I was not POPULAR or ATHLETIC in high school.  My only INTEREST was getting in getting the work done and getting the hell out of there. I was that kid and there was always one like me, that sat in the corner or the back of the class. Never speaking to anyone counting down the minutes in my day until it was over. My life was a never-ending mess. I don’t know why I was so anxious to leave school anyway.  It was the only reprieve from my home life. Ah, my home life. Filled with terror on a daily basis I never knew from one moment to the next what I was getting into with my mother. I was often filled with despair and hopelessness something I have never fully recovered from.

As I left home and became and adult I swept most of my childhood and the blight that was high school under the rug so to speak. I was free of the past and so that is exactly where I intended to leave it once I got older and married the love of my life. I thought “finally, I have managed to keep my head above water long enough to survive my youth.” I was the one that always put on a brave face taking pride in the fact that the past didn’t break me. I am now 41 and the past few months have been a roller coaster of emotions and feelings. I don’t know if it is all the emotions I have run through or if is just the feeling that I am free falling with no way of stopping how I land but I feel depressed.

I have never (that I will admit to) felt depressed or anything like this. I recently had the greatest birthday ever but even the joy of reuniting with all of my children quickly waned. Don’t get me wrong I would never hurt myself, but I feel lost. For the first time in my life, I feel a strange sensation as if the end of the world is upon me. I can’t eat, I can’t sleep, and my body thinks it is much older than it is. I am falling apart from the inside out. Maybe the wear and tear on me physically, is what has got me down. I find no passion in anything. Not even my favorite thing to do which is write. I mean, yes, I am writing now but that is only to try and get this monkey off my back.

I am exhausted, all the time and I can’t even do my laundry without help anymore. No one understands what I go through with my new job where I walk all day long or gets that I am terrified of my constant back pain and what it may mean for me in the near future. However, as long as I am able I will write, it may not be all the time but I will continue to do so long after it pains me to do so, because while I was never the popular or athletic kid in school I was always a writer. Do what makes you happy, even if it breaks your heart to do so.







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I thought I would share on with you guys what I posted on Facebook earlier. So here goes.




One is the ancient Egyptian pyramids. The other a statue of a Confederate soldier. I am so sick and tired of this controversy over these statues. Don’t people realize these statues too are part of our history, Same as those pyramids. If nothing else they should stay up as a reminder of just how far we have come as humans, and let it go! Besides all, u haters out there guess what u won that war so what difference does it make now? I have a lot of Native American blood in me and u don’t see me still whining about the white man coming and taking my ancestors land and women, do you? The past is the past, besides no one living today was ever a slave and there r so much worse things going on in this world today. Why don’t we focus on that instead of living in the past? If nothing else for our children and our future generations of children who r now growing up in a world full of hate, anger, child molestation, other countries hating us, drug trafficking, people trafficking the list goes on and on. We need to ban together if not for ourselves but for the sake of our kids. We as Americans are allowing our own country to be torn apart and over stupid crap like a flipping statue! Without those statues, most of the country now, wouldn’t even remember how bad our country once was and we need to remember so we don’t repeat those same mistakes! If u r willing to take down a simple statue of a man. Then u need to explain to the ancient Egyptians why their pyramids need to come down. Because I guarantee someone, somewhere is going to get offended by them too for some idiotic reason or another.
Thanks for letting me purge. If u get offended by what I just said Oh well, I am exercising my freedom of speech before that too is called in to question….


The backs of her eylids burned with unshed tears. While she sat in the tub waiting for the heat from the water to rise high enough to seep into her beleaguered bones. She felt broken, in more ways than one. She brought shame to her family once again, as she refused to play by everyone else’s rules! She had a mind of her own and she used it often. Yet, in this moment she was nothing more than a hopless broken woman. Sitting in a lukewarm bath. Naked, and afraid, alone against the world. Exposing her body to the elements, exposing her secrets only she knows, for the first time in her life she was truly afraid of what comes next. 

   With no clear future, no back up plan, she stared into the abyss and realized there is no more hiding the truth, even from herself, anf that is what terrified her! Through all the pain all the sacrifice, all the heartache, she knew in this moment, she was done. She was no longer interested in the beauty the world had to offer. Flowers no longer held that sweet scent she had come to love, food turned to ashes in her mouth, tasteless and dry. The touch of his hands on her naked supple flesh had turned into acid scarring her forever. 

