Sara Ellie MacKenzie's Blog, page 9

#Excerpt 3 - Revolution

At the end of the gathering, Father pronounced that there was good news. Not only had we managed to contribute to the surplus of the kingdom, but we had to prepare to say goodbye to Mabel. All throughout the hot season, while I was busy, she was locked in her rooms with Patricia and Momma. She was preparing for her marriage to Lyle Bray.

The last meal of each day was the only time I saw and spoke to Mabel. She was always smiling and offering a kind word to everyone, most of all to Patricia. It was formal and cold, though. With her wifely demeanor, it was like she was part of the Bray family already. The only thing missing was the ring to indicate her status.

At the end of the cooling season, a few days before the wedding, Mabel and I finally got a chance to speak alone. Before the evening mass, she asked me to take a walk with her outside. I agreed. We slipped out before anyone could catch us.

Momma and Father had many Bray relations around the property, so we pretended to be grand. The company outside assessed my sister at every opportunity, commenting behind our backs about her shape and behavior. When we reached our usual hideout (the South Barn), we stopped the charade. Instead of sneaking inside, we skipped to the back, into the woods.

“Oof,” Mabel groaned as she slumped to sit on a log. “It has been a long day.”

“What do you need me for?” I made it clear that I did not want to hear about domestic matters. “We have to go to mass soon.”

At first, Mabel said nothing. Her eyes glistened with real tears. She wiped them away, her facial features reproving herself for being so childish. When she finally talked, her voice was thick and I almost could not understand her.

It was about Lyle Bray. Of course, Mabel was worried about being a good wife. She was also concerned about Lyle and if she could turn the other way when he sinned. She was seething with anger because others have smeared his name and there was evidence for it. The rumors about Lyle were disturbing, Mabel relayed, with rape and murder part of a long list of crimes.

“Will I be happy?” she whispered to me. “Will I be as happy a wife as I am a daughter?”

“That is what God wills,” I reminded her. “We have to accept that our parents have made the right choice.”

Mabel was dreamy, tipping her mood positive. “Lyle seems so kind. I want to make him proud.”

“Shouldn’t you be proud of yourself?” I asked her. “Are you happy to be marrying Lyle?”

“Father has chosen well,” she echoed confidentially. “I cannot complain.”

“Then, what did you want to tell me?”

“I'll be glad to be gone from this place, but I will miss you, John. It will never be the same.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be, Mabel! God intended for us to be with our destinies. I will have our fond memories, but we cannot make much more of them.”

My sister huffed. She did not like my answer, claiming that I was cold. She picked up the discussion and began ticking off the things she was going to do when she was a wife and had children, such as the organization of the house and the rearing of her little ones. Mabel dared to venture what Alison would have to face when she was gone.

I was annoyed with her breaking her word about domestic matters.

“What do you mean?” I was confused. “She is coming to live here.”

“Yes, and she is taking my rooms,” Mabel remarked sharply. “Momma will be helping her adjust. Patricia will have her own rooms.”

“We are economizing. I do not understand why Alison would have her own rooms.”

“Didn’t you know, John?”

I made it plain that I was in the dark.

“Father and Momma have made decisions behind your back,” Mabel corrected. “They have chosen what was the most important and made us sacrifice in order to make it come true. Giving Alison her own rooms are status.”

I was perplexed by why she found this an issue. “I am aware. I do not agree with everything they do.”

“Can't you do something about it? Change some rules?”

“What are you talking about? Mabel, Father is making provisions for everyone when he goes to God. That is the normal order of life.”

“And for what? So we can suffer now and depend on the table scraps from Father?” My sister’s eyes shone distantly. “I get nothing out of this. It’s all for you and your heirs and it is all on a gamble.”

“It is not a gamble when the kingdom is rising and we are becoming rich,” I proudly relayed. “Their Majesties have created a land of freedoms and opportunities after the horrible wars. We should take advantage of it when we can!”

For a moment, Mabel was sad. When she returned to her normal self, there was a distance between us and I even felt it. I sought to remedy it, to figure out how we got to that point, but found that I could not. Surely, it was something Mabel said. She did not like the way our lives turned out because of our gender and social status. Besides, her upcoming marriage was making her nervous.

