D.K. Sanz/Kyrian Lyndon's Blog, page 19
October 11, 2019
DUPLICITOUS (A TRAGIC AND TRAUMATIC BATTLE FOR CONTROL)
photo by cocoparisienne on UnsplashHe carries his torch for you
In the dark emptiness
of his soul,
Where it lights only
His limited space
In a vast universe.
It matters not
If it burns
Or extinguishes.
It is deceptive.
It is false.
It has nothing to do
with you.
He is so duplicitous.
She is so trusting.
Her world seems ideal,
But it isn’t real.
He enslaved her
Because she was
already
In bondage.
The master was ego.
photo by Stefan Kellar from Pixabay© From “Remnants of Severed Chains” by Kyrian Lyndon
photo by Stanislava Stanchy on
Unsplash
Feature photo on home page by Jake DaviesonUnsplash
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Kyrian Lyndon is the author ofShattering Truths, the first book in her Deadly Veils series. She has published two poetry collections,A Dark Rose Blooms,andRemnants of…
View original post 223 more words
October 10, 2019
BRAVE WINGS CONTRIBUTORS SHARE THEIR SCARY GHOST STORIES !
I contributed a ghost story here for Brave Wings, along with authors, Johanna Lamon and Kimberly Hoffman. Fun stuff! Mine includes an excerpt from my novel, Shattering Truths. You can win a copy of Shattering Truths by entering Brave Wings magazine’s giveaway at https://bravewingsmag.com/. There are a lot of other prizes, too – books, games, and gift cards. Enjoy the ghost stories and then check it out!
September 5, 2019
THAT DEVOTED GIRL SHATTERED BY YOUR TRUTH IS FREE
I had a dream about you last night and woke up crying. I couldn’t sleep after that.
In the dream, you were angry with me—full of anger, full of hate. You had shut the door on me and left me out in the cold. I kept calling to you with a child’s unbearable anguish. You didn’t hear.
At some point, I cried, “Help me, daddy,” and finally, you came. I thought you were going to hit me or hurt me with your scarred and violent soul, but you didn’t. You hugged me. Well, you didn’t just hug me. You gave me the kind of hug I’d wanted from you since childhood, the comfort I always needed, and I didn’t want to let go.
I miss your smile and your jokes, Dad, your handsome face, and all of your wisdom, but I have to ask. Does a father realize he is…
View original post 1,143 more words
August 25, 2019
EXCERPT FROM SHATTERING TRUTHS
by Kyrian Lyndon
CHAPTER TWO
It
might have been a glorious beach day.
Horned
larks looked happy among the plum and bayberry shrubs, yellow sunflowers, and
purple roses. The blue waters of the Long Island Sound were as beguiling as the
landscape. Young men were perched on railings that glistened under the glare of
the sun—ogling, whistling, and confessing their undying love. I witnessed this
phenomenon whenever I walked to and from the bus stop in my school uniform, and
came to realize I could easily disrupt traffic and possibly cause a collision.
I
had never achieved a placid familiarity with the horn-honking and people
clamoring for my attention. I had spent many years feeling like the ugly
duckling muddling haplessly through the dark green marsh. If I had advanced
from there at all, it was to become the tiniest winged critter, never able to
keep up with the flock…
View original post 2,610 more words
August 20, 2019
I Survived My Scary Ambulance Emergency Thing
So, here is the story of what happened this weekend.
I had a stereotactic guided core needle biopsy scheduled for Friday, August 16th. The place where I was having the procedure is affiliated with a good hospital.
Before the procedure, a nurse told me they would be using a local anesthetic called Lidocaine to numb the biopsy area. They cautioned me about driving. I live, maybe, four blocks away from this place and said I would walk. She thought that was a long walk! I don’t know, but I am from Queens, and we walked all over the damn place—nearly a mile, no sweat. Some people out here on Long Island are the same, but others think even two blocks is too far to walk. 
May 30, 2019
THAT CRAZY DESIRE TO CONQUER HATE WITH LOVE
by Kyrian Lyndon
Photo by GDJIf you are defending the rights of others who
are denied whatever privilege you enjoy, does that mean you have a savior
complex?
It’s one of many questions I ask myself, given the fact that I’ve been doing this since I was twelve. It was instinctive then, and it’s instinctive now because I don’t want to live in a world where bigotry seems to be the norm. Whether people were happy or unhappy about this stance I’d taken has never made a difference to me.
I have also questioned my own motives at
every turn.
It’s not about being politically correct. As far as I’m concerned, it is simply right, and I’m so confident of that that I’ll stick to it no matter who or what I stand to lose in the process.
