Marilyn Grey's Blog, page 2

Tekeme Studios – Amazing!

I am so thankful for the work of Tekeme Studios! They are also my book publishers under . Not only have the designed GORGEOUS book covers for me, but they have designed my website (which is getting revamped right now and I’m SO excited!). I just can’t sing their praises enough.

If you have any design needs, they are the place to go. They have self-publishing packages here. And website services here. They are the most creative design company I know of — that is also affordable.

Also, Winslet Press is seeking new authors. Check ‘em out if you have been weighing self-publishing, but don’t have the money to venture into it. Tell them I sent you!

And stay tuned… my new website will be up by spring time! I am sooooo excited to refresh the look just in time for the spring birds. So looking forward to spring.

In other news, Heart on a Shoestring is the hands of my street team and I’ve got some fun giveaways coming your way! Get excited! This is my favorite book yet and I hope you love it just as much!

CANDID: First Chapter of Bloom, Book 5

Unedited and New: Sneak Peek of Bloom, Sarah’s Story (Coming Spring 2014)

Prologue

August

a year and a half prior



James and I made s’mores by the fire. Always a careful person, I stayed three feet away from the crackling flames as I roasted my marshmallow, then smothered it between chocolate and crunchy graham crackers. James wiped my face and kissed the side of my mouth. We spent an hour talking about life. Our goals. Our future.

Near the end of the conversation I yawned. He got down on his knees to clean up the boxes and trash. At least that’s what I thought.

Staring up at me, he took something out of his pocket. I straightened my back as I sat on the log and a smile wrapped around my face as he took my hand.

“Sarah, we’ve both been through a lot. I know I’m not like all of your friends. I’m normal. A mechanic. Not artsy like you and all of them. I’ve argued with myself constantly. Had this ring for a while, you know.” He spun it in his hands, looking down. “I didn’t know how to make this romantic and over the top. I didn’t want to ask for help either because, to me, that’s a lie. This is who I am. I may not be the most romantic guy in the world, but you’re my best friend and I want to experience life with you. Forever. So … what do you think?”

I covered my mouth as he slipped the ring on my left hand. “Of course, James. You know my concerns about leaving Abby though. She can’t lose a mother figure twice. It would be unbearable.”

“Your cancer is gone. Doctors say there’s a good chance it’s gone forever.”

I nodded. “Enough of that talk. I want to relish this moment. I never want to forget the way it felt when you asked me to be your wife.”

He stood and pulled me into his arms. “How does it feel?”

“It feels … normal.”

We laughed. He carried me into the tent and flopped me onto the pillows. We had a ton of cheap three-dollar pillows stuffed in the tent. James surprised me because I once told him I wanted to sleep on a cloud.

“Can you go put out the fire?” I said.

He smiled. “Yes. Right after I kiss my future wife.”

We kissed as the moonlight lit our faces. That’s the last wonderful thing I remember before waking up to James screaming for me.

By the time I opened my eyes the tent was orange and a horrible scent clung to my nose. I screamed and backed into the corner of the tent, looking for James as the bed of clouds engulfed into huge flames. I closed my eyes and covered my face with my arm as I clawed at the tent, trying to rip the cloth and bite my way out of the fabric. The flames licked my skin, inching closer.

I looked down at my legs and hands. Didn’t take long to realize. The ghastly smell was my own skin melting off. Sharp bursts of pain seared through every inch of my body. Skin, black like the marshmallow I burned a little while ago, flapped off my arm and I could see the bone in my left hand, where the ring he gave me no longer resided.

James screamed my name again. A haunting chill swept over me, cooling my inflamed body. I collapsed in the corner of the tent like a parachute falling to the ground and asked God to take me quickly. A rush of sunny memories terrified me. I’d never see them again. This was the end.

Then each memory vanished and the world turned black.

Chapter One

My room smelled of buttery pancakes and pumpkin pie. I turned on my phone. 9:32a.m. September 15th. I no longer needed help taking off my burn mask. Thankfully. No need to wake Cheyenne this morning, who was still sleeping peacefully in the twin bed beside mine. Ella had been an angel. Not only allowing me to stay in her home, but allowing my cousin Cheyenne to stay with me as well. Ella worried that she wouldn’t be able to help me after she had the baby, but Adelaide Kessler was four weeks and two days old and Ella spent four weeks and one day out of those first weeks of her daughters life checking on me every three hours. At least.

I stayed in the hospital longer than most of the other burn unit patients. Partly because I had a lot of infections along the way, near death experiences, and trouble learning to walk again. And also because I wanted to. I feared coming home and burdening others. I feared being needy and, most of all, I feared that I’d no longer be able to hide my tears. When someone visited me in the hospital I had enough warning to dry my eyes and put on a happy face. In the world I’d need to hold it in or let it out. And let it known.

Cheyenne stirred and saw me standing without my burn mask. “You’re getting quite ambitious, aren’t you?”

“Funny,” I said. “Gone are the days when ten mile runs were ambitious. Now getting out of bed myself is an accomplishment.”

“You’ve come so far since the accident. Imagine how normal life will be by this time next year.”

I toddled toward the bathroom. Ignoring her optimism. I knew the heart of an optimist well. I used to be one. My entire life.

Until now. But normal wouldn’t exist for me ever again. A new normal, maybe. But not my old normal.

