Starting Anew

It's been a year and a half since I last posted to my blog.  It seems so strange to me to think that it's been so long.  It feels like I never stopped.

During that time, I finished my first short novel, Reasons to Sleep In.  It's FREE for a limited time on the Amazon Kindle Store, so check it out!

I'm excited to say that I'm working on my next book, and that it's nearly halfway done.  This work is different than anything I've ever written.  It's filled with plot twists, and characters that all have just a little piece of me in them.  I'm going to be thrilled to share it with all of you!

In the meantime, let me know what you think of Reasons to Sleep In!

You'll be hearing from me soon!

In Your Eyes

My reflection in the lookingglass disturbs me.

Chocolate tangles reach like gnarled fingers for

stark flesh, marred pink by endless nights of drunken love.

Eyes of stormy gray cloud my face.

Angry tears rain down my cheeks

and I turn away

ashamed to look further.

Standing tall in my path back to seclusion,

you fight for my gaze.

Through blurred vision I see you;

your chest, your shoulders, like a weathered stone wall

smooth and strong.

Chiseled features scarred and broken

from long days of back-crushing work

break into the slow smile of uncertainty.

Blinking salty streams away

my gray eyes meet yours.

Burning pools of icy blue blaze through me

snaking deep into the pit of my heart

stroking hidden passions.

A simple word escapes your lips on a breath

"Beautiful...."

And I see a new reflection in your eyes.

Chestnut tresses flow in satin waves

across porcelain shoulders.

Sun shines once more

through thick clouds of dusky gray

in eyes that plead for your touch.

Callused fingers brush my ivory cheek

and transformation eases through my body.

Beauty controls me while I am in your arms,

and a soft kiss whispers your name on my lips.

You caress my body in love

you bathe me with your touch.

You have made me a silken beauty.

Falling into spells woven from delicate threads of wonder,

I see the elegance you've created from me

in your eyes.

Quieting the Inner Debbie Downer

It seems that every time I put my foot forward to step in a new direction, that inner Debbie Downer rises up within me and tries to discourage me.  "No one wants to hear what you have to say," she says.  "No one wants to read your work.  No one cares about what you're doing, how you're doing it or how well you do it."  She pops up at work, telling me to stay quiet, that my voice doesn't matter.  She steps in when I start looking into publication options for my latest piece of writing.

I read in a book once that in times well removed from now, when someone lied, they had their tongue cut out.  While that seems somewhat extreme at times, I can often see the value in it.  A person who can't speak, can't lie.  It has its merits I admit.  So I've decided to give myself a hunting license and begin the stalk for the Debbie Downer within me.  I'm really sick of hearing her voice, and the next time she pops up I'm going to cut out her tongue so that she can't lie to me anymore.

I can already feel the freedom in so many ways.  Someone once told me, possibly my Debbie Downer, possibly someone that I actually had a conversation with - in truth I do not remember - that self-publishing is the worst thing an author can do.

In the days of Kindles and Nooks and mobile phone app readers, I no longer believe that this is true.  So I have challenged myself to complete and self-publish my first novella before the summer is over.  It will be a romantic comedy, in a way, a fresh voice on the lame overdone love stories that are put out time and time again.  And most importantly, it will be my voice, in published form.

I am doing my research on how to market my own self-published novella, and how to have it printed on demand, if I decide to go that route.  Truthfully, I feel that having a tangible book would make me feel more accomplished, but I fear that I will not be able to find stores to carry it.  On the other hand, I do live in one of the most artistically free cities in the country.  Perhaps I should take that step.

So long, Debbie Downer....

Dusting It Off

Whenever I sit down at the computer to write, I envision myself blowing the dust off of an old book, or shaking my hands out like a pianist ready to stroke the keys with his genius. I picture Eric Clapton (yes, I realize I'm dating myself) strumming his fingers along the strings to test the notes before he dives in to an amazing song. I see William Shakespeare, however debated the man may be in modern life, sitting at one of his windows, staring out at the streets of Stratford-Upon-Avon, soaking in the inspiration.

