Christene Houston's Blog: Christenehouston.com, page 11

The Twist

Remember how I said I only get amazing ideas when I can’t write them down? It happens when I’m driving kids to and from school while listening to music, it happens in the shower, it happens when I should be sleeping. You get the idea.

 

Amelia secretly waiting for Gilbert...

The other day I was brainstorming “the twist” –  the one that I needed to throw everything back up into the air in my regency romance – the one that has you gripping the pages of your book in utter desperation to find out what in the world is going to happen. I was in the shower, thinking through the plot lines I’d drawn in my head when it came to me clear and simple.

Anyway, I had it. I clung to it so I wouldn’t forget how it all works together while hurrying to my computer. I wrote up a query to shoot off to one of the editors who has looked at some of my other work. I am hoping this is the story she’s looking for. Crossing fingers and looking forward to a few hours to write this baby!

Run For Your Life {Short Story}

This is a short I did for a competition. It touches on a subject I have seen shades of in too many lives. I just want to say this. If you know someone who is struggling with any kind of domestic abuse, your kindness, confidence and listening ear could be the drop of goodness that turns the tide in their self confidence and gives them courage to run for their lives. If YOU are that person, there is help and hope…ALWAYS. Here are a couple of resources (please use a safe computer – libraries are great - to explore these options!):

Safe Nest 646-4981 & 1-800-486-7282

Domestic Abuse Resources

Run For Your Life

It all started with a word. Written in block letters. Black ink pressed into nondescript white paper. That word was enough to break open the shell I’d been living in; the tattered and broken skin that surrounded me and kept me from feeling the sunlight on a bright day or the mists of rain that fell whenever the barometer dropped.

My name is Hayley and I’m a survivor. Before that word I was certain I was the only one to scratch my way straight from hell, to endure the bloody abuse of another person’s fury and still have a beating heart. I thought for sure he was right. No one would ever love the ragged torn mess of my spirit trampled into the dirt.

I didn’t even recognize it anymore.

And then the woman with cornrows and skin the color of strongly brewed mocha pressed the torn off piece of paper into my palm. At the grocery halfway between the eggs and the orange juice, without saying a word. Only a flash of white teeth and colorful skirt. My body reacted to her touch, the beating of a hummingbird heart as fear clenched it.

One of the effects of repeated abuse is the taste of dread that lingers in your mouth like bad medicine. But it was only a word I’d never seen before. I tucked it into my purse and snuck through the store hoping to be a chameleon, unseen, giving no cause for one more jealous outburst. The old bruises were covered, the cut on my lip where the force of his knuckles split it in two almost healed and covered with careful artistry. The art of hiding torture and I could win the academy award.

When I got home he was gone so I could step to the sink and vomit my anxiety before hurrying to the computer.

One word from a stranger – Sankofa.

My hands began to tremble. I felt certain he could sense what I was thinking through the walls and down the street at the bar where he was gearing up for another round.

This woman knew. Somehow she’d seen past my makeup job to the frightened refugee beneath. Her word was telling me to run for my life. The idea ignited a riot of nerves and rapid fire questions.

Where would I go?

Could I do it?

What if he found me?

Was he right?

Was I stupid?

Selfish?

Repulsive?

Useless?

Did I even deserve to be free?

The mirror over the sink looked back at me – a woman with terror etched into her skin. I could still remember the look on his face when I lay on the ground that night, hoping if I held still long enough, he’d stop. Trying to breathe shallow so the burning break in my ribs wouldn’t betray me. It was a look bordering on hatred and remorse. The warm slug of spit he left on my arm told me hatred won out.

I ran a finger down my cheek, watching it bump over the bruises and scars. My mothers’ last words rang in my ears.

“It’s never too late to have a happy life, Hayley.”

How many times had I sworn she was a liar? Happy? That word sounded impossible. But life. That I wanted. That I clung to no matter how badly he tried to wrench it out of me. Slowly with tender fingers I washed away the makeup to reveal blossoms of sick color. The truth was painted on my face and down my arms, mushrooming across my ribcage.

For the first time in years I looked that woman in the eye and whispered the words.

“I deserve to live.”

She looked surprised and then resolute.

Caught with a sudden decision, I grabbed the paper, a change of clothes and a few odds and ends that meant something to me, stashing them in a tote before dialing the one number I’d refused to call since we ran away from my hometown four years earlier.

Three rings felt like a thousand years. My heart beat deep in my chest and I walked briskly away from the apartment, the scene of my incarceration, the epicenter of my abuse.

When her voice came on the line I almost couldn’t speak. Emotions closed around my throat and sobs caught my words away.

“Hello? Hayley, is that you?”

“M-mom…”

I could hear the breath catch in her throat.

“Hayley.”

The word was a whispered prayer. The next sound was her calling my dad, the jingle of keys and the simultaneous slam of car doors.