Cheyenne closed the bathroom door behind me. “Let me know if you need help.”

I stood in front of the mirror. Someone’s face stared back at me. Red, swollen, and disfigured. The right side of my face remained somewhat normal, but the left side … I looked away and positioned myself on the toilet. Took ten minutes to do something I once did in two. I washed my hands and avoided the mirror.

Throughout my life people complimented my beauty, but honestly, I never though much of it. I didn’t get too into my looks like some girls. Wasn’t important to me.

Every time I saw my reflection in a mirror I couldn’t help but realize how important it actually was to me. I just didn’t realize it until it was gone.

Life with a different face is a new life altogether. People treated me like a child now. They talked to me with loud and slow voices as though my ears melted away in the fire. Strangers stared and kids pointed. Men, who once turned their heads to watch me walk away, now turned their heads in disgust. I never needed attention. And I still didn’t. Maybe that’s why it upset me to be looked at so much.

Cheyenne knocked on the door. “Everything okay? Ready to change your dressings?”

I opened the door.

“And here are your pills.”

She placed them in my palm on top of the cloth surrounding my hand. I put them in my mouth one at a time and gulped the water she gave me.

“Well,” she said. “Ella made baked pumpkin oatmeal for breakfast. Would you like some?”

“No, thanks.”

“You need to eat more, Sarah.”

Cheyenne was not only my cousin. She was a nurse. And sometimes I wished she weren’t.

“Let’s change this stuff,” I said. “Get my ever dreaded shower and get through the morning routine. Maybe after that I will eat lunch.”

Cheyenne entered the bathroom and closed the door. Ella and Gavin chatted downstairs. I could hear them discussing work and lessons as silverware clanged in the sink. I imagined Adelaide snuggled against her chest in the baby wrap and Gavin’s arms around them both, wondering if I’d ever be able to have children. If so, I wouldn’t be able to nurse them. My flat chest with weird skin caught my eye as Cheyenne helped me undress. Mirrors insulted me, especially when unclothed. So I stepped aside and closed my eyes.

The pain, still intense, seemed as though it would remain with me for the rest of my life. “Poor James.”

“Not poor James. He loves you.”

“Did I say that aloud?”

She nodded as she completed her task and I took slow steps into the shower. I so dreaded the shower.

“Looks aren’t everything, Sarah. They aren’t even close.”

Easy for her to say. She still had her beauty. I didn’t even have breasts to nurse a child with. The doctor mentioned plastic surgery, but the thought appalled me.

“I’m like a child,” I said. “He needs a wife. Not a child.”

She turned on the water and I flinched.

“He needs you,” she said. “Period.”

Cheyenne helped me finish my painful morning routine in silence, then she asked me if I’d be okay with her leaving for a while. I nodded from my bed. Sleep called for me. Especially after those torturous showers.

My dreams either involved being trapped in a burning building or a mangled car. So I didn’t sleep much, but this time I dreamt of James and Abby with a woman who could take care of them. When I awoke James was sitting beside me smiling. “Morning, beautiful.”

“How can you say beautiful?” I said, closing my eyes again.

He didn’t respond. I looked at him again. His smile disappeared. Replaced by two serious eyes and turned down lips.

“Abby deserves better, James. So do you.”

He unhooked the necklace around his neck and placed it on the table by my bed. The ring clanked as it hit the wood. James touched my shoulder. “I’m sticking by you until that ring goes back on your finger with a wedding band.”

“James.”

“Sarah.”

“You don’t have to feel sorry for me. Don’t do this out of pity or guilt. I’m a big girl.”

He stood. “Every time I visit. Every single time you try to get rid of me. I’m doing the best I can. What do you want from me?”

“You don’t want to marry me. Admit it. If you met me now you’d never think twice about putting a ring on my finger.” I held back tears. “You’re worried about Abby. I get that. Since your brother died and Abby lost her parents, you feel like you need to protect her. That’s true. You’re her daddy now and she needs you. But she also needs a mother. A real one. Let me go, James. Just let me go. I don’t want pity.”

His eyes narrowed. “I’ve been by your bed every moment possible since this happened. Is this your way of saying thanks?”

“I am thankful.” I looked down. “You’re a wonderful person. You’ve been good to me. But I’m okay. It wasn’t your fault and you can walk away without hurting me. I’ll be okay.”

“What would you have said if we were already married and this happened, huh? What then?”

I stared at my bare chest. The chest that was meant to nurse my children during sleepless nights. Gone. My dreams of motherhood melted away in that fire. I’d failed my children before giving birth to them.

I loved James too much to see him settle for me just because he loved the person I was before all of this. Maybe one day he would understand it was my love for him that helped me let him go.

He stood in the doorway. “You know that scene from Titantic?”

I shook my head.

“Come on, you’ve made me watch it six times.”

“Which scene?”

“The one.”

“Please don’t, James.”

“I’ve been by your side since this happened. You almost died twice and that kind of thing makes you realize a lot. Made me realize that I may be able to go on living without you, but I don’t want to.” He closed the door. His footsteps trailed off. I heard the car door close and the engine rumble.

The door opened again.

Ella sat a few scones and a steaming cup of tea on the table beside me.

“I know what you’re going to say,” I said. “Don’t say it.”