Photo by MarkIs it about tolerance? Nope. I would not even list that trait among my qualities, since there is much I can’t and won’t tolerate, including things that may seem unreasonable to the culprits, and yep, one of those things is the cruelty generated by prejudice. So, in choosing friends and partners, there are plenty of deal breakers, sure, but their origins will have nothing to do with it.
Who am I to merely tolerate people anyway because they weren’t born with my skin color, ethnicity, sexuality or socioeconomic status, or happened to be taught some other religious philosophy? There is simply no part of me that believes whatever I was born as makes me superior to another. Nor is there any part of me that wants to deny people justice or the rights and equality they deserve.
That’s my two cents’ worth, and I’m not claiming to be the bigger or better person than anyone who opposes because I’m simply hardwired this way. Besides that, I have plenty of faults. Barbarity just isn’t one of them.
I’ve accepted, too, that impartiality doesn’t help you win popularity contests. Gaining acceptance and fitting in are often about forming alliances based on race, gender, religion, orientation, ethnicity, political beliefs, and so on. There are those who consider me naïve for stubbornly hanging on to this neutrality like a Pitbull with a pork chop. Others may chalk it up to me having this willful, rebellious, antagonistic nature. Either way, some individuals feel I am wrong and are perplexed by my fierce defense of the “other side.”
I can honestly live without such flimsy alliances. Most of those alliance-forming factors are not a basis for forming an opinion. And when people come back at me with, “Stereotypes exist for a reason,” I say, “That is still what they are, stereotypes. You don’t know someone until you do.”
Anyway, here’s my story.
nucleo antico di campochiaro (campobasso).molise -italy- Photo by Francesco de Vincenzi
My father was born in Campochiaro, Italy. He came to the U.S. with his family when he was fifteen years old. They lived in Woodside, Queens, which was a predominantly Irish neighborhood. Italians were not welcome. They were called everything from dagos to greasy meatballs. Italians had initially been greeted in some places by “No Italians Allowed” signs and had to change their surnames before anybody would hire them. My dad always worked, rarely taking sick and vacation days. He married a woman of Spanish descent, born in Havana, Cuba. She also came to the U.S. as a teenager, and they met in a class where they were both learning to speak English. Like him, she made sure she remained employed and dependable. While they were still newlyweds, he fought for our country, on the front line, making the rank of Sergeant, and he received a Purple Heart.
By the time I came along, there were plenty of Italian families in Woodside. Italians had made the acceptance cut. Spanish people were the new threat, committing the crime of paving the way for other Hispanics. Because of my mother, my siblings and I were told to “go back to Cuba,” a place I’d only visited once when I was three. They called us spics. And the main culprits of this bullying were, surprisingly, Italian.
In Havana – my mom holding my hand and my Abuela behind my oldest sister
My mother lied about being Spanish to strangers, saying she was Italian. She thought she’d be perceived as another one of those wetbacks coming over to the U.S. for a handout when she, in fact, came here legally. She also refused to speak Spanish at work to avoid being judged.
Some people will tell you it’s all about paying your dues, earning your place. Irish people experienced oppression and persecution before the Italians did, and once everyone got over the Spanish neighbors, they were directing their venom at the Indians, Pakistanis, and so on.
Regarding black people, I’ve often heard the argument, “Well, we did what we had to do to earn respect.” My answer to that was, “But you weren’t brought here in chains and forced into slavery. You’re not being discriminated against anymore. They are.”
Understandably, people of cultures that have been oppressed feel a kinship with their own, especially when the oppression continues. Who could blame them for supporting and defending one another?
If you go through life as a member of any oppressed group, which includes women, you see the global and systematic imbalance, the unfairness, and the cruelty. One example is women believing other women when they share experiences about rape and abuse. Another is the men who hate these women for making their gender sound like monsters and feel they’re being blamed because they are also a man. The thing is, we should all want the truth and due process, but some must adamantly defend their “group.”
What I’ll never understand is being okay with anyone facing the type kind of scorn, ridicule, and discrimination that tore their own hearts out.
My extended family on both sides had their own prejudices, to say the least. Meanwhile, my curiosity in wanting to get to know all these non-white people was insatiable. I kept seeing that I had beautiful experiences and encounters with them. When I was twelve, my favorite bands were The Temptations—five black soul music vocalists and dancers— and Santana, featuring a hot Mexican-American guitarist. (Santana’s music is defined as Latin-infused rock with salsa, blues, and African rhythms.) On The Temptations’ Puzzle People album, there was a song called “Message from a Black Man,” and God knows what my parents were thinking when I amped it up and sang along with the lyrics. But I really wanted to hear that message. I felt compelled to.
Say it loud ! Be proud of who you are without hating!
