needing him soon too. Someone has to grab you frappuccinos and hold your books open for you.” Her smile practically lit up the room.

“He’s not really the take-care-of-others type.”

She pulled her eyebrows in. “That’s too bad. You’ll have to show him how it’s done.”

“He’s a boy with Asperger’s. He’s not a boyfriend and he’s not a caretaker.”

She sat quiet for a long minute. Tilting her head to one side, she looked at me sympathetically. “That boy has all the potential in the world to be both of those things, and better than most boys out there, if you give him a chance.”

I hadn’t considered Cassius a boyfriend because in my head, he didn’t have the capacity. In my head, he was innocent like a child and would never have those types of needs or wants. He could hardly take care of himself, let alone me.

 

Grab your copy now!

Want a signed paperback? Easy!

Snag yours here.

 

What are they saying about 17 Marigold Lane?

"If you love a smartass, caring, take no crap, odd teenager, you will love this book. " - Tonya, Abibliophobia Anonymous

"Loved the characters, the plot. Loved everything about it." Nicki Scalice, author Revenants in Pergatory

"I don't usually do young adult novels, but this one was amazing!." - Tara Dawn, author Sojourn

 

 

Hey look, giveaways!

.goodreadsGiveawayWidget { color: #555; font-family: georgia, serif; font-weight: normal; text-align: left; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; background: white; } .goodreadsGiveawayWidget p { margin: 0 0 .5em !important; padding: 0; } .goodreadsGiveawayWidgetEnterLink { display: inline-block; color: #181818; background-color: #F6F6EE; border: 1px solid #9D8A78; border-radius: 3px; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; outline: none; font-size: 13px; padding: 8px 12px; } .goodreadsGiveawayWidgetEnterLink:hover { color: #181818; background-color: #F7F2ED; border: 1px solid #AFAFAF; text-decoration: none; }Goodreads Book Giveaway 17 Marigold Laneby R.M. Gilmore

Giveaway ends September 08, 2015.

See the giveaway details at Goodreads.

 

Win 1 of 4 signed paperbacks!

 Enter Giveaway

 

Don't miss a thing!

Give this bad boy a click and drop your email address.

 

  

 

  [image error]    [image error]    [image error]    [image error]