She smiled. “What am I going to say?”

“That I need to be nice to him, but you don’t understand. I need him to let go. For his own good. If I’m nice he’ll hang on.”

“I don’t know what’s going on between you two. You never say anything and he’s as private as you are.” She handed me a blueberry-orange scone. “I was going to reprimand you for not eating. You have to if you want to get better.”

I picked off a piece and chewed it. Pretty good actually. “Change of pace, huh?”

“What do you mean?”

“Me, depressed. You, cheery.” I laughed. “Tables have turned.”

“You remember what you said to me once?” She tapped my foot. “My dream is every day. When I wake up, I want to find something new. Something beautiful about each day I’m given. I want to take the cards I’m given and play them with a smile, not to win, just to play.”

“Yeah. I said that when life’s biggest disappointment was losing a job or being single.”

“Well, try it.” She stood, left, and returned with the baby. “Find something beautiful.”

“It’s hard, Ella. I see negative in everything. There you are holding a baby and instead of seeing her beauty and your happiness all I see is my inability to have children and it makes me not want to be around either of you.”

“Doctor never said you can’t have children.”

“What kind of man wants to marry a woman with a shriveled up chest?”

“The man you have.” She glanced at the glistening ring on my night stand. “He wants you.”

I closed my eyes and remembered the first time I opened them after the accident. I didn’t know where I was and when I did I wished I had died. For months after that, wrapped up like a mummy, I kept wishing I’d close my eyes and die of an infection. People came in and out of my room. Checked my catheter. Did my excruciating physical therapy. Had conversations about their boyfriends and girlfriends and lives outside of the hospital. The life I wanted to crawl back to.

I should’ve never went camping. Should’ve made him put the fire out. Shouldn’t have fallen asleep. Endless regrets always ran through my head.

I tried to remain positive. That’s what people expected of me. Always the sunshine in the room. I didn’t want to let people down. Or maybe I didn’t want to let myself down. Why is being fake easier than being real?

I opened my eyes. Ella smiled, sat in the chair across the room, and nursed Adelaide.

Knife in my non-existent chest.

I winced. “When you’re finished could you give me some pain medication?”

She nodded.

“And do you mind not nursing her in front of me?”

A tear slipped down her face. “Sarah, I love you, but I’m not going to hide life from you. Yes, I can nurse a baby and you may never be able to, but there are many things you can do that I will never do. Think about who you are and how this can be turned into something good. So, you can’t nurse a child. Adopt one. Do something. Think of others. Count your blessings.”

My phone made a sound. I picked it up with the hand that didn’t get burned. The hand I could still type and write with. A notification. Physical therapy in two hours. Great.

Ella already knew. She nodded when I looked at her and said, “Let’s get you ready to go.”

“Where’s Gavin?”

“In the studio. Today’s homeschooler day. He’s teaching a few art classes and I have a few private violin lessons later. It’s fine. I can take Adelaide.”

“I can get Cheyenne.”

“Sarah Jordan, I’m taking you. Soon you won’t need help anymore and you’ll be so busy that you won’t have time to read. Enjoy this while it lasts.”

I inched myself into a sitting position and sat on the edge of the bed. “Maybe I’d enjoy it a little more if I wasn’t in constant pain.”

“You’ve made it this far.”

“This is so hard, Ella. It’s so hard. I felt okay until I came home. Or to your home. Now life is going on all around me and every time I look in the mirror I want to cry.”

She placed Adelaide in a baby wrap and put her arm around me. “I’ve always admired you, Sarah. And I still do. Throughout all of this you still manage to laugh and smile. You don’t tell everyone how hard it is and you put on this positive mask, but underneath you really are that person. These moments of sadness are normal. What I admire is that you still smile more than you cry.”

“Thank you for that.” I smiled. “Let’s go.”

How to Handle Negative Reviews

To my fellow author friends: stop whining about negative reviews. Seriously, now, do you really expect every person in the world to understand the heart of your stories? If you are an honest writer, then you’re writing from your heart and not simply to make a few bucks. That being said, some people aren’t going to “get” you. Just like they don’t in real life. Some people think you’re crazy. Some people think you’re boring. Whatever the case, it’s you. Who you are. And it’s a good thing!

The best writers, in my opinion, are the ones who write from the heart. The ones who write what they love and know. When you read my books you are reading pieces of my life. My thoughts and dreams and desires. Yeah, I’m extreme to some people. I have my head in the clouds and have been deemed strange and idealistic by many people. I’m a little eccentric, odd, and frazzled sometimes. I battle between pride/ego and pride/insecurity. I’m a person with my own flaws and strengths. And I’m not you. So, if you like my books, chances are you are like me or, at the very minimum, you would be my friend if we crossed paths.

So, my dear writerly friends, here’s some advice for a different approach to your negative reviews. No more whining and trying to get them erased. No more pining over the fact that people hate what you write. You know, I could get 1000 negative reviews and 1 positive and it wouldn’t matter. Here’s why:

1.) When people reject your stories they aren’t rejecting you, they are affirming themselves. See? It’s not an offense to you, no matter how mean their review may seem, some people feel that the only way they can affirm their own beliefs is by dragging down others. That’s okay! At least they are passionate!

