Caitlyn Factor

Caitlyn Factor

I’ve moved from California to Washington.  To begin with, we weren’t sure where we were going to land.  How fast were we going to buy a house?  How long were we going to be in this AirBnB?  So, I have the following:

My author name.

My real name.

My physical home address in CA.

My p.o. box in CA.

My AirBnB address WA.

My Sister’s address in WA that I first had stuff sent to.

Finally a new p.o. box in WA, when I realized that I’m a picky wench when it comes to buying a house, and I haven’t found anything I like.  Sigh.  (Nobody should ever want to be married to me.  John is a saint.)

So, the state of Washington says that you have to have a new drivers license and car tags within thirty days of moving here.  We got here the first week of August.  I think we are now past the thirty days.  Why are we so late?  I’ll tell you.  You have to go to their website and set up an appointment.  They schedule 30 days out.  Every time we go to it, it’s filled up.  John finally calls.

John:  How am I supposed to get an appointment if they’re constantly filled up?

DMV:  You have to call at a couple of minutes after midnight and make a reservation.

John:  Seriously.

Weary DMV Person:  Sadly, I am serious.

John:  Thanks.  How are you doing? 

DMV:  As well as could be expected.

They both laughed and hung up.

I set my alarm for midnight, and get up wearily and make the appointment for 30 days out.  It isn’t until the next morning that I realize I have set up appointments for John and I on his birthday.  And not just any old birthday, NO, on John’s 50th birthday.  What the hell?  He has to spend his big day at the DMV?

But at least it prompts me to remember to buy him presents…  Thank the Lord.  I even have a card this time.  Plus, I have remembered to purchase him a chocolate birthday cake!

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Caitlyn Factor

Caitlyn Factor

This will come as no big surprise.  The closer it comes to a deadline, the more I procrastinate.  Then, the more chores and errands build up, and then the faster I rush around trying to get other things done.  Well, Monday was just such a day.

John’s been enjoying his job, but it takes up A LOT of his time on zoom calls.  (Thank God I have noise cancelling headphones.)  Therefore I’m the one who does errands during the day.  Do we need groceries?  I’m your gal.  Something BIG, from the office supply store that they might not deliver, like one of those totes, yep, that’s me.  Banking?  Pharmacy?  Go to our mailbox place to pick things up? Me.  Me.  Me.

So, I had all of that piled up, but I even scheduled in a treat.  So here goes.

Staples is the first stop, grab a big plastic tote, because I know that the big package I need to pick up from the mailbox place is John’s cycling gear, and it will need to be organized into something.  Then the pharmacy is on the way from Staples. 

“What do you mean you don’t have my thyroid medicine, it said on the app that you did.”  I asked nicely, even though I was frazzled.

“I’m sorry ma’am, it’s this other med, that starts with a “T”.  You didn’t ask for a refill on your thyroid medicine.”

I grit out a smile and ask them if they could put in a refill for it. 

“It will be ready in an hour.”

Okay, I’m going to my next errand.  The mailbox place, which is next door to Panera Bread where I can get a cinnamon roll. 

I whiz into the UPS store and smile.  “I’m just collecting my mail, but you have a package for me.  I’m number 65.”

The man checks his screen.  “No we don’t.”

I go and open my box, and grab the mail, there’s the slip that says I have a package.  I hand it to him.  He gives me my huge package.  I say thank you.  I take it out to the car and shove it in next to the tote.  I walk over to Panera Bread and pick up a cinnamon roll.  I dig around in my purse to see if I have enough in cash, nope, only three dollars and no change.  I pay by credit card.

I put it in my car, then walk over to the bank to deposit two checks into the ATM.  Then figure I could use some cash.  I ask for $300 in cash first, all twenties.  I throw that into my purse.  Then I think better of it, and figure I should put it into my wallet, so I grab it out, and start to put it into my wallet.  But it’s doesn’t feel thick enough.  I count it.  Only $120.

I go into the bank.  At least I can see my banker, Bac, she is so cool.  But most of the time I’m thinking I’ve got to get back to writing my book and eating my cinnamon roll.  I go up to the teller, and explain my situation.  She tells me I need to see a personal banker.  Perfect, I ask for Bac.  She’s notarizing a client, but I play on my phone and wait.  (Still dreaming about my cinnamon roll, and figuring at least I will have killed enough time to pick up the thyroid meds.)

When I get over to Bac’s desk, I explain my tale of woe.  She said that had just happened to another customer, and she gets on the phone and is put on hold.  We chat for a bit.  I had given her two signed books for her sister before Christmas, and apparently her sis had loved them.  After a while on hold, Bac’s transferred to someone else, then put on hold again.  We’re talking about insurance agents, and I told her about mine.  I said I’d give Bac his card.  I look in my wallet, it’s not there.  I go fishing in my purse. 

Damn.  Damn.  Damn.

“Bac.  I am sooooo sorry.”

“What, Caitlyn?”

“I just found the money.”

I pull out the $180 in twenties and show her. 

“Are you sure you didn’t have that money before?  Maybe the ATM really did short you.”