But why should you fix her temper tantrum? She is leaving soon.

She sighed, pretending not to be upset. “I am happy to be marrying and being away from this nonsense. Lyle will provide for us. I don't need your inheritance. I am glad to be done with sacrificing for you.”

“What do you want me to tell you? That you will inherit instead of me because you were born first?” I snorted at the ridiculous thought. “Father would not allow it. You are just jealous of me.”

Mabel was angry, standing with a stomp of her feet. “No, you stupid coxcomb. You do not understand. This is not a matter of being jealous. Momma and Father were wrong to make us suffer and you are going along with it. I should not have to give up what is mine in order for you and your sons to be happy.”

The response was strong, forceful. I was startled. I recovered quickly. As I saw it, it was not my problem. I was the oldest son. I had a responsibility to my heirs, my brothers, or to any future sons with Alison.

My sister wasn’t done yet. “Besides, being near power means the most disgusting men get away with anything. What agreements have you made in the dark with Father? If he makes plans behind your back, how much of your work is being undone?”

“What do you mean?” I froze. “I hide nothing with Father and he does not keep secrets from me. He has always told me when he does not agree with me.”

“Like with Master Albert? Does Father tell you what he does?”

“He is here to be my instructor, nothing more. You do not know what you are talking about, Mabel.”

My sister ignored me. She gushed out her misery about my teacher. He didn’t ruin her honor. He terrified her. He’d touch her innocently and it felt sinister – massages, hair twirling between fingers, and scratching under her chin. Sometimes, he would be in the corridors outside her room just as she woke or when she was in front of a mirror, styling her hair. He stared strangely at her.

I found no issue with the nonsense. Those actions did not indicate that Master Albert favored Mabel. Father did the same thing, and he gave her kisses on the cheeks and forehead too! My sister was making up stories.

When my memory of Master Albert surfaced, I dismissed it as quickly as it came.

Every man required relief once in a while, I reasoned.

Mabel would never understand that.

“Isn’t that the way of the world, though?” I asked my sister instead. “Men and women have their roles. Men must do what they can to be relaxed for the work ahead.”

It was pure nonsense, repeated from nights spent at the inn with Father.

I was hoping to get a reaction from my sister, and I was not disappointed.

Mabel was shocked out of her façade. For a moment, her face revealed grief, anger, and accusations. Again, she veiled them. She wanted to strike again, hoping to beat me in a game she was going to lose.

I loved every moment of it.

“Well, I hope my personal items are able to pleasure your future and that Master Albert has been kind to you,” Mabel finished formally. “Let me know when the returns comfort your sons. I will take my bows then.”

My sister slapped me across the face and left the woods in a huff. I sprung up to retaliate and chased her, but she was lost in a sea of Bray relations. All of them were climbing into the carts going to church. The town bells rang in warning.

Yet, I still did not see my sister.

After mass, I tried looking for Mabel. I could not find her except at the evening meal. She saw through me. She did not speak to me, not even to ask to pass the bread. My sister was lost to me…and it somehow did not bother me. I was smug, relieved that I was the oldest son and that I would never be sold to the highest bidder.

After a while, it grated against my conscience. The hours leading up to the ceremony did not provide the future bride and nobody wanted to tell me where she was. I didn’t see her until her wedding day. I was never to talk to her alone.

Mabel’s union with Lyle Bray was held in the yard before hundreds of witnesses and over a sunny sky. While Their Majesties were unable to attend, they sent their son, Prince Phillip, to represent the Crown. After the mass and celebratory meal (which lasted long into the night), she traveled to her new home and the Bray family followed behind her, torches lighting the way. After all was quiet, Father and I spent time filling holes in our road, fixing broken pieces of furniture, and paying off debts incurred by the Bray family.

Immediately afterward, I was focused on the next harvest and Master Albert’s lessons. The mornings were dedicated to lessons. By midafternoon, before the last of the light vanished, Father and I managed the arrangements. He placed an order for more seeds. I checked the accounts, disappointed over the lack of surplus.

Then, there was the issue of my marriage.

Until the New Year 239, we were plagued with carts from the Newton family. Momma and Patricia were assigned to place them in the assigned rooms (much to my sister’s chagrin). Alison arrived two days before I turned thirteen years old, bringing with her dozens more trunks filled with her treasures and dowry.

