A to Z Challenge - F is for Feelings

http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com/

It's time for another A to Z Challenge! This year, I want to tell you about a story that is currently a WIP (work in progress). It's the story I'm writing in honor of my baby lovebird, Robert. It's a fantasy story, but it's really a story about emotional healing. So let's examine it by going through the alphabet!

The letter f stands for feelings.

The story of The Good Pirate, Robert is one that is very emotionally driven. It was my sadness in his death that led to me to start to write the story. The message of the story is about emotional healing. So feelings are the foundation of this book.

Now feelings and emotions are a part of any story, that's true. For me, and for this story, though, they are paramount, though. Without feelings, this story would not and could not exist. You can't have emotional healing without emotions, right?

The good thing about this, is that it's not all bad feelings. Yes, there is some sadness. There's also joy, peace, excitement and wonderment...Robert's story does not fall flat emotionally. Rather, it guides us through a myriad of emotions, bringing us to a wonderful place in the end.

Sometimes feelings create the best story lines.

Come on back tomorrow for more A to Z fun!

Final August WeWriWa from The Cop

It's WeWriWa time!

Click www.wewriwa.com for more information and to see other 8 Sentence Sunday posts.

This post is part of an ongoing blog hop hosted by Weekend Writing Warriors. Every Sunday, participating authors post eight sentences from a published work or even a WIP (work in progress). Then we hop to our fellow warriors’ blogs and check out all the fabulous fiction that’s happening! It's a great way to meet readers, writers, and your next favorite book!  :)

Things are heating up in August! So for this month, we're looking at the scorching hot Donna from the Loving Her series.

Donna White is one tough cop. Behind the badge, though, is a very sweet, sad, sensitive soul. Truly a woman alone, Donna is simply trying to navigate her way through life. Who is Donna? She is dedicated, determined, distinctive and deep. Donna’s rich and touching story is second in the Loving Her series. 

Background on the snippet: Liz and Jen just showed up at Donna's apartment unexpectedly. Donna was initially miffed at their arrival - that was until she saw the reason for their visit. Jen gave her a little kitten. Donna is both excited and nervous. This snippet has been edited to fit 8 sentences.

     Donna bent down to look at the little face; her white, orange and black marbled head seemed so tiny compared to her large hands. Carefully, she began to gently pet the kitten. Almost instantly, the cat closed her eyes and began purring; Donna smiled brightly as she looked up at Liz and Jen.

     “But I can’t take all of this…” Donna started.

     “Please don’t fight us, Donna,” Jen said gently. “We know how hard things have been for you and we thought that maybe having a little companionship would be a good thing. We just wanted to do something nice for you - it’s about time someone did.” 

Hope you liked it!

Happy reading!

Final WeWriWa from The Writer

It's WeWriWa time!

Click www.wewriwa.com for more information and to see other 8 Sentence Sunday posts.
This post is part of an ongoing blog hop hosted by Weekend Writing Warriors. Every Sunday, participating authors post eight sentences from a published work or even a WIP (work in progress). Then we hop to our fellow warriors’ blogs and check out all the fabulous fiction that’s happening! It's a great way to meet readers, writers, and your next favorite book!  :)

This month, we will be focusing on Maria's story in the Loving Her series: The Writer.

Everyone has that one friend - the mother of the group. Maria is that one friend; nurturing, wise, and with a spicy streak, Maria is the matriarch of the clan. Cerebral, emotional, and even sometimes comical, Maria’s story is the seventh in the Loving Her series. The Writer tells the story of Maria through grief, and joy, love and fear, and an emotionally challenging family relationship that threatens to interfere with the love she'd given up ever finding again...

Background on the snippet: Steph and Maria are on a date. Stephania has just disclosed her battle with drug addiction, and the loss of her younger brother to drugs. Maria pauses before speaking. This snippet has been edited to fit 8 sentences.

     “I have learned that in life, we are all in some kind recovery. Whether physical or emotional, each of us is recovering from something. A surgery, an injury, a disease, an addiction.

