One of my favorite 80’s movies is COCKTAIL. I love it because of course, it is a chick flick. However, there is a suicide and a power play over money.  I think that just gives it the touch it needed to make it seem like well, reality.

I haven’t seen this movie in years but I watched it the other night and something weird happened. I began listening more intently to Coughlin’s laws.

My favorite line in the movie is a letter from Coughlin himself after his untimely death. He sends the letter to Brian and talks about why he killed himself. At the end of the letter, he says COUGHLIN’S LAW: BURY THE DEAD. THEY STINK UP THE JOINT. 

Now I have watched this movie so many times I have lost count but this time, this time, this line got to me. I don’t know if it is the fact that I am a writer now and certain lines in movies speak to me differently or what, but this one little line affected me. It has been haunting me for days now.

You know how it is when you get a certain word, or sentence stuck in your head when you are in the middle of a writing project and it doesn’t seem to go away until it is down on paper, or in this case computer. That is how this line has been affecting me. I find that it is on some sort of loop in my head. Driving me to madness. So you see I had to share it to hopefully get it out of my head to make room for more stuff to write.

But, what does it all mean? This one little line seemed so simple has become something else entirely.  I am baffled as to why it astounds me, due to the simplicity of the words. It is common sense to bury your dead lest they stink up the place. Yet, the power in those words as he said them seemed to more meaningful than that.

It conjures images of dead rising from the grave on a moonlit night, emitting foul odors. It makes me want to write something dark and twisted, and I may do a poem or a short story off of this line, but for now, I will pray that this line doesn’t stay too much longer in the forefront of my mind…



I have often wondered what the world thought of me.

I wish, to step outside myself and see me the way it does.

To watch the way I walk down the street or run into the arms of my lover. With my stilted gait. Do I really do it all differently, than anyone else does?

I would love to see my hair the curly rats nest that it is, blowing in the breeze on a hot summer day. Would I then see what everyone else sees in its natural cascading waves?

My eyes with their alluring hazel hues. I wonder, do they really sparkle like emeralds at times?

If I saw myself idling in line at the grocery store in my pajama bottoms late at night, Would I cringe at such a sight? Or would I applaud such obvious bravery?

I wish I could watch myself writing. I imagine myself in the midst of a story. I would watch in awe, as my left-hand scrolls across the paper creating something that wasn’t there before. My face lit up with the glow of fantasy. I wonder how beautiful I would seem, following my dreams.

I wonder if I came upon myself crying, shattered and broken. Would I be able to resist running up to wrap my arms around myself to whisper “everything will be okay.”

If I watched myself long enough would I be able to discern the moments the past catches up with me just by looking into my eyes?

Would I be like the rest of the world? Judging a book by its cover. Or would I see the past pains that broke my heart, the past joys I share in my heart? The present and all that I have overcome.

Would I see me as I know me? Or would I succumb to the poisonous way the world views me?

I know this cannot happen. I cannot step outside myself and look at who and what I am from another perspective. I guess I will have to be satisfied in knowing who and what I am deep down inside Instead of the distorted image, they see every time, I look in the mirror.

<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/wonder/”>Wonder</a&gt;


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.


I was driving back home from a doctor’s appointment this morning. I swung by McDonald’s for a cheap breakfast before heading home to shower and get ready for work. I was driving down a back road watching the light drizzle pitter patter on the windshield.  My windows rolled down,  as I have no air and even though it is raining it is still Summer. I felt a  moment of peace with the light breeze blowing through my hair, the overcast day making it just right to be outside, enjoying my drive when it hit me.

Suddenly a memory wafted through the car, just as the breeze had and a smile escaped me. I was once told that I would never be able to get behind the wheel of a car, due to my permanent disability. That was when I was 13 years old, a disability caused by repeated abuse from my mother. I was crushed heartbroken even, not to mention it is one of those things a 13-year-old isn’t even contemplating yet, and here I was being told to never even try to learn to drive. Yet, here I was this morning driving, one of my favorite things to do. Sometimes the weather is just right, the music lilting through the speaker is just right, and you just know this is as good as life can get.