Shortly after her arrival, a snowstorm covered Cennix in a pure white blanket. We were unfortunately buried in several feet of snow. Being packed tightly in the house, we all tried to settle into a new routine. Father had made me a junior master of the house and allowed me more power. Robert and Justin were occupied with the chores that Father and I directed. Momma stayed with Alison and Patricia, teaching him how to be proper wives. When the roads cleared, Masters Billium and Albert still taught and tested me.

Even after the New Year of 239 came and went, I still felt that it was a strange existence without Mabel and having my future wife living with us. While she was supposed be the lady of the house eventually, my brothers and I found that we could not treat her like a true member of the family and were awkward around her. She was shy and reserved. She did not find being rough and tumble tasteful. She also did not have much knowledge of the things that make me happy.

Sometimes, Alison was adorable. There were little surprises around the house with my name on it. Sometimes, Alison had flowers sent to our room. She’d leave me notes by my bedside or she used Patricia as her messenger. She would cook my favorite meals with Momma and served it to me herself.

There were some things she did that made my hair stand on end. Alison would occasionally peek at me from behind her headdress, trying to flirt from behind Momma’s legs (especially when there was company). Sometimes, small items made her angry or sick, like seeing a certain food, and her temper knew no bounds. Another quirk of hers: she never liked to take credit for anything exceptional and often helped without being asked.

I found that her childish efforts that tried hard to be an adult fell flat. She had no idea what some gestures meant or how she was annoying people. Not to mention, I learned that she had airs. Patricia explained to my brothers that Alison liked pretending that she was grand often. She loved lording her position over Patricia and always reminded her that she would be lady of the house after Momma was gone.

After she left, we were silent.

Justin was the first to speak. “There is something off about her. If Alison is already taking airs, she will not be a good wife. She will be mean. Give you a hard time. It will bring the family shame.”

I felt my face turn red.

“Maybe Father chose wrong?” Robert wondered out loud.

“No!” I reinforced, harder than I intended. “Father has always made the right decisions. He was guided by God.”

As my brothers fought over my answer, I declared that I was neutral. I had my mind on other matters. Alison supposedly using Patricia was not one of them. Besides, I found the drama so confusing. Why would Alison be so cruel? And why can’t Patricia just fight her?

Honestly, I wished that women were easier to follow.

#BehindTheScenes 39 - Gaming II

This is a weird #BehindTheScenes this Thursday. Previously, I've talked about myself, how life happened and the weird writing process. Now, I have another person piece: gaming. This is kinda tough because everyone has an opinion. And I know I did it before, but it's been a while since I've said something.

No, I don't believe that they teach violence or cause school shootings.

That is a ridiculous notion! I think, like with any pastime, it needs to be moderated. It relieves stress, builds relationships, and makes a great family game night once in a while. Growing up, I did not have that option open to me.

I recalled my father playing with an original PlayStation at a friend's house. That was it. It was never allowed at our home. Our whole TV experience was controlled and we did not have any voice. In some ways, it was good, because I saw some pretty raunchy things growing up. In other ways, I was feeling repressed and rushing to my cousin's house when I could. We watched South Park, Simpsons and the like.

Gaming came in the form of a PC. We used an old Windows 95 machine for YEARS and YEARS, until high school. All of the weird 90s games - Centipede, Frogger, whatever - were played and beaten just as many times. Still, we were not allowed anything past that. I was focused on other things in high school that gaming was not allowed in there.

Trauma sometimes does not give you a choice.

It was not until I moved out of my parents' house that I began to understand gaming. My husband was a gamer and carried some of his old systems with him. He was the one who taught me the value of not only hand and eye coordination, but also the different kinds of games.

These days, I have little time to play. However, when I do, it's on Big Fish (yeah, I have too many puzzle games). Sometimes, I will play with Calvin and Brian. There are days when I curse it. Other times, I am relieved.

Sometimes, the stereotypes you grew up with morph from an anthill to a mountain.

There are times where I have argued over gaming. On those days, I feel like all I do is clean and work. Everybody else is glued to a TV, watching or playing. That annoys me and the child in me cries out about the fun I was denied and why I was always stuck doing the hard work.