2.) For someone to hate your story and another to love it shows that your story is real. It’s honest. It’s life as you see it or want to see it. One of my most treasured persons is Tupac Shakur. Does everyone agree? Certainly not! Could we get into heated arguments over the beauty of Tupcac’s character? Probably. Because we have different eyes. We see life and people differently. Naturally, people will hate your stories. They very stories you spent months laboring over with love and excitement. It’s okay though. Don’t fret. Some people will see the story differently than you and that’s okay.

3.) I’m not a negative reviewer. If I don’t like a book, I don’t review it. If I can’t finish a book, I definitely don’t review it. But we live in a world where critique and opinion are practically considered virtues. So it’s normal to browse every bestseller and find a bazillion negative reviews, even when the positive outweigh the negative. It’s normal! Normal! Normal!

My point: we live in a culture raised on opinion. And because we all see life through different eyes, our most precious stories are going to be boring and stupid to some people. Terrible, ghastly, wretched. You’ll get it all. Lame characters, dumb plot lines, writing weaker than Great Depression coffee. And my advice to you is: stop ignoring the bad reviews. Grab a cup of tea and read them. Gain something from them. Learn about other people, what they like, dislike, etc. What sets them off? What tickles their fancy? Life is beautiful when we learn to see it from all angles, not just our own. So appreciate the critique you’re given just as much as you appreciate the praise. We can learn something from all of it. About life. People. And stories.

And perhaps, if we learn to take it all in, we’ll become better writers because of it. Maybe we’ll even tick people off by writing exactly what they hate, even more intensely, simply because that which they hate is the depth of what we love.

Be yourself. Write what you love. Don’t write to please others. Write from within and those who love it will love it … those who hate it can hate it too. It’s all part of the beauty that is life and expression. Enjoy it!!

CANDID: First 3 Chapters of “Heart on a Shoestring”

Unedited version. First 2 Chapters below. To see the first 5 chapters and get the book a month before it releases, join the street team! Or Pre-Order “Heart on a Shoestring” today!

 

MIRANDA, Chapter One

Some people spend their lives walking by people on benches, while others spend their lives sitting on benches analyzing the people walking by. My friends would say I’m the one racing by the lonely bench sitters, candy pink hair tossed in the wind, dreams clutched in my shoulder bag, stars in my eyes, but I’m not.

I know, it’s shocking.

Once again, streetlights twinkled in the April air as I sat on another iron park bench. The best place on earth. At least to me. The place where people became stories and stories became dreams and dreams sparked the hidden echoes of my heart. All on a paint-chipped park bench.

An older woman jogged by and stepped on someone’s lost newspaper, crumpling it and sending it flopping down the path behind her. One persons hard work, another’s doormat. I turned my head and watched her jog into the clouds, back to her smiling newborn and eager husband, back to the beauty of her family.

She passed a young couple huddled together, shivering in the nighttime chill. They walked by me, laughing, her head tilted back against his chest, eyes on the budding tree branches above them, their love story unfolding like a handwritten note from a seventh grade crush. Excitement abounds. His arm, tight around her waist, and the frown on his face when she checked her phone, showed his possessiveness. But the cherry lipstick mark an inch from the corner of his mouth showed that she liked being owned as much as he liked owning her.

I listened. Watched. Breathed in and adored all that lived around me. Around me. Always around me. I so envied the world around me. Don’t get me wrong, I loved my own life too, but that didn’t stop me from wishing I could close my eyes and slip into someone else’s life. You know, explore the world with different eyes, a different heart.

Another couple walked by, swinging hands in the breeze. A ring sparkled on her left hand, but not his. Engaged. Judging by their excitement, he proposed recently. He looked ahead as they passed me. Her eyes met mine, then she turned to make sure he wasn’t looking at me too. Funny. Her insecurity would sure enough wilt their relationship. Odd considering her preoccupation with herself seemed more important than him. Her awkward five inch heels and layers of makeup made it obvious. When he tried to touch her hair she pulled back and rearranged it. Perhaps she had mistaken the eyes of lust for the beat of his heart. They walked into a growing fire. Soon their swinging hands would fall to their sides as she consumed herself with dresses and flowers and cakes. Everything but her beloved. The beginning of the end. The end of their bliss. The beginning of struggles and conflicts and maybe, just maybe, their love would triumph through it all.

Rare though.

I’m not cynical, I swear. You can call the sky blue or you can find a way to make yourself believe it’s green, but in the end it’s still blue. I’m not afraid to see blue even when it’s not the most appealing. Love is hard. It’s not easy to make love to a person only to find out that their very person is chipping away the rotted parts of your person, making you into something better, but often in the most excruciating ways. That’s when most people run. But hey, that’s love. Becoming one. Being one. Living as one and morphing your soul into the soul of another.

Then, there’s marriages like my parents have….

A group of high school kids walked by. Joking and stepping on each others shoe laces while slapping gum and spraying out a colorful array of cuss words like graffiti on the walls of life. Heads held high, shoulders back. Maybe juniors. Just on the brink of saying goodbye to their senior friends and claiming the role themselves. The ever coveted senior status. When you think you’re the coolest thing to walk the locker-lined halls, when really you’re just like everyone else. A puppet in the game of life. Controlled by everything around you and not enough inside you.