   Now she sits alone. Waiting for the crazy to grab hold, just so she can finally sink into its welcoming embrace. The struggle has been real but now she is tired, she wants, no needs, a reset, a time out, or the inevitabilty that she will lose her mind will have its way with her! She can already see it attempting to snatch her from reality and carrying her gently off on a wave of unknown.

       The tears she had been keeping in check for so long finally began to fall and rolled down her face. For maybe the fifth time in her life she really cried. She watched through blurred vision as the tears made their way down her skin to plink into the water. She heard a keening sound thinking the cat was nearby only to be startled that it was her. She knew her heart was shattered. 

   If only she could have peace on her heart and mind. If she could only find comfort in the cold embrace of death. If only her heart could mend itself, if only. The bathwater now tepid she rises from her pool of tears. Nothing really accomplished, nothing really gained. There are just broken dreams and her shattered heart left floating in the tepid water.


We all have fantasies right?

Some more than others, I heard once that, fantasy is nothing more than an awake dream. I have fantasies all the time, mostly filthy ones, and they are harmless. We can’t help when it, when we dream what we dream and I think the same goes for our fantasies. Is it our unconscious mind trying to bring forth a part of us that doesn’t exist, yet? Or is it just a silly wish that we know will never come true? For instance, in my dreams and fantasy I am kind of a slut but in real life, I am a loving devoted wife and have been for the past sixteen years. I would never do anything to ruin my relationship but sometimes I fantasize about another life another me. One that is not bogged down with the wifely, and motherly duties I have. Is it some deep-seated craving or is it just a fantasy.

I think as humans we all wonder “is the grass really greener on the other side?” For most of us we go through life content wondering here or there but never truly acting on it. While others jump from grass to grass searching, hoping for that sweet green field. That one that is going to change them forever. I know because I too was once, one of those people, and I know until you are content with yourself. You will never find those sweet grasses.

For me just like reading a book, or dreaming, or even writing a book, I am a very visual person so my fantasies, tend to take on a life of their own. I just did a short story on my blog about a serial killer and his first kill. I could actually see the feather falling down,  the blood on his clothes, and the corpse lying at his feet. I am told that is what makes me a good writer! To be able to visualize everything so clearly. Maybe that is true, I don’t know but when I am in a fantasy I am all in. I can feel the waves of the ocean lapping at my feet, I can smell the salty air, I can see the moon mirroring himself off the sea smiling down upon me, and it is amazing. Maybe my fantasies help me to write better or maybe it is vice versa, but all I know as long as I can fantasize about whatever I want, I will write about them as well. The possibilities are endless…


What is your fantasy?



The day he died he died for us. It was the plan and yet, it was also the worst humanity had to offer. It was a death that should never have been but he did it anyway. He died for my sins so I could be washed clean of all my wrongdoings and start anew. He died for me, for you, for your sister, your brother, your mother, your father, everyone. He died by the hands of the very souls he was trying to save.  He died a brutal death one of pain, suffering, and agony, and yet he stayed. He could have climbed down that cross at any moment and simply said I have had enough. Yet, he knew the plan even when we couldn’t see it for ourselves and he stayed. He knew his death was imminent and still, he stayed. I wonder if he regrets, his actions as he looks down upon mankind now, at how far we have fallen since that fateful day so long ago. I wonder does he regret it,  I guess only time will tell.

How can you say you love me? When all you seem to do is bitch and moan about my very existence. This supposed love you say you have for me. Feels more like torture than anything resembling love. Your touch on my skin feels like death awaiting me. You talk as if I am nothing to you. Not the miracle God chose to give to you. You haven’t earned the title given to you called mother. You have crushed my spirits one too many times. You have broken my dreams on too many occasions. Now here you sit no children to care for you no grandchildren to fill your home with laughter. No one to hold your hand in your final days. Do you regret the choices you’ve made, I guess only time will tell.