I will aside here, and note that I have been in that house where Shakespeare thought, wrote, and entertained other writers. I have walked where they have placed their feet. I have touched their names, etched in glass windows as a tribute to their peer, their mentor. I have touched the stone walls in the room where he was born. It was not a religious experience. That feels different. It was a feeling that there were in that house the spirits of men and women who understood the way my weird little mind works. Understood it so that they let it consume them and guide their dreams.... A good lesson, I think.

 Emerging from my digression, I do not fancy myself to be to writing what Eric Clapton is to a guitar or a concert pianist to his instrument. I don't liken myself to Shakespeare, or idolize him. But oh, how I understand the passion of these. So strong it pulls at me, clutching me to its breast as though to protect me from others who would not see me realize my dreams; and by design or accident, they are many. When I write, I feel something I don't feel in my every day live. I feel power; as though with a single set of words I might persuade a reader. I feel intelligence; as though every word I say is important, and sounds so. Mostly, I feel at ease. This is where I am comfortable. Sitting in a chair with a pen and paper, or resting my wrists on the edge of my keyboard as I type. This is where I know what happens next, and where I can control it, guide it, and see its outcome before it occurs. Most of the time, anyway. This is the only place where my voice is the loudest in the room. "These words are my diary screaming out loud." And they are. Some diaries, books, works of art are found only after an artist is dead, and only then are they valuable.

But I don't want to just leave a legacy. I want to lay the path that leads to it where the value lies in the small wisdoms I have taken from my life. And though they may not be new (as "they" say nothing under the sun is), they are just as precious.

 I have a voice, and for the first time in my life...I intend to be heard.

The Road Less Traveled

We've all had to make decisions at one point in our lives or another that are not fun to make. Do we take the safe road, the road with light and pavement and all the shrubs cleared, the one with road signs and lanes and order? Or do we take the road less traveled?

It's dark and dusty, and a heavy layer of brush covers what may be sharp drops and thorn bushes. We're going to get scratched, burned, cut, beat up, disoriented, and lost. But there is something at the end of that road that holds more value to us than the never-ending safety of the clear road.

Stepping out onto the unpaved road means preparing yourself for heartache, for struggle, and for pain. But it also means adventure and excitement, and learning something about yourself that you may not have known before.

Just a thought.

Something to Ponder

Someone once told me that God collects all of my tears, and gives them back, one by one, in the form of blessings.

Just something to think on, this Easter season.

Embracing it All

I'm quick to admit that I've sometimes wondered if God has forgotten me. I can recall a very specific moment, gripped in the claws of pain and grief, shuddering with the force of it, that the whole world seemed to slow to a crawl, people around me moving as if in slow motion, and I thought I was having an out-of-body experience, or worse, that I was literally losing my mind. It felt as though everything had just stopped, and my grief, my agony, melted into...nothing.

It was quite possibly the most terrifying moment of my existence.

I knew in that moment that something - ANYTHING - had to change. I couldn't live this way. I could feel it welling up with in me, making me so anxious I couldn't function, couldn't breathe, and I was horrified to face myself in the mirror. I wanted to scream. I wanted to punch something, cut something, throw something, anything that would make me feel something other than the bottomless well of nothingness that was rising up within me.

Everything I thought I knew had changed. For the first time in my life, I realized that I had shaped myself around everything that everyone else wanted me to be, expected me to be. I had built myself up to everyone - myself included - to be something that I didn't even recognize. Who WAS this person?

I felt myself falling deeper into despair and agony, with no foreseeable way out. Nothing could save me from this. I had to escape. Not run away from everything else, but run to something: a future that I hadn't dared to dream was possible. Looking back, I have to admit that I didn't think it was possible even then. I was just so...desperate. I had to go. Right then, before I had more time to think it over. I had to take control of my life.

If I had known then what I know now, I wouldn't have been so frightened. I would have known that with enough time, enough talking, and enough self-exploration, that I WOULD begin to feel safe again. I would have had more hope. But I would have changed nothing about my decision. It was the right one, and, for now, it still is.

This journey of self-discovery is difficult. It's the most difficult thing I've ever had to do - to make sure that the decisions I make are my own, and not those that other people want me to make. But it's rewarding, and with every new sunrise, I know I will be stronger.