     “What is important in all of these recoveries is the rehabilitation. Everyone needs to be doing something to maintain this recovery. It could be physical therapy, chiropractic, massages, exercises, therapy, or meetings. They are really all the same. They are the work – the exercises you need to ensure your health and well-being; they help you to get better so that you don’t have another crisis, medical or emotional.”


I hope you liked it! Happy reading!

'Tis the day before Halloween

It's time for another blog entry! This is my Halloween edition! ;)


For Halloween, I am giving you a couple of peeks at Pianissimo.

Corinne just sat down. She lit her scented candles and sat down on the couch to relax on a Friday night. Millie and Mollie were curled up sleeping on the far end of the couch. Just as she sat, Corinne saw a dark figure walk past the front door of the living room. She turned quickly, but saw nothing. It was dark out. Perhaps it was just the shadows of the leaves moving in the wind and street lamps. Slightly unsettled, Corinne turned her attention back to the large flat screen TV on the wall in front of her.

Some time had passed and Corinne half-heartedly watched her TV show when she thought she heard
something. Ignoring it, she focused completely on the television. She heard the noise again and it crescendoed. She tried to dismiss it, but the sound was relentless. She muted the television. It was then that she heard a man’s voice groaning. Corinne jumped up out of fear. She looked around. There was nothing she could grab to protect herself. Corinne jumped backwards onto the couch, grabbed her knees and sat huddled. Then she saw Darryl’s old recliner. There was a good hiding spot behind that: between the recliner and the wall. Moving as quickly and quietly as she could, Corinne’s feet skipped across the floor and she ducked behind the recliner. Not knowing what else to do, she hoped that she was somehow hiding from this man. As her heart raced, a tear escaped and rolled down her cheek.

Corinne was startled as she watched a dark figure appear, sprint towards the source of the groaning, and then disappear again.

Then there was silence. A loud, haunting, eerie silence. Tears continued to race down Corinne’s face.
Slowly and nervously, she stood up. She looked around. Everything seemed the same. The television
continued to play on mute.

Corinne tried to slow down her racing heart and inhale deeply. She was still shaken up, though. She
returned to her place on the couch. She grabbed Mollie and held her on her lap, hoping to gain some comfort.




Her clothes hung nicely in the closet. They looked so small, though. Her wardrobe didn’t even take up half of the closet. It’ll be different once Darryl is home. He will gladly use every last inch he can get out of that closet.

Corinne hummed along as she continued to hang up her clothes.

“Chief.”

Corinne stopped dead. What was that? Who was that? Who was speaking to her? How could she hear
anyone speaking? This was unsettling, to say the least.

All she could do was stand in silence.

Nothing.

Seconds turned into moments turned into minutes.

Still quietness.

What was going on? Who had just spoken?

Corinne heard it. Clear as a bell. Something, or someone, had said the word, ‘Chief.’ Who was it, though? And why did they say it?

The room was still silent. Even the cats were sleeping, she couldn’t even blame this on them.

What was going on? She couldn’t hear a thing now, but just a few minutes ago, someone spoke. They
spoke to her, or so it seemed. It didn’t make sense. Not at all.

Was she seriously losing her mind? Was this isolation becoming too much for her to bear? Did she need to see a therapist? She had never been like this before.

Maybe it was here. Maybe it was Louisville. Was it something here? Was there something in the water? Did this old house have some kind of a gas leak or something that was making her hallucinate? Corinne could not make sense of any of it. She felt as though she truly was losing her mind. Something wasn’t right. She didn’t know what it was, but something wasn’t right.

She took a couple of deep breaths and resumed hanging the last of her clothes. She shook her head continuously trying to make sense of it all.




Corinne bent down to take the canister out of the vacuum when something popped out in the corner of her eye. Startled, she turned her eyes towards it. Her heart began to race. Who or what was it? Why was there something there that she had never seen before. She was certain someone had broken into her house. She was petrified. She was out in the open. There was nowhere to run.