“Tell me where you are.”

I struggled to control the relief raging through my chest at the sound of her determined voice.

“I’ll be waiting at the Church on West Pacific.” I was checking over my shoulder every two seconds as the fear mounted between my shoulder blades. It couldn’t be this easy, could it? Every fiber of my being sensed the danger of my movements. Each step felt like a resounding nail in my coffin, cementing the reaction I knew would come. I could already smell his breath saturated in alcohol and see his hatred glazed eyes.

Alcohol was the root of his problems. It had always been a part of our relationship, the unspoken elephant in the room. When the economy dove and he lost his job, one love blossomed while the other shriveled. The occasional stinging comments about my hair or weight quickly transformed into outright punches coupled with screamed obscenities.  The next day remorse turned into daily resentment. My body was a witness to his loss of control, shouting the evidence in his face. He chose to drown it out, fueling the next maniacal rage.

Though we lived in a large city three hours from my hometown, my parents were at the door of the church in two. My nails were nubs. The ticking of the clock in the corner was a second by second alarm screaming out my escape. I could tell by the rocket of my heart rate when he’d be home. I shivered at the sound his voice would make, the instant escalation from anger to fury when he didn’t find me waiting with dinner and permission to continue our tradition.

The car was a haven of tinted windows and door locks. I closed my eyes while the tires squealed away from the curb. We were bank robbers speeding off in the getaway car. The precious currency we had stolen away was my hope for life.

It would be four solid weeks before I looked at the woman in the mirror again. Twenty-eight days of hiding in my childhood room. Slowly I remembered the dreams that had sprung up there and gathered them back into my arms. On day twenty-nine I came out. My chest was beginning to expand where the ribs had healed. The bruises that haunted my flesh had yellowed and faded. I hadn’t tasted blood for almost a month. The woman who looked back at me over the pedestal sink was hardly recognizable. Mother had done her best to add flesh to my cheekbones and fill out my jeans where they’d hung limply from my hips. The appetite that starved on a diet of anxiety resurfaced at the sight of home cooking delivered on a plate of safety.

Yet the refugee inside of me was still waiting for his knock on the door. When it came on day thirty-one the explosion I was bracing for never surfaced. I could only imagine the look on my father’s face when they came nose to nose over my life. He’d always been a quiet man, but even I could hear his steady words up through the stairs.

“Come around here again, go near my daughter you filthy slug and you’ll know what kind of bullets I use in my gun.”

I was holding my breath in abject terror brought on by the sound of my tormentor’s voice. I’d experienced his worst. I wasn’t prepared for his quick dismissal, the roar of his truck as he peeled from the drive or the click of the locks slipping into their slots on the door. It took me a moment to remember he was only a bully. And all bullies are cowards.

I knew I had a long way to go before his words would be uprooted from my heart. They were burrowers, sinking tiny barbs below the skin to root in the most tender parts.

But there was a hope burning in my chest that hadn’t been there before. It flamed to the surface on day forty-two, when I knew for sure he wouldn’t be coming back. My Dad was sitting beside me on the sofa while the TV droned around us. His arm slid around my shoulders and I realized he was sniffling.

“Hayley, I’m so glad you’re home.”

He stopped because now tears were streaming into his white mustache.

“We prayed so hard that one day…. What made you call?”

There hadn’t been a word about that man in forty-two days. Even his visit had gone unmentioned, though I could feel the charge in the air for days after their confrontation. When Dad asked the question it reminded me that I had to start talking soon or I might never say the words. The truth we’d hidden from neighbors and friends for four years would be forever silenced by remnants of fear. That silence felt like permission, agreement that I’d deserved the beatings and threats. But I knew now. I knew it wasn’t true.

The well that had shriveled to a trickle in the overbearing sun spilled over, one bucket at a time. I told him about the taste of a fist thrown into my face out of the blue. Of the lies he hurled at me and the way my scalp turned to fire when he would yank me up by the hair. I told him how I covered it all with long sleeves, makeup and false smiles. The excuses for missing work when it hurt too much to move the next day and the endless promises that it would never happen again.

There is a horrible kind of death that happens to a father when they know they’ve been unable to protect their child from the worst humanity has to offer. I saw it happening as I spoke and yet the flood of confessions went unstemmed.

It was late into the night when it ebbed. He held me in his arms, quietly sobbing.

“I want to kill him,” he said finally.

“Me too,” I agreed. “But that woman in the store, her I want to hug and thank and ask…why?”

“You said she gave you a word?”

“Yes. It’s African. Sankofa. It means when the village is destroyed, go in and find what’s worth keeping. Take it with you, leave and never look back. Dad I looked in the mirror and all I saw was burned flesh. The only thing to salvage was a longing to live.”

“So you left and never look back.”

