Davee Jones's Blog, page 6

REVIEW All the Ugly and Wonderful Things Bryn Greenwood

Review
All the Ugly and Wonderful Things
    

It’s hard for me to put into words how this book made me feel. On one hand, the book flirts with taboos. The storyline made me occasionally cringe, and stop reading. However, I’d pick it back up and start again, anxious to see how the story ends. I have to say it’s Bryn’s outstanding writing style that kept me coming back to the book. I dare say I enjoyed her writing more than the story itself. The story simply a catalyst weaving her gorgeous tapestry of syllables.
Bryn put me smack dab in the middle of the dejected, uncomfortable existence of the characters. I cannot call this a romantic love story. I had to step out of my comfort zone, and see the world through Wavy Quinn’s eyes, the leading character in this bitter tale. Bryn does a superb job squaring the reader firmly into Wavy’s mind.  I could understand why Wavy wouldn’t speak, or why she reacted in more feral ways than socially acceptable ones. Humans are not cookie cutter and Bryn reminds us of that with every page turn.  
I appreciated the message this book gives to its’ readers. We don’t all live in the stereotypical family life of 3.2 children, with loving supportive parents actually doing their jobs as parents. We live in a world where some children don’t receive hugs and hot meals, and someone checking their homework folders at night. Some kids have no “real” childhood.
This book is going in my stack of favorites. Although I may not read it again for quite some time, the storyline was just that gritty.
Bryn showed me I still had empathy simmering beneath my cynicism.
I’m giving this one **** 4 snowflakes.Amazon Buy Link

Carrie Fisher WAS Princess Leia- a Diplomat for the Curious and Stubborn

Growing up, our family didn’t have much money. I had what I needed, and never wanted for anything. Christmas was always magical, and Santa always filled my stocking. Coca-Cola commercials were incredibly affectionate, and filled my heart with love. In 1977, I was young, impressionable, and believed in the power of what lie ahead of me. My mom watched Dr. Who on PBS, and sparked my imagination full of wonder and the possibility of “what was out there”, before the X-Files asked the notorious question.
Then, came Star Wars. Oh. My. God. I was hooked, mesmerized, enchanted. This young, small feisty princess wielded a blaster, took charge and pushed the limits of what a Princess could do. She reconfigured in my mind what a girl could do, given the gift of possibilities. I had a new role model, Princess Leia Organa, and new crushes, Han Solo and Luke Skywalker. Honestly, given the choice, Han Solo was the rogue I loved. I mean, who could resist him?
Driving home from the movie theater, which was a rare treat to go to the movies, I looked into the sky and imagined the Millennium Falcon darting, zooming through the darkness. Our quartet of good guys led the way, Princess Leia, Luke Skywalker, Han Solo, and Chewbacca.
Thankfully, I got the action figures, and my best friend, Stephen, and I played Star Wars longer than I can really remember. I was always Princess Leia- that was the benefit of having a boy best friend. I imagined running from Stormtroopers, escaping a garbage compactor, saving the galaxy from Darth Vader. All while keeping my hair in perfect place and never breaking a sweat. Princess Leia made my childhood more fun and inspired.
I cried real tears today for a person I never met, for a person who truly changed my young mind without even knowing me. She added stars to my imagination. A Princess died today, someone who may have never known how much she touched young lives, for generations to come, and more on the way. Princess Leia was a legend, a diplomat for the curious and stubborn. The galaxy lost a renowned ambassador today, and for that, I’m truly blue.
Rest in piece, Carrie Fisher. Millions loved you more than you could ever imagine, more than the stars in the galaxy you so fabulously represented.
My heart hurts.    
  
 

Tuesday Tales and More Than a Picture (pic prompt)

Ahoy Fellow Fathomers! It's time for Tuesday Tales.

A group of writers gather together and give our interpretation of a specific word prompt each week. Once per month, we even write to an image.  You never know what you might encounter when you get inside our minds. This week our group writes to a picture prompt. We have 300 words to get your attention. This will be an excerpt from my new WIP for a new romance contemporary, Black Diamond Hearts.