This got me thinking of all the things I have been told I would never be able to do.  At one time in my life, I was pissed. Pissed that I had not even been able to make my mark on the world and here I was being told you can’t! For years this anger this, disability became my crutch. I found it was easier to give up than to try. However, this morning I was reminded that I have beat every odd set before me. Starting with my birth. I was reminded throughout all the things I was told I would never do by doctor’s, school counselors, my mother. That I have proven all of them wrong. Anything from being happily married, to holding a job, to something as simple as driving a car. I have beat all the odds stacked against me, and it makes me smile. No longer one of satisfaction in proving these people wrong, but a smile of gratification that I did not let them win.

In just over a month I will be 41, and while I started blogging just over 2 years ago, and a book on Amazon and Barnes and Noble, and another one just finished. I still have people in my life that don’t consider me a writer. Or think I do this for fun. Yes, it is true writing is fun for me but it is not a hobby. It is the thing that brings me peace. It is the thing that makes me smile in the wake of all the negativity because I know I have defeated all odds in the past and I will defeat the odds now. I spent years letting others were me down, I spent years thinking I am not good enough so why bother. I was reminded this morning that even with me letting all the naysayers win the battle, eventually I won the war with myself and proved them wrong. That is still true as I will win this war too and prove all of them wrong once again. Nothing can stop me now, but me!



It was a brisk October day when he walked into my life, in Church no less. There was never any excitement in my little town. It was one of those towns where everyone knew everyone. How annoying is it that? Every little thing you do is known throughout the whole town. Cotton fields as far as the eye could see on either end, our little town was just a pit stop on the way to the big city. No one ever came here that was important, and I am sure nobody ever remembered the town name as they drove on through to their next destination.

I was Seventeen and due to having a psychotic mother, was required to bring home no less than a B in school, so of course, I was a nobody. I was a 17-year-old semi-straight A student with barely any friends, and poor to boot. I always thought if I stayed invisible no one can hurt me, no one would expect anything from me, that way no one would depend on me. I liked it that way, I learned very early on that the only person I could count on was me and me alone, that friend and friendship were just a word.

You had to earn the right to be called a friend! No one I knew fit the bill, save for one person. I was probably the only virgin in town at this rate. As true to small town’s reputation’s over half if not all the girls in my class were either pregnant or about to be.

That day everything changed, I still recall the way his bomber jacket smelled of leather and Cool Water. I loved the way it felt against my cheek when he kissed me. Every time I smell leather now I am transformed back to that day. The day he walked into my life.

It was an overcast October day, in the south, it was about as cold as it was going to get. With my light sweater and my long pink and gray dress, I looked the picture of innocence. The stupid dress even had a big pink rose right in the front. Since puberty was taking its sweet time, I still had no breasts to speak of, so the giant pink rose not only screamed “Virgin” but looked ridiculous on my chest.

I went to a Pentecostal Church so there was always a lot going on inside that place. It was the only active building in a section of buildings that once upon a time had been a small strip mall. I still to this day, do not know what those building used to be. It was set about a hundred feet from the railroad tracks. I used to think we only had Church so loud to drown out the train that passed almost every time Church was in session.

The Choir was in full swing and my best friend, my only friend (who was at least 15 years my Senior) was singing in the Choir. The small Church had a Podium, a couple of Instruments, and a tambourine, which rounded out everything on the tiny stage. The rest of the room was filled with glaring white pews about 12 in all, they smelled of old wood and fresh paint. There was a tiny Alter shoved between the first set of pews and the Podium.

It was weird because Annie and I had met in Church just in the last few months. Yes, there was an age difference and she even had a child already, but we just clicked. She had recently married the Preacher’s eldest son and even though he was a few years younger than her they fit together perfectly.