This person was there and they had to have some kind of motive. Who else would break into an old house where a single woman lived? What was their motive? Was it money for drugs? Was he a rapist? Some psychopathic killer?

Her heart began to race even more. Beads of sweat built up at her hair line. She felt hot, weak, scared,
nauseas, petrified. She was so frightened that she was frozen and unable to move. She closed her eyes, waiting for the worst, but praying for the best.

Time ticked away. Nothing. Had he not seen her yet? Or was he the type of person that enjoyed messing with people’s minds?

She kept her eyes closed and tried to keep her breaths deep and steady.

Corinne continued to wait. And wait. And wait some more. What was going on? Had he missed her? Did he rob the house and leave already? Was he coming up with some sick plan? What on earth was happening?

She eventually opened her eyes. She cautiously looked up and over. It was still a blur until she turned and faced it completely. It was not a person at all. It was her throw blanket. It hung over the edge of the counter in the hallway leading to the basement.

How on earth did that get there? She hadn’t put it there. It hadn’t fallen out of the laundry basket because she had just cleaned it a few days ago. One – or maybe both of the cats must have stolen the blanket and dragged it to hallway. Apparently they even tried to jump on the counter with it. Although not typically quitters, it must have been too hard to continue to pull the blanket any further.

Corinne sighed a huge sigh of relief. Her heart began to slow down to a normal pace. The sensation of heat that had washed over her was now dissipating. Moment by moment, she began to feel more human. Once she had truly calmed down, she couldn’t help but laugh at the antics of her girls. Leave it to them to keep her on her toes!

“Okay,” she said to herself in a breathy voice. “Time to get back to regular life.”




Happy Halloween and happy reading!!!

A to Z '14 - Joviality

For this year's A to Z Challenge, I am honoring my grandfather who passed away on April 3, 2013.


J is for Joviality.

My grandfather loved a good laugh. He absolutely loved slapstick comedy.



In his eulogy I wrote, "I really only remember him as jovial. His bright voice greeting me with his special, “Hello, Lauren!” I can so vividly picture his bright blue eyes, his contagious smile and hear his laugh."


He laughed to laugh and to make others laugh. He wouldn't pull mean pranks, per se. Rather, he had quick, dry wit that could always entertain you.


That's really one of things I admire most in him. He was always happy, always laughing, always positive. I aspire to be like that.



His joviality was absolutely contagious. Thinking of his smile and his laugh is making me smile as I write this!

A good sense of humor will get you through anything and everything in life. If there is one lesson I could give you from my grandfather, it would be to be a happy, jovial person. Joviality blesses you and the people around you. Just like he blessed us.

J is for Joviality.

A to Z '14 - Giving

For this year's A to Z Challenge, I am honoring my grandfather who passed away on April 3, 2013.


G is for Giving.


My grandfather was the epitome of selflessness. He gave and gave and gave.

He donated his time, money and energy into helping inner city you, the MS Society, his church, his family...the list is longer than I know. He gave because he could and because he knew it was his duty.

Realistically, it's everyone's duty. We all have the opportunity to give in various ways. It doesn't have to be money. Donate your time to helping another person. Give your old clothes and books to a charity or shelter. Use your talents to enhance someone else's life. Everyone can give something to someone somewhere.



Giving doesn't hurt. Quite the contrary. It helps both the giver and the receiver. It brightens everyone's day - it brightens everyone's life!



So please, give. Give in any way you can. It will bless you more than words can ever say. I know because I've seen how it impacted my grandfather and our family.

G is for Giving.

A to Z '14 - Family

For this year's A to Z Challenge, I am honoring my grandfather who passed away on April 3, 2013.


F is for family.



I can never say it enough. My grandfather was the rock - the foundation of our family. He encompassed the true definition of family. He loved us all unconditionally. He gave us his love, his time, his energy, his support, his all. He accepted us all.
Words really can never fully describe who he was, or what he did.



He was our patriarch, our cornerstone, our foundation. Our family is because of him. On our family tree, he is the main root.



I could not imagine my life or our family without him. If he had not been present in my life, I could only imagine how different my life would be (and NOT in a good way).