I wrapped my arms around his thick chest and placed my head near his heart like I had when I was a girl. It beat a firm and steady rhythm that echoed sixty years of goodness.

“No I found what was worth keeping. It’s here Dad. Real love from people who know all my flaws. Somewhere inside me there’s hope for real happiness and that maybe I deserve a piece of it.”

“No maybe, little girl,” Dad spoke into my hair, “You deserve every last crumb.”

One word, written in block letters. Black ink pressed into nondescript paper. Because of it I am a survivor. Today I keep that scrap of paper until I can pass it on to another woman with haunted eyes and terror nibbling at her soul. One day another prisoner will have the courage to run for her life.

 

By Christene Houston (c) 2012

 

 

Weekend Inspiration

Freeze

Let’s be honest. I have a problem. (Why does this not surprise anyone?  )

When I don’t know how I want to proceed, I usually freeze. In October I went to an amazing conference for bloggers and the news was intense, interesting, deliberate. And I froze. Because as fabulous as the information was, I was processing from a different perspective than ever before. In my past lives I’ve been a crafty blogger, spinning off designs and recipes with my dear friend Heather of WhipperBerry.

WhipperBerry's Latest Genuis

It was a lot of fun - but always in the back of my mind, I was a writer:

Secretly seeking Christene Houston…{the author}.

When the time came and my book was out, I was blogging like it was business. I posted every. single. day. I wrote in advance, two weeks at a time. I snatched up beautiful pics and happy quotes. Because it’s what I do. It’s who I am and what makes up parts of me.

A Heart So Broken

But here I was faced with the decisions about advertising and writing for brands and I didn’t know who I wanted to be on that front. It’s my custom based in profound perfectionism to do things well and since I didn’t know how…I just paused.

Pausing isn’t such a bad thing. I still don’t know everything, but I do know what I love. I love having conversations.

I love finding recipes that rock and sharing them.

Texas Caviar

I love great music that speaks to and inspires me.

I love writing and sharing images or thoughts of the road I’m traveling on with my writing,

Pinterest - Quotes Worth Remembering

and I love talking about uplifting things that broaden my mind and lift my spirits. That’s what this blog will be all about.

I hope you like it.

Winner, Winner!!

We have a WINNER!!

Jeanna Bohanon is our Valentine GIVEAWAY winner!! Thanks to all who entered! Be watching for more fun giveaways!

The Amazing Race { Valentine Edition }

If you’re like me, you enjoy a nice romantic evening with your sweetheart. I’m a huge fan of romance! Candlelight, romantic music and one on one time with my honey are some of my favorite things. That being said, I don’t think I’m alone when I confess to a conversation laden with upcoming appointments, latest book news, and lots of kid talk when we’re on a typical date. For Valentine’s Day, I wanted to be sure our thoughts were focused on each other, so when I saw this idea on Pinterest, I was immediately interested.

I’m a huge fan of The Amazing Race. I know Mr. Houston would be an awesome navigator and I’m pretty good at solving puzzles. We’d be a great team! But until we can race around the world accomplishing crazy tasks, we are happy to settle for a Valentine Edition of the Amazing Race. We invited some of our favorite people to come along. Now a group date on Valentine’s might seem completely Anti-Romance, but it wasn’t. We met for dinner and then raced with our Valentines before meeting up again for dessert. It was both romantic and fun and I hope you’ll check out our ideas (and The Dating Divas) and put on your own Amazing Race Date!

A few ground rules included kissing at every stoplight and completing a 20 question survey to get us talking about more than work or kids. You can find my list of twenty questions taken from this pin at the bottom of this post.

When we split up we had 7 clues (each team had a different order):

1. In this store you only need 100 pennies for everything they offer – Dollar Store

2. Go where you can find the latest movies – Redbox or Movie Theatre

3. Choose a store with many candy options for this next challenge. – Any store with candy

4. Here you’ll find antelope and moose, boats and quads and in the winter, Santa Clause – Bass Pro Shops

5. Any remote, deserted parking lot. – Anywhere!

6. A fancy venue where the water dances to Celine Dion. – Bellagio Fountains

7. This is a land where the very tastiest treats are weighed by the ounce. – Yogurtland

8. Head to the PITSTOP!! – Our House

At each spot we did a challenge:

Making each other Candygrams from the candy store,

Notice the lips?

Mr. Houston's Candygram to me

choosing a $1 gift from the Dollar Store,

 

I got him Gatorade and he got me this sweet card at the $1 store

listening to a song at the dancing fountains, and dancing to our wedding song in the deserted parking lot.

Me and my Valentine!

At Bass Pro Shops we had a ROAD BLOCK, either photographing 5 different kinds of fish or

We went with Jamaican Style Jerk Chicken and Ice Cream Sandwiches

making a dinner with dessert out of the emergency rations they have. We finished that challenge off with a game of shooting.