Enjoy!~




  “Snow is so mysterious you know?  It’s silent and unless you see it coming down, you don’t even realize what’s happening outdoors.”
It’s like some people I know. Matthew wondered how many times he interacted with Laurel before he realized she was there, in the bulk of his day-to-day life, encompassing his existence.  “Cool isn’t it?  It’s magic to wake up and see everything blanketed in white.  I used to love it as a kid.” Matthew opted not to share his heartfelt feelings toward Laurel in such a profound manner. 
 “I should have warmed up this car before we got in.”  Matthew berated himself for not making the atmosphere warm and cozy for a comfortable ride. 
“I spend my days in slow-ass chair lifts in below freezing temperatures and flying down mountains creating icicles on my eyelashes. I will survive a cold car.”  Laurel raised an eyebrow toward Matthew.  “What has gotten into you these days?  You are so moody lately.”
 
Matthew realized he sounded suspiciously pathetic, but, he had no idea how to explain things to Laurel.  He opted for a cop-out.  “Seriously, I think I’m coming down with the once a year cold or something.  I’ll be fine.  Please ignore my pansy-ass.”
Matthew and Laurel spoke very little as he drove her toward her cabin.  However, they each had burning questions for each other and began speaking at once the closer they came to their destination.  “Hey, can I…”
Laurel giggled and Matthew smiled in return.  “Ladies first, please continue.  Unless your question is- “Hey, can I skip practice tomorrow?” He knew full well that was not in Laurel’s thought processes. .
Laurel swallowed and finally managed the question she had wanted to ask Matthew for months.  “How can you be here day after day and not crave racing anymore?   
Please visit us at our main site for more interpretations of this picture prompt Tuesday Tales Main Page

Tuesday Tales and What Do You Make of Bar?

Ahoy Fellow Fathomers! It's time for Tuesday Tales.


A group of writers gather together and give our interpretation of a specific word prompt each week. Once per month, we even write to an image.  You never know what you might encounter when you get inside our minds. This week our group writes to the word- bar.  This will be an excerpt from my new WIP for a new romance contemporary, No Games, Just Love.

Enjoy!~




















Bearing gifts in hand, I knocked hesitantly on my sister’s door, concerned suddenly with who might answer. Not receiving any response, I turned to leave. What was I thinking showing up unexpectedly in my adult sister’s door on a Saturday morning?
A voice behind me stopped me in my tracks. “Ahh, where are you going? Don’t tell me you’re one of those knock and run type.”
“Hey sis, I woke up early and couldn’t sleep. I suppose I thought everyone should be awake this early too.”
“I’m happy to see you, even if I was still lazy snoozing.”
“I brought you some coffee and a kolache, maybe that makes up for it?”
“Absolutely.” Making up for lost time with my sister was my new mission.
“As much as I appreciate this wonderful breakfast gesture, I know there’s another reason you’re here so early. Could this have something to do with a certain beautiful lady whose name I shall not mention?”
Could she really see through me? Stupid question it was. “You got me, I admit it. I’ve reached a fork in the road that unbelievably, both paths lead to her. How is that even possible? I was so mad at her for everything. I didn’t want anything else to do with her. Then once the shock wore off my anger for her faded and I’m left wondering if I could really go on without her.”
“I get it. You really fell in love with her, a kind of love that can overcome just about anything. I’m telling you now, because she didn’t do anything directly to you right now in the here and now after you met, you can’t let go so easily.”
“I must sound like a real pussy to you. Because I gotta admit, I sound like one to myself.”
“Being a passionate man doesn’t make your pussy. You just gotta be careful it doesn’t make you a dumbass. Guys can have all the feels without being pathetic. When you learn to master the combination women will become helpless to your charms.”
“I’m not sure if you made me feel any better about myself or not.”
“You came to me for truth, not to feel better. I’m the tell it like it is girl. From my experience you don’t waste of precious moments of life.”
“I overthink everything.”
“I respect you for taking a relationship seriously. You’ve given me a wonderful example of the kind of guy I want to date. Actually, you set the bar really high. Now I think it’s time you go easier on yourself, and enjoy awaiting possibilities.”