All families are different. I understand and respect that. But that which we idolize about family, that which we aspire to be as individuals and as families are all that he was.

I am forever grateful for my grandfather and for our family.



F is for Family.

A to Z '14 - Compassion/Caring

For this year's A to Z Challenge, I am honoring my grandfather who passed away one year ago today, April 3, 2013.


C is for Compassion and Caring.

My grandfather cared for me in so many ways. He was an integral part of my childhood. He and my grandmother lived less than 10 minutes away. We visited and stayed with them often.

He cared for me like any good parent. He made sure we were fed and cared for. But his care went so much further. He was truly compassionate towards us. Giving us love and kindness that surpasses all description.

From checkers to pool to important life lessons, he taught us everything. He cared for us by educating us in as many ways as he could.

More over, he cared for us by supporting us. He was always my biggest fan and advocate. He always supported my writing. He always spoke positively to me and about me. He cared for my emotions, talents and self-esteem more than anyone or anything else.

He cared. By his caring, I have learned to care. I care for myself and I care for others all because of his example.

C is for caring.

A to Z Theme

Well happy Friday, evening, gang!

I just heard that today is official A to Z Theme Announcement day!

So better late than never, here is my theme...

My theme is my Grandfather. As some of you may recall, he passed away on April 3 last year. Working the A to Z challenge was difficult in more than one way.

To honor his memory and all the ways he blessed and enriched my life, my A to Z Theme will be "Popoo."


Popoo means grandfather in Greek. I'm sure we're misspelling it, but that was what we always called him. :)

So starting April 1, we will go through an emotional and alphabetical adventure together! :)

Only 15 days Left!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Happy Thursday, gang!

If you haven't already noticed, I am very much a count-down type of person. I like to plan things. I like to think ahead. Good, bad or different, that's just me.

So, you can imagine how excited I must be that we have something WONDERFUL happening on Aug. 23.

August 23 is my grandfather's birthday. He passed in April. I know full well that I am incredibly blessed to have had him all this time. He was 93, he would be turning 94 on Aug. 23. I know people who have lost parents, siblings and children...all fairly recently. I hate talking about my loss with/around them because I feel that their pain & losses are far greater than mine.



My grandfather is the most important person in my life. Always has been, always will. You don't need to know my family history, all of our deep, dark secrets, etc. Really, the only important thing right now is my grandfather.



So, being the person that I am, I did not want his birthday to come and go as an ordinary day. So it won't! I am getting the most wonderful, amazing way to pay him tribute on his birthday!

What is it? Ah patience, grasshopper. For that, you will need to wait.

That is what brings us back to the count-down concept. I am counting down the number of days till 8/23. I hope you will count down with me. Because for as special as that day will be for me, it will be ten times better for you! :)


Happy reading!!!! :)

P: Poetry

In my younger days, I loved writing poetry. Poetry was a wonderful outlet for me and I think I wrote poetry well. My staccato voice and love of powerful words found a great home in poetry.

When I divorced, my sole request was to have all of my belongings returned to me. Unforunately, my ex-husband did not fulfill my request. Instead, he held on to a few of my most prized possessions including books I had been published in and my beloved blank journal in which I wrote my poetry.

I have not written poetry since. That was thirteen years ago.

Thirteen years of no poetry. In fact, it was at that point that I had really focused my attention on the sciences and any writing I did was non-fiction. Facts were my life; creativity eluded me greatly.

In 2006, I began writing fiction just for myself. I enjoyed it tremendously. Pushed by my publisher, I submitted it and have been writing fiction ever since.

Still no poetry, though.

That is until recently.

A dear friend of mine is a writer in The Netherlands. She recently discovered the Dutch form of poetry known as Elje.

An Elfje is a Dutch poem of consisting of 11 words. The stanzas are broken down such as this:

1
23
456
78910
11

So it's one word, then two, then three, then four, then back to one.

I don't know why, but something about Elfjes appealed to me. They weren't intimidating. They seemed like a fun form of poetry.