I stood and walked away from the bench, becoming a passer by. I nodded to each empty bench I passed, bowed, said hello, and kept walking. Not hello to imaginary friends. Sorry, I’m not that weird. Saying hello to the dreamer that would sit there next, wishing and hoping to slip into the life of a passerby for a minute. Only a minute. To see if the grass is really greener on the other side.

I walked fast, tilted my head back, and stretched out my arms. Couldn’t hide my smile if I wanted to. The cool air clung to my cheeks as the stars twinkled above. Enormous fire balls that never moved. Ah, what it would be like to be a huge ball of plasma. So neutral. Yet so exhilaratingly beautiful, held together by your own gravity. Yes, gravity. Stability. Words I had yet to acquaint myself with. I coalesced with no one. Not even myself.

I looked ahead. Dreaming of the day I’d share these thoughts with another soul. It would take a lot for someone to know me. The real me. Not even sure if I did.

Love. It would be hard. Very hard. Breaking down my walls and letting someone in? I don’t know. I liked my life. Singleness didn’t scare me as much as marriage did. Commitment. Falling in love a thousand times appealed to me more than falling in love once and working to feel in love with that same person every morning and night of my life. For. Ever.

Besides, most guys were far, far too normal for me. And I just can’t do normal.

“Oh, are you a southern belle tonight?” a man said.

I turned. Ah, Earl. The skinny homeless man with one half of his dirty button-down shirt tucked in, just like his life. He dreamed to help the world, to do something nobel prize worthy. He always spoke of Rosa Parks and Maya Angelou. But his breath always smelled of Jack Daniels and he could barely help himself off the curb. I scooted my dress out of the way, did a curtsy, and said with my finest southern drawl, “Fancy seeing you here tonight, Mr. Earl. Need some help off thissy here curb?”

He nodded and took my hand. I helped him to the park bench where he leaned back and almost passed out.

“Yesterday you were Irish with blue hair and now you’re a southern lady with a huge dress and pink hair,” he said. “Unless you are a dream.”

“Why, yes, sir. My name is Annabelle and we’re back quite a few decades in the state of Georgia.” I spun in a circle. “Would you like to see my five step waltz?”

“Your five step what?” He mumbled and smiled. “You about the strangest girl I know.”

“My pleasure.” I bowed and danced away, down the streets of life, right to my apartment door.

Derek called me, but I ignored and skipped up the steps and unlocked my door. He wanted to visit again. He was nice and all. Extremely attractive, in a rugged Johnny Depp kind of way. But strange. And boring. Nothing like his sister, Ella, who saw life through the eyes of Cupid. And I dreamed of a man who would dress up with me and dance the streets of Philadelphia. He barely changed his shirt, much less his mind. I couldn’t even convince him to ride a go-kart.

Not my flavor starburst, that’s for sure. I wanted a cherry. A little sweet, a little sour, and yum-diddly-licious. He was a lemon. Yellow, but not like the sun. More like a bitter, rotten lemon rind. Did I mention that he was nice though? He was nice. And had a great smile. A great smile he rarely showed.

He texted. I ignored and rolled onto my bed. Feet in the air, hoop dress a flying, I smiled.

Life didn’t need a man to be enjoyed. In fact, for me, a man could ruin everything. Take my fun and leave me lifeless.

Mmm, yeah, not ready for such things. Not ready at all.

DEREK, Chapter Two

 

No one, and I mean no one, pissed me off like Miranda did. She flirted like someone playing darts with no hand-eye coordination. Not a lick of aim in her body. A casual flirt who probably gave hundreds of guys the wrong impression, like she obviously did to me, but something drew me to her. No idea why. I swore off women long ago. Marriage? Not for me. That didn’t change, but I couldn’t help myself. I wanted to see her again. Her odd and dimpled smile and whacked out hair styles. If anything, just to laugh.

I needed to laugh. Work zapped the life out of me like a squirrel eating an electric wire. My parents convinced my sister and I into college. Ella lasted a week. I lasted eight years. Yes. Eight. Don’t ask.

Eight years of school and all I had to show for it was a dingy apartment and faded jeans.

Derek Rhodes. Marketing Manager for Doodle Dandy Dog Candy. At your service. Pleased to meet you. How do you like my fake smile? Good. Great. Wonderful.

The only person I can blame is myself. No one, not even my parents, knew my successes or failures. I told no one who I was and what I really did. Even created a fake name and legally changed it. My family knew me as Derek Rhodes. My old colleagues knew me as David Bennett. I kept the two world’s separate because I feared the exact thing that happened. Failure. And man, that kind of failure is more than embarrassing. It’s flat-out crippling. No one could know David Bennett. I didn’t even want to know him. Hated everything he did and loathed his existence.

Yeah. Needed a smile.

Something to take my mind off of what could have been and help me start over. But the girl wouldn’t answer her phone. Only when she was bored. According to her I was too normal and only wanted as a last resort. Not like I wanted to get into her pants, just wanted a friend.

Thirty-three years old and spending my life at Doodle Dandy Dog Candy didn’t exactly provide the most friendships. And the friends I did have were all married and sprinkled across America. Kids. White picket fences. Minivans.

Miranda could say I was normal all she wanted, but I didn’t have kids, a white picket fence, and certainly no minivan. Couldn’t fathom driving one of those ghastly things.