 

Taking a shot

The final challenge involved a visit to Yogurtland where we filled up a bowl for our spouse and then hurried to the PITSTOP.

My favorite part of the night was dancing in the parking lot with my Big Hunk. I also loved coming home and laughing until my sides ached with these great friends, though I have to say there are some posters of Prince I should never have known about. I wish I’d remembered to get a picture with ALL of us. I have the best friends who are willing to go along with my crazy ideas. Thanks Tsagrinos, Ashers & Carters!

 

Now tell me what you did for Valentine’s Day! And then go enter my Giveaway for a FREE e-book of A Heart So Broken - the perfect romantic read!

Twenty Questions:

What was your first impression of me?

What is your idea of a perfect house?

Where would you go for your dream holiday?

What was your first date like? Where did you go?

If you won the lottery, what would you do with your money?

If your house caught fire and you could only take one thing and run out, what would it be?

Do you believe in ghosts?

Describe the worst date you’ve been on.

What would you change about yourself if given the chance?

What is your dream job?

What is the most adventurous thing you’ve done?

Who is your favorite celebrity?

Tell me something about yourself that no one knows?

What was your most memorable event growing up?

Who is your childhood hero?

Who is your favorite cartoon character?

What would you do if you were stranded on an island with nothing to eat?

Would you like to go to the moon?

What word first comes to your mind when asked to describe me?

What word first comes to mind when asked to describe yourself?

Valentine { Giveaway }

Working up some AMAZING fun with an Amazing Race themed date for my sweetheart and a bunch of fun couples tonight. I’ll post all the details here, but got my inspiration from the fun ladies at The Dating Divas.

I am personally a huge fan of romance. I’m a sucker for a love letter, a sweet date idea or a slow dance with some great music. I LOVE romance! No wonder I have so much fun writing it! In honor of this day of LOVE, I thought it would only be fitting to host a GIVEAWAY!

A Heart So Broken is a fabulous Romance for the sweetheart on your list!

One FREE e-copy (any version) is up for grabs. How to enter?

Leave a comment on this post telling me your favorite way to show love for your sweetie or someone you love = 1 entry

LIKE my Facebook page = 1 entry

FOLLOW ME on Pinterest = 1 entry

SHARE this with a friend on Twitter, Facebook or on your own blog (please include a link with this entry) = 2 entries

Be sure to leave a comment for each separate entry!

So spread the LOVE friends!

Good luck!

 

Weekend Inspiration

Texas Caviar { Recipe }

This weekend I was cooking up a storm for a special weekend for my oldest little girl. Part of the festivities included this yummy recipe for Texas Caviar. A combination of chopped veggies, black eyed peas and corn marinated in Italian dressing, this salsa is the perfect partner for corn chips. Hope you enjoy!

Texas Caviar

Texas Caviar

From the recipe shared by Shannel Rowley

2 large tomatoes, diced

1 large green pepper, diced

1 can white corn, drained

1/4 bunch cilantro

1 bunch of green onions, chopped or purple onion, diced

1 can black-eyed peas, drained and rinsed

1 small can chopped black olives

1-2 cloves garlic, finely minced

1 avocado, chopped

salt and pepper to taste

1 6-8oz. bottle of Italian salad dressing (I used 6 oz. of light)

Chop ingredients into small pieces. Mix with salad dressing. Let stand overnight. Serve with corn chips and watch it disappear!

Edenbrooke

I love a good party. Surround in the literary shroud of a Book Club and I’m in heaven.

Friday night we got to visit with Julianne Donaldson about Edenbrooke. She was passing through Vegas on her way to CA. What a delight that she could spare some time for us to pick her brain about our favorite romance with Marianne and Phillip. *Sigh*

Edenbrooke rocked our world!

Here’s the little vignette I came up with to decorate – complete with the letter from Phillip to Marianne. My toes melted as I typed this up. Talk about delightful!

Apples, horses, paintbrushes and the letter...

Julianne is on deadline for her next book, Blackmoore, and every one of us is awaiting its publication with high anticipation. Good luck in your writing, Julianne!

What a lovely sight!

My favorite part of this night was rubbing shoulders with new and old friends, ladies I hadn’t seen in ages, regulars who brighten my doorstep often and brand new faces I was simply delighted to meet. There is nothing like meeting kindred spirits around the flame of a great read. To all who came, shared delectable goodies that tempted our tummies and contributed to a lovely evening – thank you! You’re welcome here anytime!

P.S. I finished Edenbrooke again last night and I simply cannot recommend it enough. If you haven’t read it – what are you waiting for? Click here for your copy. Then clear your schedule – you’re going to be preoccupied for a while! You can also follow Julianne’s progress on Facebook or on her website: JulianneDonaldson.com. Check it out.