During my high school days and later on in other community-like settings—even recovery circles—it was apparent to me that some people showed a preference for making friends with people who shared their background. I certainly got the impression that they felt superior to anyone who was not “one of them.” And to this day, when I go to the doctor, and I’m sitting in the waiting room, white people look delighted when I sit beside them. Maybe if they knew all the details of my ancestry, they’d scoot away. Who knows? 
April 16, 2019
MYTHS ABOUT WRITERS AND HERE IS THE NO-NONSENSE TRUTH !
by Kyrian Lyndon with James Edgar Gault, Amy Henry, and K.H. Koehler
I agree with many writer quotes (like the one above), but memes about writers and writing often make me cringe. You know the ones I mean— “you know you are a writer if … blah blah blah.” I’m always thinking no; you know you’re a writer if you’re writing. Other than that, we are all different.
To prove that point, I assembled a small panel of writers to dispel some of the myths. I thought it would be fun to see how often we agree or don’t. It was certainly fun for me since I generally love my tribe, and this panel includes some of my favorite people from said tribe. Their answers made me smile and laugh and feel overall honored to know them.
So, first, let me introduce you to the panel. I’ve provided…
View original post 2,932 more words
February 23, 2019
FORGIVING FOR YOUR HEART, SOUL, AND PEACE OF MIND
From the time I was a child, I’d heard that people born under the sign of Scorpio couldn’t forgive others. They held grudges forever, and these diabolical creatures, when wronged, were never satisfied with sticking the knife to their enemy (figuratively speaking, of course). They had to twist it from side to side. 
January 26, 2019
HOW TO CHOOSE THE RIGHT BETA READERS AND LOVE THE PROCESS
My brilliant beta readers are the best that I could hope for, as a writer. I have the utmost respect and appreciation for them!
You see, they’re not afraid to tell me what they do or don’t like and what does or doesn’t work in my story. Thankfully, they don’t mind having to answer more questions once their work is complete. They see it as an ongoing project they’re helping to shape. They not only provide feedback, but they’ll also catch the occasional typo or inconsistency, and let me know when a transition didn’t go as smoothly as it should have. And, believe it or not, they do this for free!
What I’ve gotten in the way of beta readers has been ideal, I’ll admit, but there are guidelines that help in choosing the right beta readers. And while most of them don’t charge, you’re entitled to have higher expectations if they do.
What’s important to note is, you’re not hiring a beta reader simply to proofread. You can hire an actual proofreader for that. I have several people look over the work for that purpose, including my editor.
You’re not hiring a beta reader to edit your work either. You absolutely need a professional editor for that, no matter how good of an editor you are or how qualified your beta reader may be in suggesting edits.
You don’t want a beta reader who will come back with, “I like it. Everything’s good.” A sentence or a small paragraph of feedback is not going to help much.
Writers are sometimes to blame for that. Many of them get pissed at beta readers for giving their honest opinions, but if you think you can do no wrong, you will get nowhere. We’re not perfect. Mastering our craft is an ongoing thing, and if we’re doing it right, then we continue to grow as writers. Some may say, “But I am the writer, and they are just readers.” Forget that word “just.” Readers are everything! It is the reader you want to appeal to, and it’s their feedback you are requesting. We always benefit by listening and learning. There are a lot of great writers out there. We can’t kid ourselves, thinking we are beyond any competition.
Yeah, we can get a little stubborn about certain things. I’ve found that I can be stubborn, too, so it helps if I give myself time to process what my beta reader is saying. Ultimately, I’ll be able to see their point and let go of what I’d been holding onto so tenaciously. We can be biased, and, no matter what, it’s personal, and so we can have tunnel vision. We need to ask ourselves, “Why is this so important to me? What’s going on here?” Sometimes I engage in a debate with the beta reader, and he or she will convince me that it needs to be a certain way. It may turn out that they see my point, or that it results in a compromise, but we have to be open to omitting or changing things. It’s good to have people who are not going to get upset with you or you with them. It takes a level of maturity on both parts and an ability to set ego aside.
On the other hand, if you’re hiring someone just to validate that you wrote a perfect book, that’s a different thing entirely.
As for me, in searching for the right beta, I also look for people who may be particularly helpful for what I’m writing. I do a ton of research (probably too much), but for my current work-in-progress, I’m interested in cops, detectives, veterans, people who’ve lived in or traveled to Spain, and people who grew up in the Bronx. I like to have both male and female readers because I love appealing to both audiences. I have three beta readers now and can take on one or two more.
Your beta readers are part of your team. At the very least, I like to thank them in the published book’s acknowledgements section and provide them a free signed copy.
My beta readers help me write a better story, and that’s what you always want—a better story.