Please visit us at our main site for more interpretations of bar  Tuesday Tales Main Page

Tuesday Tales and No One is an Island

Ahoy Fellow Fathomers! It's time for Tuesday Tales.



A group of writers gather together and give our interpretation of a specific word prompt each week. Once per month, we even write to an image.  You never know what you might encounter when you get inside our minds. This week our group writes to the word- island.  This will be an excerpt from my new WIP for a new romance contemporary, No Games, Just Love.

Enjoy!~





Lola’s first annual Texi-Tropical Mixer appeared successful. No matter how many times the luau theme showcased a party or event, the timeless fun and classic setting promised fun times. We rented a small portion of a lake swim beach for a sandy spot. Volleyball games played out in one corner, limbo took an area, and other assorted games and get-to-know-you exercises kept folks chatting and laughing. Some wore island inspired clothing, tiki masks, hula attire, you name it. We knew an informal gathering could infringe upon Lola’s strict rule of assignments to specific leagues, however, we also wanted the great publicity such an affair would create. “Sometimes you have to break a few of your own rules.” Lola shrugged the possibility of failure away. I took a personal turn on breaking a few rules to step away from my rigid shell of comfort. Lesley inspired me, I couldn’t think of any better reason.We planned to spend a few hours in the sun, then, switch to a dance by evening. A long day for sure, but, we already had several new recruits interested in upcoming dating leagues. I took advantage of a small meeting cabin on the property to set up my laptop. I could keep track of prospects, while still available to supervise with Lola. She also hired some muscle by the hour to dissuade any potential roughhousing nonsense. Lesley went about serving drinks and checking on guests. I finally spied Lola taking a pause from the action.Lola didn’t have a date, customary for business gatherings. Remaining under a shade tree on a lounge chair, she watched everyone, probably mentally taking notes. She had a knack for recalling minute details, making people feel welcomed and important. I admired her for how well she read a customer. Yet, all those skills didn’t make her any more suited for a one on one relationship than the next human fumbling around wearing the blinders of romance. Somber, her demeanor fell flat, almost sad at times. When she was alone, I approached, determined to bring a smile. “Hey, boss lady, what do you think of your party?”“Boss lady? Where did that come from?”“I do work for you.”





Please visit us at our main site for more interpretations of island  Tuesday Tales Main Page

Tuesday Tales and More Than a Picture (pic prompt)

Ahoy Fellow Fathomers! It's time for Tuesday Tales.

A group of writers gather together and give our interpretation of a specific word prompt each week. Once per month, we even write to an image.  You never know what you might encounter when you get inside our minds. This week our group writes to a picture prompt. We have 300 words to get your attention. This will be an excerpt from my new WIP for a new romance contemporary, Steal My Heart.