Trauma never made sense.

It reminds you of the lacks in your life and what you can never get back (a better childhood and perhaps an apology). But coming back to earth, I remember that this was a way to relax and it's ok for somebody else to play. I am not living in a situation where I was cleaning while everyone else settled down. I am not somebody's maid.

Gaming is not something to be angry over. It is something to heal with, to learn from, and to be inspired by. It is for those like me who have experienced a life of mental and physical torture. Another world and another character takes you away the same ways that a book can too!

And for that, I can appreciate it.

Namaste, everyone! Have a great day!

#Gaming #Playstation #XBox #PCGames #GoingWithout #Nonsense #TraumaSurvivor #EmotionalImmaturity #NeverAKid #BeReal #AnotherKindOfStory

#FindOutFriday Answers 16

Hi, everyone! Welcome back to #TriviaTuesday and its #FindOutFriday answers! How many of them did you guess? Let me know in the comments! And, as always, send me any suggestions.

Amazons - The fabled women's society from Greek Mythology was the inspiration for Stepnick and its female population. At the end of Through the Meadow, Miranda mentioned that they engaged Mother Church in battle. Like the women from Stepnick, the Amazons were warriors and fighters, equal to men, and raised their daughters (sons returned to the fathers in a neighboring society) to do the same. While the Stepnick women in my story would not reject any genders, they held strength from maiden, mother and crone. Plus, they know magic. Autism - The readers of Through the Meadow meet a character in the secret police, Elmwood, by the name of Jack Sumter. Miranda noted how strange he acted and how certain words refocused him. These traits are common with autism. Sumter was based off characteristics that I saw not only in myself and my son, but other people I knew with autism. His tragic death made it more potent for me. It is not hope that autism would be cured, but that it is normalized and cherished. Everyday people live with it and they are just as courageous as anyone else. Submission of Women - It is in Through the Meadow that readers learn that the world Christian leader demanded women to be used as vessels for children and be seen and not heard. The seclusions, prayer rules, clothing, and more were cherry picked from many monotheistic religions. I will not debate the validity of their existence or who was right or wrong. Their extreme society norms were the inspiration to the fallout that readers will see in later books.

Thank you for patience, everyone. Have a great day. Namaste!

#HistoryAlive #GreekMyths #WomensRights #InclusionAndDiversity #ASD #JudeoChristian #Messiah #Religion #Morals

#TriviaTuesday Rules

I seem to have forgotten my manners! I am beginning a new segment of #TriviaTuesday and its companion, #FindOutFriday, and I have not explained the rules in a while. They are as follows...

Every other Tuesday, I present real life places, people, etc., in history, geography, and other topics. Your job is to find the points in the current book series and link them to the post. On Fridays, I will have the answers posted here on the blog.

Is there any prize involved? No, but it's a fun exercise.

Do I need to keep track? No, I am not collecting homework.

Why is #TuesdayTrivia like this? Because I can.

Any other questions and concerns can be addressed via email.

Namaste!

#2024Edition #FirstOfTheYear #GameRules #TriviaTime #History #Geography #IRL

Chronically Writing: Truisms II

I told you that I had more of these! This is Part 2 of truisms gained through chronically illness and trauma. I did notice that some of these are already up from another post from last summer. Please excuse my fuzzy brain. It's been busy here.

Credit goes to: Barenaked Ladies, RHCP and The Eagles. Comment with your favorites or tell me some of yours!

You can lay in bed, like Brian Wilson did. Look up at the sky and wonder at the clouds. The love I make is in the shape of my space. Don't be guilty doing the right thing. It's not about you - don't take it personally. Live so that when you die, the Reaper cries. You do not need religion to have morals.

Namaste, everyone! Have a great day!

#Trauma #ChronicMeansForever #WalkAway #LearnFromIt #ThePastIsBehindYou #PresentMoment #LoveOthers

#BehindTheScenes 38 - Colors

You might think this is a strange topic for #BehindTheScenes. I can reassure you, it is not. Colors are not just about broken crayons still coloring or the diversity of the world. In this edition, the topic concerns more about my notes and how I keep them. Yes, I've covered this before. This is different and more specific.