There are rules for writing these, but I (along with my friend), have decided that rules are simply meant to be broken! :) I have no idea what the rules are, I just write them as I see/feel fit.

And they are. Since I started, I have written several elfjes (I average about one poem per day). I cannot describe how cathartic these poems have been for me. They free me, cleanse me, heal me. Most importantly, they challenge me. It's a new genre. There are so many ways to write these, so many different ways to express one's self just through elfjes. I simply love enfjes!

Poetry takes on many forms and are a wonderful way to express oneself. I highly suggest writing in any form of poetry that appeals to you. Elfjes are just one wondeful form of self expression. :)

N: Naysayers

As many of you know, I have been working with a close group of friends through a book called, The Artist's Way. It is a phenomenal book and I recommend it to all creative souls.


One of the big topics in TAW is naysayers. In creativity, we all face naysayers and critics. Some of the worst ones are the ones in our heads.



Creativity is hard. It's hard because through our art, we bare our souls. We leave ourselves exposed and vulnerable for all the world to see. When our art isn't received well, it cuts us right to the core. The critic is not only rejecting our work, but they are rejecting us.



One thing that I love about TAW is that they discuss why people are negative. Very often, a naysayer is a jelous creative. They are angry and resentful at themselves for not creating and when we do create, their envy becomes the whip with which they beat us. Naysayers are the ones who are too afraid to create. Stuck in a mental box of fear and self-hatred, they displace their anger upon us in order to feel better about themselves. After all, isn't it so much easier to criticize someone else than to be daring enough to reveal our own souls to the world?


Each and every creative will ALWAYS encounter naysayers. It is simply a part of the world. However, we need not take their criticism to heart. Knowing and understanding where they are coming from (and that their negativity is really just misdirected) makes it easier for us to not take their harsh words personally.


So when you have a critic and hear a naysayer, don't feel badly. On the contrary. Feel good because it means you are far more courageous than they! ;)

L: Love

Love is the driving force behind any creative endeavor. If you didn’t love color and the process of creating a picture, you wouldn’t paint. It is not for ego that we create. We create because we need to and we love that need.

Everyone has some kind of outlet. Whether it’s sports or the arts, we all blow off steam and center ourselves through something. There is a need. There is a need to feel and then to move forward from those feelings. From that need arises creativity.

Everyone’s creativity is different. I write. I’m not the only writer out there, but I am the only writer with my voice and my perspective. I write not because I think I am the best writer. I don’t even necessarily write for a specific audience. I write because I need to express myself and I love writing and the writing process.

Artists don’t become artists for the money. Artists become artists because they love and need art.
At the end of the day, it’s not about a royalty check. It’s about creating something. Getting emotional satisfaction from the creative process.

Art, like everything in life, really, is all about love.

E: Expression

Art is a form of expression. Love, pain, joy, gratitude, anger...we all need to express these feelings somehow. Art is the way.




I don't care HOW you express yourself, just that you do so. Create, destroy, paint, sing, dance, stomp. There are endless ways for us to express ourselves.



From the David to death metal, we all have our outlets of expression. Typically, these outlets are forms of art.



What inspires you to express yourself? How do you express yourself? Is your expression creative? If so, how so? ;)



Go on, express yourself!

The Summer of Butterflies

Recently, something came up that reminded me of a dark time in my life. During that time, most of Impeccable was written.



After that time, though, something remarkable happened. My "Summer of Butterflies" happened.

After the discussion about that dark time in my life, I felt the need to revisit the Summer of Butterflies. I began to share it with others too, hoping to bring a little light and inspiration to their days.




Today, I share it with you.

This piece was featured in the 2011 Nature's Gift Anthology by Vanilla Heart Publishing.