Enjoy!~





I loved Marty more than I’d ever loved a romantic partner. My heart kept falling for him when my head fought so valiantly against the passion. So good in word and deed, I forgot so many times just who his father was. Sitting next to him, in this moment so painful, so intense, the craving stayed away, liberating me from the staunch grip of common weakness. Hope replaced fear, pushing me through the excruciating rhetoric this human garbage spouted to me over his cup of coffee with extra milk.
When he produced this alleged map, my focused changed. The meeting was no longer about me, it was, in fact, about victims who didn’t get away. The few who had the most unfortunate lot as the target of a psycho. I would never know the true reason I survived, maybe the truth didn’t matter. But, these girls mattered, they mattered a whole hell of a lot in a picture bigger than any frame could house.
The heat from Marty’s body comforted the chill seeping down into my bones. I pretended he was my knight, my protection, my support in a vastly unpleasant scene. Who knew inside a crowded room so much evil permeated the nooks and crannies. Everyone around laughing, joking, being carefree, full of the future. This excrement chose the place, probably because he stalked his prey here, or at least close by.
I concentrated, trying to discern a plausible reason for this Willoughby’s coming clean. Not once did he apologize. Not once did he admit he was wrong. Not once did he project remorse. In fact, the asshole attempted to justify his sick predilections.   Did I hear this right? No way in hell, or I suppose his way washell. The room became stuffy, I couldn’t breathe well, my head got dizzy. I blacked out without falling over. I needed to do something, I called the cops. The next thing I know, this filthy pedophile slumped over the table, while I’m on the phone screaming at them to just get here. He needed to be punished, he didn’t deserve the easy way out. You mother fucker, sit up! “Yes, get here quickly, dammit, this guy just ate God knows what and he is almost foaming at the mouth. He might have killed someone and he is hiding it! Send everyone- the cops, firemen, swat team, paramedics, but, they need to be here now! Do you fucking understand me? Am I not important?” I rambled on and on, ignoring the chaos surrounding our table.
Swiping the map away from me, it accidentally landed on the floor. What if someone steps on it? Holy hell, I gotta get down there. Barely talking to the nine-one-one operator, I sat guarding the map, waiting on the rescuers to finally show up. At some point Marty joined me, literally validating my position. He could never speak to me again the rest of my life, I’d still be inexplicably honored. This man I coveted, loved, craved- he joined me, validated me in a juncture so important, I don’t think I could ever describe the bliss. We may never see each other again, and I could live in peaceful submission.  
When the police showed up, I realized more than one “someone” finally listened to me- in walked the people who would make this right. I might have cried again, I’m not sure.  
Now, they just had to find the missing. I pray to God this vermin didn’t lead us on some wild insane tangent. With soulless men, such as Horace Willoughby, you could never assume truth.  


Please visit us at our main site for more interpretations of this picture Tuesday Tales Main Page

Tuesday Tales- Around the Town

Ahoy Fellow Fathomers! It's time for Tuesday Tales.



A group of writers gather together and give our interpretation of a specific word prompt each week. Once per month, we even write to an image.  You never know what you might encounter when you get inside our minds. This week our group writes to the word- town.  This will be an excerpt from my new WIP for a new romance contemporary, No Games, Just Love.

Enjoy!~





“You truly inherited my way of taking care of business.”
Heavy weights once again left my shoulders. Truth telling was indeed cathartic. “So, when he found out, we had a severe falling out. Over time, he contacted me again and we eventually met for drinks. I was following him to his house when I wrecked. I believe it was a sign.”
“A sign you weren’t supposed to be at his house?”
“Yes, he lives out of town, moved partially to get away from me. I think the universe wants us to stay apart.”
“What about true character is revealed in adversity? Maybe you two were meant to endure struggle to make your relationship solid?”
Mamma had an irritating way of confusing me. Should I dare tell her how my life felt complete only when Marty came back into it? “You’re messing up my way of thinking.”
“It’s who I am.” Mamma believed in happy endings, knowing a person didn’t get there by taking the easy road. “If I could do anything different, I would’ve found a way to keep you dad in our lives. We should’ve moved away with him.”
Here we go, talking about my father the roadie again. Good thing the nurse interrupted us.
“Good news, Ms. Fontaine, I have your release papers ready.”
“Splendid!” Mamma clapped her hands. “Just in time for tea.”
We made it to her house by a quiet, peaceful drive. Mamma followed through on her promise, gathering a tea pot, little fancy porcelain cups, and pulled thinly sliced bread from the cabinet. “I’ll make us cucumber sandwiches with the crusts cut off. What do you think? I also have some scones in the freezer, they’ll thaw in a jif.”
“Sounds good, Mamma, I’ll take a hot shower.”
“Remember, the doctor said you’re anemic, you need to eat more.”
“Random carbs probably won’t cure low iron levels in my blood.”
“It’s a start. I’ll pop over to the store for some vitamins.”
“Grab some beef jerky too, that’ll be good.” Halfway joking, I actually craved beef jerky for some odd reason. I’m not sure where that came from.
“Jerky? You’re right, that sounds delicious. We can make some.”
Mamma the crafting cooking queen. “Have you ever made jerky?”
“I burned a roast a time or two, does that count?”