A text popped up on my phone screen. Miranda finally responded. What’s going on tonight Mr. Rhodes? Counting the tiles in your ceiling again?

You are so annoying, I typed back, then erased, and typed, If you think I’m so boring how about answering your phone so I can live a little?

Miranda: Impossible. I’ve tried. You are not receptive to my ingenious plans.

Derek: I’m coming up this weekend and I will be at your house Saturday at noon. If you want to hang out… be there.

Miranda: Is the glass half full or half empty?

Derek: The glass is a figment of your imagination. See ya Saturday. 

I couldn’t figure out if she was genuinely an annoying person or if the age difference made her seem immature. Especially the hair. I can understand dying your hair every so often, but almost every week? And I’m not talking brown or blonde. I’m talking rainbow bright.

Immature, annoying, either way she made me laugh and shake my head. And I needed a break this weekend anyway.

—-

After an exhausting drive to Philly, I stood in front of her apartment door, caught my breath, and knocked. A few seconds passed, the door knob wiggled, and the door jerked open to reveal a grinning Princess Leia. A grinning Princess Leia with pink hair.

“What the hell are you wearing?” I said. “I thought we were going out to eat?”

“What? You don’t like?” she said in a hushed Princess Leia tone. “Let’s walk the town and pretend we’re fighting evil.”

“Seriously, Miranda.” I shook my head. “Change your clothes.”

“I’m not changing. You need to change.” She pulled the edge of my sleeve. “Brown, brown, brown. Every time I see you. Do you own anything else?” She tugged my hair. “And do you ever wash your hair? I’m all about the Kurt Cobain look if you can make it appealing, but this ain’t appealing buddy.”

I turned and walked away. Fast and agitated. She yelled from the doorway. “Don’t be so boring.”

I got in my car, slammed the door, and stared off. Why did I let her frustrate me so much? Her opinions didn’t matter. Boring is relative. To an introvert a party with a big group of people is boring. To an extrovert a calm afternoon at the bookstore is boring. I’m not freaking boring, I convinced myself. She didn’t even know me. How could she judge who I am based off my shirt choices and lack of desire for roller coasters?

“I’ll show her how ridiculous this is,” I said to myself, then started the car and made my way to the mall. Took a while to find everything I needed. Once I did, I changed and drove back to her apartment, and threw rocks at her window until she appeared in the doorway, still Princess Leia. I hid from her view, then flapped into sight, light saber glowing in the evening air as I twisted it and turned around as though fighting some invisible person. “Come down, Leia. I am the force. And I am with you.”

She covered her mouth with her hands and laughed, then jumped up and down like someone who won the lottery. I waved her down. She held up her hand, ran inside, and returned with her purse and keys.

“Miracle of all miracles,” she said, smiling way too much. “No guy has ever dressed up like Han Solo for me.”

“No guy ever will again. Seriously, you realize how dumb this is, right?”

“It’s fun. And I think you look kinda good like that.”

I laughed. “You do this for some kind of validation. It’s not normal. If you were truly confident in who you were you wouldn’t need to change all the time.”

She rolled her eyes and walked back to the steps. I grabbed her arm and forced her to look at me. “See,” I said. “You run from what I’m saying because it’s true. You don’t want to face the person you are so you avoid her by being all these other people.”

She jerked her arm from me and stomped up the stairs, making it a point to slam the door as loud as possible. And me. Alone. At the bottom of the steps, wishing I didn’t have to be so opinionated. Or at least didn’t speak my opinions so much. David Bennett spoke his opinions and everyone loved him. But everyone hated Derek Rhodes whenever he spoke up.

Still. I was right.

 

MIRANDA, Chapter Three

I didn’t need him and his games. Not even sure who he thought he was. Some kind of god of my life, coming to rescue me from the ditches he envisioned me stuck in.

Thanks, but no thanks.

I changed my clothes and took a shower. My favorite place to calm down. After an hour of processing his words and choosing to ignore them, I grabbed a basket of clothes and took them to the washer near my kitchen. Ah, never put the last round in the dryer. Opened the dryer and something thundered toward me, hissing like a creature of the night.

I fell backwards into the wall, slid to the ground, and narrowed my eyes as my heart shot out of my chest and Derek climbed out of the dryer. I held my hands out and shook my head. Shocked.

“You didn’t lock the door.” He brushed off his Han Solo outfit. “Surprised I could fit in there. Took you long enough.”

“How did you know I’d do laundry?”

“I didn’t.”

“Then why did you hide in there?”

“Saw your clothes in your room and figured you might catch up. Then I saw the wet clothes in the washer and knew you’d eventually toss them in here.”

“You are cruel.”

“I can be weird too, you know. I wasn’t always the person I am now.”

“Apparently.”

Cruel prank. Scared the crap out of me. Almost literally too. But I must admit, he instantly earned six double chocolate brownie points for being the opposite of normal. And I actually let him stay a while.

I made two big bowls of ice cream with a thousand and one toppings, then sat beside him on the couch.

He looked at the ice cream and raised his eyebrows.

I shrugged and smiled.

“Where’s the ice cream in here?” he said.

“It’s mysterious.”

He nodded and took a heaping bite of awesomeness as I watched, imagining his pure delight as it surprised his taste buds.

“This is terrible,” he said.