Happy reading! ;)

The summer of 2010 was my first summer in North Country. A born and bred city girl, I now found myself living in a county where the bovine population significantly out-numbered the human population.
I would be inclined to say it was an ordinary summer, and it was, save for one giant gift from Mother Nature: butterflies. Monarch butterflies, to be precise.
I‘ll never forget watching my partner come in with a plant saying that she had something to show us. On a milk weed leaf was a large black and yellow caterpillar. The kind of caterpillar that turns into a beautiful monarch butterfly. We gathered a jar, placed the milk weed and a moist paper towel in it. Then we let the caterpillar do his caterpillar business. Our four year old watched him day after day in his ―changing room.‖ Our entire family was filled with excitement watching and waiting to see this miraculous transformation. Ten days later, a big, beautiful monarch butterfly stretched his wings and was ready to take flight.
Just a day or two after the first butterfly hatched, my mother-in-law acquired yet another caterpillar! Just as we had done with the first, we got this new little guy all settled into his new jar home and we once again found ourselves waiting and watching for butterfly number two. He hatched two weeks later, and our little girl was fortunate enough to watch him flutter away towards the horse pasture into the light blue summer sky.
Butterflies are amazing little creatures, you see. Prior to cocooning, the caterpillar eats as much as it can (they apparently love milk weed). When you notice they stop eating, you know the time is soon. They‘ll find a spot and begin to dangle themselves upside down. For us, it seemed they like to make their cocoons at night for
we would see an upside-down caterpillar one day and a little green cocoon the next morning. While these incredible insects are in their ―changing rooms,‖ they basically eat themselves to near death. I don‘t quite know or understand this phenomenon, but they leave just a few cells remaining to regenerate and to create this entirely new body as a butterfly. The process takes anywhere from ten days to two weeks, and then they break out of the cocoon and are ready to face the world in their new suit.
While butterfly number two was changing, the greatest of my butterfly gifts arrived. We were unloading our air compressor from the truck when I noticed there was another monarch caterpillar. This one was hanging upside-down on the back part of the compressor. From that moment on, I watched diligently over that new butterfly. I didn‘t want anything to happen to this precious life hanging on my compressor. This little guy didn‘t realize he had picked a very noisy and shaky home. So I always watched over him when the machine was in use. Plus, unbeknownst to him, he was cocooning on our machine during the biggest show of the chainsaw carving season. Poor little bug was trying to change on a machine that was being used frequently. I‘d talk to him every time I needed to use the air compressor, and I would check on him after every use. I would breathe a sigh of relief when I saw that he was still hanging tough. I named him John Wayne, because he was such a tough little guy. On his third day in a cocoon, the rain down poured on us. We received over seven inches of rain that day. Thankfully, though, my partner made sure that she placed John Wayne under the safety of her carving tent so that the little guy wouldn‘t get washed away.
After that show, we used the air compressor at home, but we finally stopped using it all together because he was due to hatch very soon. I was so excited to see this little one make it. He really had the odds stacked against him, but he seemed to be flourishing despite his choice of home.
On day twelve of John Wayne‘s cocooning, my partner and I were on location, working on a large carving. It was an exceptionally hot day that day. We were trying to stay as cool as we could. We were keeping ourselves hydrated and even misting ourselves with water so we wouldn‘t over-heat while we were carving. As we were working, one little butterfly flew all around me and wouldn‘t leave me alone. Then, amazingly enough, it landed on me. Not just for a moment, but several moments. Several moments turned into several minutes as the butterfly made himself quite comfortable on my arm. So comfortable, in fact, that it began drinking moisture from my arm! It was amazing to watch. While he quenched his thirst, the butterfly and I studied each other. I looked at his pencil-thin legs with little black hairs. His eyes were a deep, dark red and resembled those of a fly. His tongue was a thin, long black apparatus that lightly tickled me. He was freckled with innumerable white spots. His bright orange wings rested closed while he drank. He cocked his head to look at me. I can only imagine what I must have looked like to him! That was a wonderful once in a life-time experience.
Days thirteen and fourteen came and went and John Wayne still hadn‘t hatched. I was concerned, but his cocoon was still bright and looked healthy. Perhaps
John was simply a late bloomer. I knew that nature knew what she was doing, so I took comfort in her perfection.
I was away all day on day fifteen, so I was unable to check on the little guy. As much as I had wanted to watch him hatch and take flight, I was sure he already had and I was quite content.
On day sixteen, my partner and I went to check on our air compressor friend. My heart sank as we approached. He didn‘t look good. The cocoon was thin and the color was starting to turn dark. The more we looked, the more it appeared that John Wayne hadn‘t made it. When a cocoon turns black, it indicates that the butterfly has died inside. Whether it had gotten too cold one night or what, we weren‘t sure. What we sure of was that the little caterpillar, in whom I had put so much faith and hope, was never going to fly.
I cried for the little man. I had such high hopes for him. He seemed so strong and determined to live. If any caterpillar deserved the chance to live as a butterfly, it was John Wayne.
The next day, I moped around and asked my partner if we could bury John Wayne. It seemed silly to bury a butterfly, but this little guy had touched my heart and I wanted to do something special to honor him. I remembered the butterfly that drank from my arm and I resolved myself to that being a great gift from nature to help balance out my loss from John. Nature is balance. Life is cyclical. All of the seasons balance each other. The moon balances the ebb and flow of the ocean. Within nature, we find perfect harmony and perfect balance. So, it only stood to reason that nature would gift me an experience like that in order to balance out the death of John Wayne.
Day eighteen started out like any other. I was still sad over the loss of John Wayne. I was trying to determine the best place to bury the little man. I had just pulled up to my parking space when my partner called me.
―Hey Laur?‖
―Hey. What‘s up?‖
―You‘re not going to believe this. I was going into the barn by the shelves and this monarch butterfly slowly flew in front of me and over my head. Then, I went to check the shelves and John Wayne‘s cocoon was empty.‖
I was floored. How could this happen? How could this be? His cocoon was thin and black! John Wayne‘s re-birth as a butterfly defied the odds and defied all reason. However it was that this miracle came to be, I cried tears of joy and the giant smile on my face could not be erased. Nature gifts us miracles in all sizes, and John Wayne was one of those miracles. I later saw his empty cocoon. I still couldn‘t believe it even when I saw it, but he did indeed hatch. I‘m sorry I wasn‘t able to witness his first flight, but I know that he flew around my partner to thank her for taking such good care of him. I still miss his company, but am ecstatic over his existence!
John Wayne was my greatest gift from nature. My miraculous monarch.