Please visit us at our main site for more interpretations of town  Tuesday Tales Main Page

Tuesday Tales and It's All About the Band

Ahoy Fellow Fathomers! It's time for Tuesday Tales.



A group of writers gather together and give our interpretation of a specific word prompt each week. Once per month, we even write to an image.  You never know what you might encounter when you get inside our minds. This week our group writes to the word- ghost.  This will be an excerpt from my new WIP for a new romance contemporary, No Games, Just Love.

Enjoy!~





I suppose I never hated Lola, I hated her actions. Hate- such a violent word, final, definitive- offering no hope, probably more depressing than any other emotional concept. Hate meant your heart down to your toes had room for nothing else, and it consumed a person. If I had no hate, then, my heart never stopped loving Lola, my soul was only hibernating away from the agony. Healing removed the reasons I shouldn’t love Lola, and I didn’t know what to do about it.Impulsively, I ran in Forrest Gump splendor, skirting past dancing couples, bumping into folks left and right. “Pardon me…excuse me…sorry I need by.” My mouth repeated the mantra excusing rudeness, while zinging like a pinball through the human congestion. The band slowed the tunes to something sensual, encouraging closeness. Luckily, I hit the foyer before knocking any tightly bound couples over. But, luck didn’t prevent my haste from knocking Lola on her sexy ass. Hrmph! Hitting her full speed, she saw me a split second before I made contact. “Marty!”Solidly, she tipped over onto the floor in full upright position- a Coke bottle beauty hit like a wide receiver.  The side of her head made direct contact with the slick finish of the hardwood flooring. She wasn’t the only one who saw stars from our collision. Sweet mother, I wanted to slam her in a different way. “Fuck, Marty, is there a fire or something?”Fire? What a good way to describe my testosterone enhanced genitals. “I’m very sorry.”Rubbing the side of her face, shakily sitting up, Lola caressed her jaw. “That’s twice I’ve hit the floor in the past month, and I’m fucking sober! Sober both times!”“I didn’t know you’d still be here.  I wasn’t trying to hurt you.” Shit, that came out wrong.“Did you know I’ve already chipped a tooth? I’ve got a dentist appointment this week…that is if my jaw isn’t too swollen I have to put it off.”“Let me take a look.” Squatting down, I inspected her smooth skin, looking for bruises or abrasions. Angry red splotches promised necessary healing time. Gently, I touched her face, skimming her cheek with my fingertips. Familiar territory, even more familiar feels, momentarily quieted the turmoil inside my chest. “So, a bar brawl in a jazz club. How believable will the story float?”“Would you even tell that story? Isn’t that like getting beat up for your milk money or stuffed in a locker?” Joking with me was how we got started in the first place. I reveled in the destiny. “I’ll tell everyone, you should see the trumpet player.” Diverting her eyes, possibly hiding tears, caused another round of ache in my guts. The whisper carried slightly over the din of the crowd in the main room. “Why did you chase after me?”“I’m not…I’m…dammit, I don’t know.” Honesty, brutal truths can make for obstinate conversation starters. “Somewhere inside me couldn’t take you leaving. I saw you walk away and got desperate.”





Please visit us at our main site for more interpretations of band  Tuesday Tales Main Page

Tuesday Tales and Ghost of a Chance

Ahoy Fellow Fathomers! It's time for Tuesday Tales.