A lot of times, people see pictures of my notes. They are records of plots, characters, family trees, and more. Sometimes, you'll see bookmarks with notes or a sticky notes somewhere. All of it is in a rainbow of colors, though. Even the tabs are all over the place!

There is a reason why I chose to have the notepads organized like that.

It's not because it looks pretty. It actually helps me find my other story ideas. Many times, I am linking the plot from 1 book to another and the ideas pour out before I wrote it down! Those colors have been a lifesaver.

I honestly have written through 5 notepads. I am on #6 and I am often linking notes from one book to the other. Sometimes, when I add details to them, I am playing a sticky note near the original idea. I found myself making the same note in another book (which is a good reminder), or I am connecting info, like a monarch with multiple wives and children.

I am sure other authors like George R.R. Martin and James Mitchener had their methods. I mean, one of them wrote novels based on geography and gruesome history and the other built an epic fantasy series. I like to pride myself on being an author who reads and rereads her notes and always makes connections and corrections...and those colors have made it possible to explain every mistake.

I can give an example of how this helped me. I do not know how many times I recalled something being in a certain notepad, by a certain note that was a specific color or a series of tabs. That alone saved me time. Without that system, I could have made a serious blunder.

Of course, writing in first place also gives me some leeway. If someone said something happened, or that was what they heard, it could be chalked up to perspective. An example was at the end of Through the Meadow, where Miranda said she met King Abath IV of Jast. In reality, that was the common name of that individual, and his real name was Honri.

Being a writer is improvising at a dime.

It's also about point of view. As I am rewriting Revolution, many things came to mind. One of them was having two characters see an exchange different ways. Another was that communication is everything. Some people might not be on the same vibration or, because of upbringing, class, race, etc., might see the same idea in another light.

I honestly cannot wait to share Revolution with all of you.

Namaste! Have a great day!

#Diversity #ColorsOfTheRainbow #Organization #ColorfulNotes #FindIt #PlotTwists #BookSeries #IndieAuthor #NewBritain

Author on the Go!

I am not talking about the snowstorm either. I do not want to venture past my yard until at least tomorrow or Wednesday. I am talking about social media! Did you know that I am on several platforms?

On this site, all of the links are on the top and bottom of every page.

Each one will take you to my page on that platform. To be honest, I might add another. I am working on my LinkedIn page, to focus more on CT Authors Partnership. I will keep you all updated!

Yes, I know it is January. Happy New Year, everyone! In my misery, I missed it (as well as many things). I will get to that later. "Behind the Scenes" and Trivia will also return. It might take me longer because more of my resources are from the new book. Not to mention, the heaviness of processing emotions.

Namaste, everyone! Have a great day!

#SocialMedia #Meta #AmazonAuthor #SelfPublished #Twitter #YouTube #Tumblr #NextDoor #Fantasy #Action #Adventure #BookSeries #Updates #WritingCommunity

https://video.wixstatic.com/video/00348b_7eb2e26563c24ed8a6c3c99bb8e5d86a/720p/mp4/file.mp4

Chronically Writing: The Future

On the day after Christmas, I was looking at this and crying so hard, I could not feel it.

My husband and I just had a very nasty fight. We were folding laundry and for the millionth time, he asked me if a pair of pants were mine. They were smaller than my thigh and he did not even look at the size. I was working out six things in my head, from cleaning the kitchen, making meals, cleaning the basement, garbage pick-up, you name it. I've been doing it since we were living together.

No, it was not right that I snapped at him. I told him to look at the size, I did not have time to stop what I am doing to check on his work, whatever. I was not nice because I was tired of explaining the same things over and over again and he was not listening.

It was all I did.

I work harder because I am home and look at a screen for work.

Like I never do the videos and pictures on my own. Planned my marketing. Called the venues. Plotted my next moves without a manager helping me. Wrote my own books. Edited them endlessly. Researched the market and marked my professional progress. Kept track of the plot, characters, etc., of my books. And that does not include the childcare and housework, chronic illnesses, my mental health, and grieving over recent events that I have not processed yet.

Like I sit on my ass and do nothing while my husband works endlessly at his factory job.