Coming Out Day

Tuesday (10/11) was National Coming Out Day.

Like any good LGBT author, I promoted several events and articles relating to NCO, but I also promoted my books.


Why?

Not because I am THAT much of a narcissist.

Close, but not quite. ;)

In all seriousness, I hope that Imperfect and Impeccable help others to come out. They helped me to come out, believe it or not.

I have known who and what I am since I was a pre-teen. I remember being in junior high and having "those thoughts." I had hit puberty early, mind you, and when you have a class that is full of beautiful girls, you can't help but be...interested.

I had said things or asked questions of my mother in pre-teen and teen years, but she dismissed them.


In my twenties, I had a few long-distance reltaionships with other women. Since they were short-lived and long-distance, it still didn't quite register with my mother.


Mind you, I hate to make my mother out to be some kind of ignorant fool. She is anything but. However, for whatever reason, my orientation just didn't click with her.




So, when I wrote Imperfect, my mother asked me why all my characters were gay (consider the fact that Loving Her was fairly hot off the press at the time).

So, I thus had to explain to mom AGAIN that I am bisexual (she still doesn't quite fully understand since I'm with a woman now, but that's a whole other blog! LOL).



So, writing love stories about lesbians helped me to come out as a "half-lesbian,' if you will.

Is that a bad thing? Not at all. If you look at Carol and Alex, you will see that they are strong women. They are not ashamed of who they are. They love each other regardless of race or gender. They show us what true love can endure, and what it should be. That can be a very powerful tool in coming out.

So, if you're closeted, please come out! Yes, the world can be a scary place. But it will be such a better place if you're true to yourself!

And if you can read, please read Imperfect and Impeccable. You might just like them! ;)