A group of writers gather together and give our interpretation of a specific word prompt each week. Once per month, we even write to an image.  You never know what you might encounter when you get inside our minds. This week our group writes to the word- ghost.  This will be an excerpt from my new WIP for a new romance contemporary, Steal My Heart.

Enjoy!~







“Hey, boss lady, what do you think of your party?”

“Boss lady? Where did that come from?”

“I do work for you.”

“Yes, you’ve even been in charge more than me lately. I meant your speech, you sound more like Eugene-y from the block than Eugene from behind the computer.”

“I learned I don’t always have to be stuffy to get my point across.”

“I think you’re sweet on Lesley and it’s loosened your defense mechanisms.”

Playing reverse psychiatrist was not what I had in mind. “I walked over here to check on you.”

Lola drew her knees close to her chest. “I don’t want to adult anymore, I want to, maybe…well, hell, I don’t want to go back to teenage years. I guess I’m damn stuck fast. I’m sick of worrying about stuff.”

“Unfortunately, with power comes great responsibility. These folks count on you to have your shit together.”

“Did you say shit, for real?”

“I did. I admit, I said the word shit in a sentence. I’m clearly losing my intellect.”

“No, no, not at all, you’re fine. Some of the world’s greatest minds cuss like a sailor.”

“Seriously, what’s going on?” She wasn’t going to weasel away from my questions this time.

“In a nutshell, I think my dad’s a fugitive, the man I love won’t return my calls, the man I sometimes date has a girlfriend, and my best friend, Danika, won’t visit me.”

“Is it because they have some of their own stuff possibly giving them a hard time?” I wasn’t sure Lola would ever stop taking the blame for everything and everyone in her life.

“I think it’s me.”

“You’re a handful, but, you’ve become empathetic lately, it’s endearing. Give your friends a chance, they’ll come around. It’s not always about you, and I say that right now with good intentions.”

“This girl really is good for you, I’ve never seen you so caring or happy. Maybe some of the ghosts of the past are gone for good?”

“I hope so, I’m ready to move forward, away from the negativity. Thankfully, the emails stopped. Someone was playing an asshole prank, I’m sure of it.”

Lola stood. “C’mon, let’s mingle, get to know our future clients.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Investing in the business was personal for me now. I’d found a job I care about, working with a boss who was family to me now. Our clients touched me in a different way. Their lives mattered to me, happy outcomes waited for the lucky. I helped with the formulas, the lists of best possible matches. No other dating site or club had anything on us. Arms linked, we walked back to the main party area





Please visit us at our main site for more interpretations of ghost  Tuesday Tales Main Page

My Medicated Mid-Life Week 6 on Humira

My Medicated Mid-Life
Humira- Injection #3

Today, I spent 30 minutes on the treadmill. I even jogged some during my more motivating songs. I logged approximately 2 miles.
My right shin hurt on occasion during some foot strikes on the faster paces. Not enough to make me stop though.
I also had to stretch my arms behind my back and retract my shoulder blades when it felt like my upper body was “balling up”.
But, it’s been probably a year since I’ve been on the treadmill, and certainly at least a year since I jogged. I felt liberated from the bonds my disease had placed upon my body.
Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t one hundred percent, but, I’m learning to live with small goals and accomplishments. The Humira isn’t a miracle drug. I took the injection on Friday evening. Saturday, I woke with a slightly sore throat and fatigue. Sunday, I woke up around 3am with body aches. I took Etodolac, an NSAID drug, and went back to sleep. I had a full day on Sunday at one of my favorite bookstores. Sunday night, I needed more Etodolac, but, I managed to get up at 5am Monday for work and didn’t feel the usual pains rocketing through my joints.

Getting up at 5am was a huge accomplishment. My fatigue seems lessened, my body rebelling less from the alarm clock.  I remain cautiously optimistic. I’m going on week 6 of Humira treatments.
I’ll keep you posted.
Namaste
“Our bodies remind us it’s essential to keep moving.
And, yes, it does matter.” -Davee Jones