My house is not the cleanest. I don't dust often. Sometimes, my dishes sit for a few days. I have no working dryer and hang my laundry on a line crossing most of the main house floor. There are days when I do not want to cook because I had enough of playing survival and using food surplus.

So, the misunderstandings began to escalate.

Like any other argument, we picked up on the stupidest shit. One thing led to another. My husband's frustrations and what he had been taught as a child reared its ugly horns. I was not working because I was not making any money. I was just trying to get out of housework because I was lazy and picking on him because he was working. Another woman taking advantage of a hardworking man.

That broke me.

My husband fights dirty. I knew this going into the relationship. But what he said went too far.

I am going to be honest: until that moment, I had no support base except my husband. My (adopted) dad is another. I have to also give credit to the caring people I met on my journey (they know who they are and I love them so much). Other members of my family are involved in caretaking. As a former one myself, I understand hardly having the time or energy.

To have my husband verbally slap me like that crept upon my childish unmet needs. I had been abandoned again, and by the person who was supposed to love me and stand by me (except when I am wrong). It shook me so badly that the voices of a million stories just...

Stopped.

That was what began the slow dismantling of my career for the past few years. Tossing pens and notepads into boxes. Shutting down my tablet. Telling a lot of connections via messenger that it was done. Thanking everyone who helped (and those who thought they did and had not). At that point, I did not know what the new adventure was going to be.

Yes, seriously.

At that point, I was looking at it this way: despite our positive attitude, we were facing a lot of financial hardship. My husband does not make a lot for his position and he works a lot of OT. Another steady income would solve all of these problems. The rest of the family would be happy and we would have people by our side again, sort of.

But at what cost? To be included with a nest of narcissists? Enablers? Abusers? To have help when we asked (with plenty of complaints)? To have to endlessly run for people who would never jump a puddle for us? To have drama under our roof, in front of my son?

Our peace of mind was more important than that.

It took some days and more discussions to calm down and to find out what my husband was upset the most over. That is our business. While that has been mostly worked over, the question still remained.

What was I going to do?

Extenuating circumstances prevent me from looking for a job in my field. I have used five career counselors, the state of CT DOL, three temp agencies, my alma mater, etc., and one reason came out. It is unjust and has already been addressed with the proper parties, but nothing is going to change. The only companies who would take me are call centers.

The thought makes me sick, even as I write this. I am remembering one of the nastiest customers I have dealt with. He argued with me for following federal banking regulations and when my manager forced me to escalate, the customer was pleased. He sexually assaulted me over the phone, adding that he owned me on a leash. This was reported properly in my department and nothing was done to correct it. I was forced to continue working with the individual.

Even into the New Year, I framed my mind to looking for a job and believing that, since 2022, I had been unemployed. I berated myself for not doing enough and giving too much. For putting too much time and energy into questioning the authority of the system because it is ridiculous. I felt like the general public did not care. If somebody just walked down the street and sat with somebody different than they are, they'd know another story.

None of my anger and frustration was aimed at anyone specifically. I privately messaged those I had a problem with. "Nobody cares" meant that, as a mass, we never think of anyone past ourselves. We assume that somebody is just doing to clean up after them, somebody always has the power. That there is some magic wand that is going to make everything a success.

Nobody thinks about the consequences of their actions. How one person cannot always do it all. How one little thing can make a huge thing deflate. How a lifetime of disappointments can kick a person down.

In the end, I went dark. I dove back into what I loved to do: learning. I separated my feelings of the several different issues and watched the familiar and the unexplored to better process my emotions. There was no news watching. I learned about the craziness of the funeral industry in the US, how to build a basic mud and log house in the woods, and the history of opium in China. I watched A&E crime shows and (repeatedly) checked out YouTube videos with Calvin. We took in a homeless friend and his dog, so it's been busy helping him organize and spring out of here,

I did not want to get back into writing. I did not want to look over my book, see my notes, nothing. I began pushing people away again, more because of broken promises than anything else. Others sent me messages after I announced my decision. I did not want anybody to persuade me otherwise.

That was my way of not dealing with it. Yes, I know it is a trauma response. I should not have done it. But I was tired. At that point, knocked down by my husband, separating myself from blood family, diagnosed with several chronic illnesses, another holiday season without people I love, humiliated by the others, I was simply done. Survival mode kicked in.

