AND IN THIS CORNER...

Caught a bit of a snag that threw me off from my schedule for this month's lineup of fellow Crushing Hearts and Black Butterfly authors, but things have cleared up and the show--as they say (whoever "they" are)--must go on!

[image error]




That being said, I'm excited to introduce you all to the newest author with the CH&BB family, Sinead MacDuglas:

Who am I? This is the question I put to
myself for this guest post, and it's a much more difficult question to answer
than I anticipated. I mean, who I am now is really a result of who I've been, who I've known, and what I've
experienced, isn't it? When we ask someone who they are, aren't we usually
asking who they've been?




So let's begin there. Who have I been?




I have been an accident. At least I began
life that way. I was an unexpected baby, born to a teenaged mother, and a
reluctant father. My Mom, for her part, never gave me reason to feel like any
less than a happy accident, though.




I have been a victim. That goes back, I
suppose, to the reluctant father, who took his frustration out on his wife and
child with his fists. Mom put herself in the way, as much as she could, until
she escaped, taking me with her.  In
school, I was nearly always the smallest child, and my fear of conflict added
to that made me the perfect target for bullies. I didn't help myself by being
precocious, overly friendly, and eager to please. My entire being just screamed,
"Needy!"  As a teenager, I was
awkward, plain, and mouthy, which didn't improve my social status. Looking
twelve years old when I was seventeen, didn't help much.  Needless to say, I was plagued with confidence
issues well into my twenties, falling  "in
love" with any boy who'd pay attention to me — usually the wrong boy. It
took a long time to shake my victim mentality, and take responsibility for
allowing myself to remain a victim for so long. So, I suppose you could say
I've been a survivor as well.




I was a dreamer. I had an imaginary friend
as a child. Her name was Maryanne, and she was incredibly real to me, until I
was close to seven years old. Maryanne was everything I wasn't. Where I was
clumsy, she was graceful. Where I had a lisp, she spoke clearly and
confidently. She had perfectly aligned, emerald-green eyes, and gorgeous black
hair. I had plain blue eyes, one of which would drift off to the side
unannounced, and mousy brown/blonde hair. Maryanne was beautiful, funny and
popular, and she was my best friend.

[image error]




I talked to my toys as if they were real. I
firmly believed that I could communicate with animals, and trees. I lived in
dreams, and I dreamt in fairytales. Books were my escape. By the age of six I
was reading on a third grade level. By the time I was ten, I'd read two books a
day, and sometimes steal my Mom or Grandmother's library books for more words
to devour.




I dreamt of being an actress, a singer,
someone famous. I loved music, and I prayed for a voice that would touch
people's hearts, and make them smile, laugh, or weep. I did get a voice that
makes people weep. lol. I try to restrict my singing to when I'm in the car ...
alone ... on back-roads.




I was a gypsy. At one time, I could
remember every house and apartment I'd lived in. If I had the time, I could
possibly describe each one. Suffice to say I've lived in forty-two locations in
my (not quite) forty -two years on the planet. At one point, I'd moved so many
times, in such a short period, I stopped unpacking most of my boxes. I've left
behind more belongings than most people accumulate in a lifetime. I don't own
more than a dozen photos of myself in my early twenties.  My high-school yearbooks, and a large portion
of my early writings, were sacrificed in an escape from an unhealthy
relationship. More was left behind when I divorced. "Starting fresh"
is something I've become proficient at.




I was a jack of all trades. Though many of
my moves took place in a central location, I've sometimes moved fair distances,
which meant a change of occupation as well. Jobs can be scarce for a
high-school dropout, so I worked at whatever was available. I've been a
waitress, a taxi-driver, a short-order cook, a library clerk, an amateur model,
a retail clerk, a receptionist, and a housekeeper. I've worked at bricklaying,
cabinet making, antique refinishing and putting up drywall. For a while I was a
telephone sales operator. I started my own print advertising business once,
after working for a small local printer, and I was a manager of three stores in
a chain of hair salons.  There's more,
but that should give you a general idea.



I was a chameleon.  My hair has been
nearly every colour imaginable.  I went
through a preppy phase, a new age phase, a hippy phase, a rocker phase, a heavy
metal phase and a punker phase. I always fall back on my blue jeans and
t-shirts in the end, though I'm prone to a power-suit and heels when I'm
working. My chameleonism, (yes, I made that word up), was just as much about my
personality as my appearance, though. I developed a knack for blending into
nearly any crowd, and taking on whatever role was required. It's a handy skill
when dealing with the public, but one that's become less important to me as I
get older.




I was a lover. I believe I still am. I love
— love. I love falling in love, being in love, expressing love and sharing it.
Maybe I'm still a little naive, but I still believe that "love conquers
all".

[image error]




I am — me. Just me. The victim is no longer
a target. The little girl who wanted everyone to like her isn't quite so needy
anymore. The dreamer is a little more jaded, but not ready to give up just yet.
The gypsy remarried, settled down, and started a family. The jack-of-all trades
is concentrating on being a wife, mom, and writer. The chameleon has faded back
into a fairly plain woman, who can still work a make-up brush, (when it's
absolutely necessary), and the lover ... well, the lover hasn't changed.

If you want to know more about who I am,
you can find me in my writing.  All of my
characters have a little of me in their make-up.  I'll let you guess which bits, though. I tend
to mix a lot of people into each character, like a literary Dr. Frankenstein.
Writer's words are much like a window. The frame provides our view, (however
limited), of the world, but the glass often reflects our image, (however
distorted), back to us, as well.



Happy reading, everyone!

Be sure to check out Sinead and learn more about her work HERE and "Like" her on Facebook HERE!!