I shrunk into the couch and took his bowl. More for me then.

He snatched it back. “For someone so strange you really can’t take a joke.”

“Guess I don’t expect joking from Mr. Ho-Hum.”

“You think I believe your facade?”

I stood and walked to the kitchen. He followed.

“I’m serious.” He leaned against the counter and pulled a strand of my hair. “You don’t even know who you are.”

“You don’t understand me.”

“Does anyone?”

I crossed my arms and squinted, hoping he’d disappear if I crushed him with my eyelids. Like a tiny nat caught in my eye.

“You don’t even understand yourself,” he said.

“I understand plenty. You just can’t fathom someone enjoying life and being positive about everything because for whatever reason you hate the world and most things in it.”

“I don’t hate the world.”

“You never say anything positive. Everyone is always falling apart. Love doesn’t last. Dreams fail. The world sucks. You know everything and everyone else knows nothing, unless they agree with you. You complain constantly and you have no desire to change things. You expect me to seek advice from someone like you?”

He slammed his bowl into the sink, his eyes glowing like a hyena on drugs, then walked to my front door and left.

Part of me felt sorry for saying all that, but he had no problem dishing out his opinions, whether they hurt or not. He needed to hear the truth too.

The door opened. He walked up to me, eyes on the ground, mumbling to himself. Still in his hilarious costume. Less than a foot away from me, he stopped, grabbed my face, and looked right into my eyes. My legs weakened. I stepped back and steadied myself on the counter. His eyes searched mine. Looking for some treasure underneath. Not sure what he intended to find. Don’t know why, but I didn’t realize how much I wanted to kiss him until now. And wow, did I want to kiss his face off until we lit up the room with a million fireworks.

He dropped his hands to his sides and walked out again. I waited for him to come back, my lips urging me to chase him out the door until they landed on him. But I didn’t listen. I stood there for a few minutes, picked up my purse, and headed to the place I loved most.

It was cool and crisp tonight. Orion winked at me as I took my usual seat and pulled my legs up to my chest. City air filled with busy sounds could suffocate those accustomed to clean countryside air and only the sound of happy crickets, but it rejuvenated me. Inspired me. Tree branches lit by streetlights and benches marked with old gum and cigarette butts. Something about it. Maybe the stamp of struggle and the fight for triumph. Maybe the man across from me, sucking the life out of his paper-wrapped nicotine, enjoying himself until another man stopped and begged him to trade fifty cents for the rest of his cigarette. He waved the pest away with disgust. I smiled.

Derek sucked the life out of me like that man charred the life out of his lungs. Until him, I questioned nothing and lived most days with a perpetual smile. A perpetual longing for the beauty of life around me. Talking to him was like walking into a wrestling match. I defended myself by ducking or lost it and punched him where it counts. Who wants to have conversations like that?

A father walked by with his daughter saddled high on his shoulders. She pulled his hair to direct the horse as he made sounds and laughed his way to their stable, their stability, their life. I dreamed of such things. My dad, if you could call him that, barely talked to the woman he married, much less his kids. Stability seemed foreign, out of reach for a person like me.

A young girl walked by, dragging her feet and kicking rocks. Could’ve been me ten years ago. I imagined her walking off into The Big Dipper as her story sparkled and transformed into something wonderful. Something filled with love and laughter as the tree branches waved with delight. Tomorrow everyone at school would forget who was popular and who wasn’t and love everyone for who they really were. Then she’d get her chance. Then she’d turn her slow walk into an excited skip. Sometimes all we need is a little reason to wake up the next day. That’s all it takes to spark the light inside. Just one little reason.

I nodded to the man across from me. He half-smiled, then stood and walked away. I liked it here on these benches. No matter which part of the city I found myself in, I found some kind of story to dream up.

Pencil in hand, tablet on my lap, I started writing the story I longed to live. Page one, first sentence: When dreams evaporate into the clouds and come back down as tiny rain droplets, are they the same dreams, or something altogether new?

 

Release Party: Win an iPad, Custom Skateboard, and more!

So excited to announce the release of The Life I Now Live! The release party kicks off Monday November 4, 2013. You can enter in various ways to win an iPad, custom skateboard (inspired by Patrick in The Live I Now Live), visa gift card, and other cool prizes. Connect with me on Facebook, Twitter, Google+, and/or Instagram next week during the party. Ask any questions you want. I’ll be answering questions on all social media accounts throughout the week.

It’s easy to enter! All you have to do is use the widget below to enter the contest. The more you enter, the better your chance of winning! You can enter here on my blog (below) or on my Facebook page. Starts Monday November 4, 2013.

The Life I Now Live will be available as an ebook for $0.99 starting Monday on Amazon and Barnes and Noble. Can’t wait to hear what you think of book #3!