A couple of days ago, I was beginning to catch up with my unread messages. I appreciated everyone who reached out and responded to as many as I could. One of them caught my attention, though. It was sent to me by a friend of my father's. This individual had not seen me in years, maybe met me a handful of times because he was traveling often. He said not to give up. It will take time.

And he's right.

It got me thinking about what I feel about success.

Success did not mean bestselling to me, though. It looks like a page well written and revealing an awesome plot twist. It's me being a special needs mom, running through a routine with Calvin while trying to dictate the next paragraph because my arms hurt too much to type (and trust me, A LOT profanity had to be erased). It's seeing two books published in one year, and both of them are over seven hundred pages a piece.

It's the people I met on this journey, through Facebook groups, local events, at libraries and bookstores, and sometimes on the streets. The comfort of other women who grew up like me. Moms who also know the exhaustion behind having a child with autism.

There is still a lot of healing to do. But for the moment, I have decided to stay in the industry. Remain in my lane. Repay my debts. You want to make your snide comments, go for it. You want to help, do it and not lead me on. I will not trust another soul without solid proof.

I have gotten back into Revolution in small ways. So far, it's been notes and plot and not the document itself. I have not been able to open Microsoft Word yet. Every time I do, that little voice pops into my head, telling me it's not real work. I am working to remove the tape out of the player.

As I tell my son, tomorrow is another day and we can try again. That's the best thing we can do. Sometimes, it never works out the way we want it to, and that's ok.

Or, we can quote the Chili Peppers...

Deep beneath the cover of another perfect wonder,

Where it's so white as snow.

Privately divided by a world so undecided,

And there's nowhere to go.

In between the cover of another perfect wonder,

And it's so white as snow.

Running through the field where all my tracks will be concealed,

And there's nowhere to go.

Namaste, everyone! Have a great night.

#BackInAction #NewRules #NewThoughts #LessonsLearned #Boundaries #IndieAuthor #StopJudgingPeople #YouveNoIdea

#HolidayThoughts 2023 Edition

When you look at the picture, what do you see?

Most people would focus on his clothing and appearances. He's older and hard. His sweater is torn and needs a wash. Even the yellow fabric on top of his head and shoulders is an ugly piece. You can barely see the garbage and poor state in the background.

Do you know what I see?

He's a human being, flesh and blood. Sure, he is old and ugly and he needs a wardrobe makeover. But he is homeless. The reason why should not matter to you. What should is that he is a human being in need of food, clothing and shelter - everyone's basic needs.

You don't need to feed into a drug habit (for I know many who have them). You don't need to hand over money or food, put someone up at your place, or anything like that. Kindness and empathy are free. Spitting on someone homeless or asking questions like what happened to their job fall into the same category, but it does not address itself in the simple concept of love.

We are all overloaded these days. The pandemic has run all of us high and dry. But we can never forget that we can have boundaries and still help our fellow human being. It does not take the holiday season to have you lift a finger. The need is always yearround.

Dedicated to Lex and Don and MJ.

Namaste!

#TheNeedIsThere #Homeless #TEDTalk #MicDrop #IndieAuthor #WifeAndMom #NewBritain

Author Christmas List

Well, I mean, "Author Quest" on social media covered it. But there is more to just reading, reviewing, and word of mouth that I want. As a person, there is so much in this world I want. It's possible to make a separate list that does not involve something about my books.

A fresh perspective made me change the way I think. This year has humbled me and most of it just involved taking a bus, kindness, and talking to people who were not like me. Having people cover my back also made me more confident and secure. What more can someone want?

For those people at the New Britain City Hall to stop sneering at the homeless.

For more people to give empathy and listen to someone who is not like you.

To understand that everyone did not have the same privledges you did.

For you to see without the eyes of judgment.

I am not a person who knows everything. I am just another soul working towards going home. I want to learn from my fellow humans how and help others with the same journey. We all run to the light differently. We don't need the promise of a heaven in order to do good for others, yearround.

Namaste!

#Christmas #HappyHolidays #AllYearRound #NotJustTheHolidays #BeKind #Empathy #HoldTheDoorOpen