I am grown and I have been through it, life that is. Every choice I have made, ever step I have taken has gotten me here. Some of them bad, some of them good, and yet there is that part of me that still sees what she saw the daughter of no one, the empress of nothing. Then there is the part of me that he sees the man that died for my sins the man that went through the ultimate sacrifice for me. I realize I may not be the daughter she wants but I am the daughter he loves. The dark cloud of my past may haunt me forever, but the fact that it didn’t break me and I held fast to his love in my darkest hours comforts me. Will the ghost of my past haunt me forever or will the pain of lost love finally ebb, I guess only time will tell.




I have  been writing so much about my past that I have neglected to talk about my present and all the wonders it has held for me. Since my first book hit the best-seller list five years ago my life has been filled with book tours, fans and more writing. It is enough to make a girl of only thirty swoon. This is the first vacation I have actually taken since then and what am I doing you guessed it writing. Fame isn’t what I thought it would be I thought “yay now I am rich I can relax”, but no, I had to write one book after another just to stay on that “best seller” list. I am exhausted. It is a never-ending fight to be the one on top all the time. So when my best friend suggested I stay at her house in Maine while she went to the Bahamas for the winter I couldn’t pass it up.

Never having been here I am loving the mountains of snow and the isolation. It is just the thing I needed since I can’t even remember the last time I was alone. I ran into the neighbor this morning and she offered to show me around town later in the week. She even invited me to the local “dive bar” her words not mine. She called it MYSTIC RED. As a writer, I was not only intrigued by the fact that she called it a dive bar but the name Mystic Red. There is a story there and I intend to find out who names their bar Mystic Red.

Is it some sort of sacred name someone’s great, great, great grandfather named it? I feel as a writer I can construct an entire story on the name alone. Is it some sort of mystical name? Is this bar indeed Mystical? I am picturing one of those hole in the walls with license plates on the walls as the room decor. I see the bar itself soaked with stale beer and cheap glasses. The bartender probably some overweight ner do well. His bartending job was a “second chance” after he got early, release on parole for good behavior.

Maybe I am just being a snob here but when someone says “dive bar” as being the sole entertainment in a small town. That is what I picture. Maybe I am wrong, maybe it is a hidden treasure that will exceed all my expectations. I can’t wait to go and mingle with the simple town folk as Marta called them.

I gaze out the window and see that the snow is falling once more. It seems to never stop once winter hits in this tiny town. Peaceful in its blinding whiteness. I get the feeling that something is about to happen. I don’t know what but the writer in me is intrigued at all the possibilities. I am here for another three months I might as well enjoy it while I can. No matter what happens I will have pen and paper at the ready. I can hardly contain myself waiting for Mystic Red…






It is Winter. There is no snow yet the temperature continues to drop day by agonizing day. I can smell it in the wind and it is just a matter of time before the white stuff shows it’s fury.The witching hour is upon me and as I gaze outside I can see the frozen barren land clearly under the full moonlight.

The moon is so full and bright it almost appears as daytime in the wake of the late hour. The infertile trees shadow plays upon the ground taking on a skeletal hue with their inky blackness. Looming across the landscape as if they are trying to escape the bitterness that is Winter.

It is a beautiful sight in its eeriness. I half expect a zombie or a werewolf to come charging across the yard but alas, I know they too (if they were real) would be smart enough to stay out of this cold.

It is late and I am tired yet, the call of this cold night and all its splendor almost has me reaching for the door, almost. I just stare for what seems like an eternity through the window at the beauty I am capturing in my mind for later and how I feel in this moment.

All alone I feel a kinship with those lifeless shadows and for one brief moment, the trees and I are one. I feel their sadness, their pain, their lifelessness. I have been there I have felt sadness, pain, and most of all a lifelessness I can’t explain.

I am touched by those shadows and the eternal light that now shines upon them showing all of their flaws, their imperfections, their brokenness and yet they still stand tall and proud.

I take a snapshot of them in my mind as I silently scream at Winter for she has taken their life and with it all the beauty they once possessed. Yet, they are not ashamed they sprawl across my lawn knowing who they are? What they are? Casting beautiful shadows even in death. They know they will be alive again that the seasons will change and they will once again rise to greatness.

I guess that is the thing we all need to take from these trees. No matter how broken we are during the (Winter) just remember the seasons will change and we will once again be alive and beautiful …