I laugh.  “You are so sweet.  Trust me, I only had $3 to my name.  Yep, I’m just a dumbass.”  I hand her the insurance guy’s card, and swipe up the $120 that had been laying there, and take the new $180 and start to throw it in my purse.  Bac politely clears her throat. 


“Do you think you might want to put that in your wallet?”

I thought tears would stream down my face, I laughed so hard.  

I love her.

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Caitlyn Factor

Caitlyn Factor

I love my readers, here’s just one reason why, I GET them.  I’m as much of a big ole goofy fan as they are.  I devour books, and during a deadline I make my husband hide my phone so I can’t read during the night, instead it forces me to write.  (Yes, I have the willpower of a six-year-old.)

One of my readers, who I communicate with on a regular basis through Facebook, asked me this question.

“Hi Caitlyn sorry to disturb you but I think I losing my mind and now need to find a book the thing is the only thing I can remember about the book is a scene where a team is sent to retrieve a family they believe the father to be a traitor it turns out to be the mother and when the camp is infiltrated to save them one of the team is injured by a grenade the father is injured and almost dead the mother cares for nothing but a password the husband changed father dies and mother slaps one of her daughters when she asked about her dad please say you can help me find this book and reread it. Ps I am never good at remembering book names but I usually am about authors this time I wasn’t I already messaged one other who had informed me it might be yours sorry”

I tell her that it’s not mine.  But that there is this great group of diverse readers who read all kinds of romantic suspense, where she could post the question. 

She thanks me.

I then say, I’m 98% sure it’s not my book, and if it is, I’m going to be really embarrassed.   But if it is, it’ll just be another Caitlyn Factor. 

I can laugh, because I know for sure it’s not.

(Do you see where this is headed?)

She Facebook messages me:

“You so pulled a Caitlyn factor lol it’s her devoted hero I will be starting this series again in the morning lol xxx”

I go to the group I had recommended to see her post.  Somebody had taken a screen print of the page of the scene. 

Head slap!

Now I remember it.

I tell my husband John that it had been nine books ago….He just shook his head and said.

“You totally have to own this one.  It’s sad.  It’s very, very, sad.”

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Caitlyn Factor

Caitlyn Factor

Caitlyn Factor

This is a true Caitlyn Factor Story. I went to San Juan Capistrano to the Old Timey train station on Tuesday to take the train down to San Diego. I saw that there were two railroad cars converted to Steak House. So I’m like obviously this is not train station.

I go home and purchase my tickets online. I go to the “new” train station the next day, sit outside at the right time and watch as the train doesn’t stop, just whizzes by me.

I go to my phone. What the hell? I press the button for AMTRAK? Where’s the station? It says it is 3.5 miles away, right near the steakhouse. Fuck. It’s right behind the steakhouse. I’m apparently at the metrolink.

I’ve missed the train. I go to the train station. Explain to the clerk who is nice and laughs, she redoes my tickets. She says for the next day. I don’t look, I trust her. I’m now on the train riding back from San Diego back to SJC, and the ticket taker says my ticket is actually for yesterday. Fuck.

She says we might not have room for me. Yes, I might get kicked off the train at some point, before San Juan Capistrano. Depending on how many people get on the train.

They didn’t kick me off, Thank God……But in my book, I’m crashing the train.

Caitlyn Moment #1

Caitlyn Moment #1

I made my sister literally growl at me. I’m up here in Seattle for vacation. We’re having one of those in-depth serious conversations and it goes like this.

“Caitlyn, you’re too hard on yourself. You call yourself an idiot too much.”
“Come on Molly, you’ve got to admit I’m a dumbass.”
She sighs and then giggles, “okay, sometimes you are. But I worry that you’re beginning to believe it.”
“Honestly I don’t think I do.”
“Well what about the fact that you apologize for everything?”
“What are you talking about?” I ask.
“The least little thing goes wrong and you take the blame and say ‘I’m sorry.’”
“I do not,” I say.
“You do too.” She gives me a hug.
“I’m sorry, I’ll try to do better.”
She growls.

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Caitlyn Moment #1

Caitlyn Moment #4

I’m not good with technology. I spent 30 years at Verizon being lavished with attention with the wonderful tech support guys who would come into my office and fix things. God bless those men and women.  Just for the record, I even managed to be a metrics manager, production manager and work overseas to get new offices up and running. So there is a small piece of my brain that works. But technology? Nope. I need an eleven year old to help me.

I was at a signing event, and I needed to get my “square” up and running on my phone so that I could take credit cards in order to sell books. But could I get it to work? Hell-To-The-No. I’m panicked. It had
worked a week ago. I must look like a deer in the headlights. A wonderful angel by the name of Cheryl Maddox comes over to me, and asks what’s wrong.

I explain my problem, she asks to look at my phone. She then explains that I have 14 updates that need to be done. I say, oh yeah, my husband always gets cranky about that. What does that have to do with anything. She then says that one of them is for the “square” software. “So?” I say. She patiently explains that when software isn’t updated it won’t work right. I then hang my head in dumbshit shame. She updates my software. Guess what, it magically works, and I can accept credit cards.

Moral of this story. Husbands can be right. Have an eleven year old available at all times. Cheryl Maddox is an angel.

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