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Cover Model Contest: Bloom by Marilyn Grey

Always wanted to be on the cover a book? Well, here’s your chance. My publisher is allowing me to host a contest where you get to star on the covers of the next books. Filipino fans, you’ll be up soon for Myra! Let’s give it a shot with Sarah and see how it goes first. We are casting for Sarah on the cover of Bloom, book 5 of The Unspoken Series (coming May 2014). Here’s the requirements and rules:

Requirements

Must be 18 or older
Model must have long blonde or dirty blonde hair
Any eye color

Photo Requirements

Professional high-quality photographs only
300dpi and up (no iPhone photos please)
Shoulders and up, portrait, hair down, something similar to the image on this blog post (try to shoot for something like the image to the left, we need the entire head and hair in picture and it can be full body but mainly we need shoulders and above)

Terms & Conditions

No payment compensation, but you get an opportunity to be on a book and you will get five free complementary copies before it releases
You and your photographer will be required to sign a model release and artwork release form

How to Enter

Email your submissions to me here. Include up to 4 photographs in one email. Include your name, photographers name, and how you find out about the contest.
If we find some images we like we will hold a contest where fans get to choose the cover model from our top ten.
Entries accepted until December 1, 2013 and the top ten entries will be notified by email on December 10, 2013

Character Interview: Sarah – The Unspoken Series

Today’s character interview is with Sarah. We met Sarah in Where Love Finds You and saw her go through a terrible tragedy in Down from the CLouds. This interview doesn’t give away spoilers. SO if you haven’t read those books yet, don’t worry.

Sarah, after what you’ve recently endured, do you wish you could go back in time and change your circumstances?

Absolutely not. What I’ve gone through recently has been terrible. I can’t think of anything worse to go through besides some kind of gruesome death or being raped. However, there’s nothing in life that doesn’t teach us to be better, stronger, and more beautiful on the inside. This has taught me so much and there are some days I wake up and cry, wondering why me, but then I look around at others and realize I have no reason to complain. I can either complain and discourage people going through hard stuff, or I can be happy and encourage people to press on.

Do you find it hard to press on some days?

Of course. James is a huge encouragement. Ella, my best friend who is more like a sister, is amazing. She travels hours to visit me at least four times a month, and that’s a lot considering her busy lifestyle right now. This experience has brought me closer to my cousin, Rose, who has helped me more than I can say. There’s a lot of hard times when you go through something like this, but I have amazing friends and family that help me through it. I hope one day I can repay everyone.

Your book is coming up in The Unspoken Series . . . in the spring. It’s called “Bloom.” Can you tell us more about your book compared to the others in the series?

My story probably has the most pain so far, outside of Tylissa. I can’t imagine what she’s going through, but the girl is strong. Way stronger than I am. As soon as I get back to normal I want to get to know her better. But anyway, back to my story, I have a hard time focusing on myself. Maybe that’s because of everything I’m going through. You’ll just have to wait and see. I have a painful story to share, but my real search is for true beauty. What is it and how do you attain it? I hope people find that when they read my story.

Thanks so much for reading about Sarah! Her story will be released in May 2014. Catch up with the rest of the series before then!

Stories from a Park Bench

Today I sat on a paint-chipped park bench in the middle of the city, just like Miranda. Jeffrey, the kind middle-aged man with no place to call home, sat down beside me and inhaled his nicotine as though it were oxygen. I looked the other way as a photographer perched herself behind a large oak tree, waiting. Curious, I walked to the bench across from me, sat down, and waited too. What kind of moment would she capture on film?

Five minutes passed and I saw a young guy with scruffy hair and a button-down shirt peeking out from his sweater. He held the hand of his beloved and led her to another tree with autumn leaves crunching underneath their love. The photographer anticipated the same moment I did. The same moment the girl with the soft pink dress and blonde curls did.

He knelt down on one knee.

Is it me or does every proposal always make you want to immediately start crying?

She covered her mouth with one hand. The other hand never left his. He slipped a sparkly ring on her finger, stood to kiss his future bride, and they embraced as the photographer emerged from behind the tree and the flash lit up their smiles. Memories to last a lifetime. The beginning of new love, freshly planted like a seedling in autumn. Ready to blossom and enjoy everything together, as one.

I love love. Maybe that’s why I write love stories. Maybe that’s why, like Miranda, I enjoy sitting in public places and watching the layers of life peel away to reveal such beauty. There’s beauty everywhere. We just need to stop and look. Listen. Wait. And we’ll never stop capturing amazing life moments. The kind of moments that inspire us to keep dreaming.

Till next time,

Marilyn

EXTENDED: Win a Romance Package

I’m giving away a package filled with romantic goodies and surprises from the first three books in The Unspoken Series. All you have to do is post a review of Where Love Finds You and Down from the Clouds on Amazon and/or GoodReads and email me a link to your review. You will be automatically entered into a drawing to win the following package:



paperback copy of all books in the series (if you are already receiving advanced reader copies, you will receive the final polished book as well)
2 all natural scented beeswax candles
a box of silk rose petals
conversation starters for couples
1 all natural massage oil
Your choice of Pride & Prejudice or Sense & Sensibility movie
Your choice of Pride & Prejudice or Sense & Sensibility paperback book
Ella’s recipes from Down from the Clouds
and 5 special prizes that will remind you of your favorite characters from the book


by clicking here. Drawing will take place on November 19, 2013.

Get Free Books Before Everyone Else!

One thing I love about writing is meeting wonderful people who “get” my stories. Because really, my stories are my heart in various letters and punctuation marks. So when someone is thrilled about my stories, they easily become my friends. I’m big on talking with you and getting to know you as you journey with me through the stories of my heart. And I’d love, love, love for you to join my street team. What’s a street team, you ask? Find out more and sign up here!