I stayed at her place a lot on the weekends due to the crazy mom syndrome I was saddled with. Not only was she physically and emotionally abusive. She had everyone that met her thinking she was the sweetest, nicest, thing ever. Coming to a breaking point, I revealed some of the craziness that I went through at home to Annie. Not only did she give me a shoulder to cry on, but she believed me!  She saw through the mask my mother put on for everyone else. She was a friend when I needed one the most, and most deserving of the word, friend.

I was watching and listening to the song she was singing when suddenly I smelled the overpowering scent of leather. I turned in my seat and there, he, was! The man that would soon change me forever! The man that would awaken every desire and fantasy I have ever had since then. He sat in the back row on the other side of the room from me. Suddenly I had these odd sensations running through my body. Was this some kind of a joke, the hottest man I had ever seen (not counting on tv) was in my nothing town, in my nothing Church, sitting there for all the world like he belonged. You know that game they used to play on Sesame Street “One of these things doesn’t belong here”. Well, he definitely did not belong.

He was all leather and all male he was the perfect description of the proverbial bad boy. As I sat there concentrating only on my breathing I couldn’t help but sneak a peek at him behind my hand. With dark brown hair and even darker eyes, he was stunning! How could everyone here just keep on singing like there was nothing going on? As if a beautiful God hadn’t just come in and graced us with his presence. I felt flushed like I was on display like I was naked and exposed. I rubbed my now sweaty palms down my dress but that just smeared sweaty streaks down the front of it. This must be where the saying “hot and bothered” comes from because I was hot and defiantly bothered.

I couldn’t concentrate, I became light headed and more aware of my body than I think I had ever been in my entire life. I became paranoid as if his stare were boring into the back of my skull. I felt a twinge of guilt for having such dastardly emotions while sitting in the house of God. Yet,  the guilt quickly dissipated in the wake of such primal urges.  I couldn’t help it I was flushed and all I wanted to do was sink into the pew and disappear. I smiled at my friend as the song ended and clapped when everyone else clapped but my mind was now churning, lost to me, thinking only of the handsome stranger in the back row. I knew something was about to change for me. Hell, even my body could feel it.


This was it the moment that would change me forever, the moment of my sexual awakening and this was only the beginning…


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?



As  I sit here staring at the moonlight, I feel empty. What once gave me pleasure now just hangs there like a wasted ornament on a lifeless tree.

I rise broken and frayed I stumble toward its healing power. Yet he and I both know he can’t fix this thing that is broken inside of me.

I can still hear the first crack of my mind as it continues to echo and splinter out. The sound like so many bones breaking under pressure and I think to myself “am I already dead?”

My soul weeps for my heart as it shatters along with what’s left of my mind and I find that the light has gone out and I am once again alone, in the darkness.

My eyes begin to burn with unshed tears, tears that I have cried a thousand times, and I wonder much like the bear in the woods can your mind really break if no one is there to witness it?

I can hear the time slowly ticking down like that of a bomb counting down to my extinction, as the fear that I am losing my mind overtakes me.

An agonizing, painful, death if there ever was one. To watch and wait with bated breath as your mind slowly gives way, to oblivion.

I sit here on my playground of insanity with its lifeless trees with their lifeless leaves. All the color has been leached out of them and me I am alone amidst the desolation.

After all these years, and all these times I have fought and won, I laugh at the thought that this, this is what will finally break me. This is what will finally win the war I wage daily.

Once the question “how much more can one person possibly take?'” began to circle my brain I knew it was only a matter of time before my mind began to break.

The earth began to quake, I began to shake, the rubber band that was holding the pieces of my mind finally snapped with a crispness somehow only I could hear.

Trapped in the recesses of my own mind, I seek solace where there is none, I seek peace in a never-ending war, I seek quiet in the midst of a raging storm. There is none.

There is nothing only me, sitting here with my fractured mind, on a moonless, colorless night.