Monday, February 13, 2017

Tuesday Tales...Ahh, it's Valentine's Day- Are you in the mood for love?


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



A group of writers gather together and give our interpretation of a specific word prompt each week. Once per month, we even write to an image.  You never know what you might encounter when you get inside our minds. This week our group writes to the word- love.  This will be an excerpt from my new WIP for a new romance contemporary, What the Storm Didn't Take.

Enjoy!~













When I was younger, I couldn’t wait to fall in love. Love as I saw in the movies or on TV, you know a devilish, yet compassionate rogue who couldn’t get enough of me. His soft side always glistening in wait just below a steel surface exterior. To most folks he’d appear as a warrior, or maybe a scoundrel biker, gritty, his heart lined with sandpaper.
I’d know the truth.
That was my husband, the hopeless romantic who made me believe men were kind and compassionate, as well as rugged and protective. He brought my imagination to life in wonderful, astounding ways. When we argued, it was passionate and determined, before we stopped to practice empathy, attempting to see the other’s side. You see, we respected each other enough to know we had strong intelligence and even differing opinions had some common ground from which we could understand each other. We grew as human beings because of our differences and our many talks under the midnight moon, or the warming sun. I became a better person because of him. How often do folks say that? How often do we credit the ones instrumental in our lives? We can’t selfishly believe it’s all us on our own merits. We have folks who shape us, force us to take the leaps which become bounds of amazing miles.
My husband did that for me.
My husband is gone. He died and I don’t know who will be that coach for me now. I feel so lost. I’m afraid I’m stunted and will never recover and what will that mean for my son?



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


 

 

Monday, February 6, 2017

Tuesday Tales and Heavy Metal


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



A group of writers gather together and give our interpretation of a specific word prompt each week. Once per month, we even write to an image.  You never know what you might encounter when you get inside our minds. This week our group writes to the word- metal.  This will be an excerpt from my new WIP for a new romance contemporary, What the Storm Didn't Take.

Enjoy!~









“Did you ever wish your heart was made of metal?” The feeling of cold steel in the center of my chest remained a gloomy reminder of the loneliness and emptiness. Hollow, like the center of an oil drum, my heartbeat even echoed sadness. Thump, thump…pause thump… there, it started again. Maybe my heart would stop.


Maybe I should stop thinking that way. Fuck all these maybes.


“You mean like the tin man in Oz?”


Seriously, did she not remember the tin man had no heart? He was the lucky one. “No, the tin man needed a heart, big difference. He should’ve been grateful.” Why does anyone need a heart? I’ve learned the heart leads to more pain than happiness. I’m not sure I’d ever be at peace again.


“I was trying to envision a comparison, I’m sorry. No matter what I do, nothing ever helps you. Honestly, I don’t know what to say that won’t upset you.” Her face flushed, her eyes welled with tears bubbling her normally calm expression.


I felt like an asshole. “I’m sorry, mom, I’m being ugly. I just don’t know what to do with all…this” I waved my hands around my body, trying to exacerbate my crumbling wholeness. I’m sure it was visible to anyone, it had to be.


“I don’t know either, sweetheart. I’m your mom and should fix your pains, all your scrapes and bruises. I can’t tell you how much it hurts that I can’t make you feel better.”


My attention abruptly shifted from my broken heart to my mom’s. Empathy became a cruel assignment in humanity. I took on not only my heartbreak, but, my mom’s heartbreak too. She crumpled like a dandelion in my hot, tightly squeezed hand. How many times had I given her dandelions? Skipping across the yard in the spring, the grass under my toes, those bright yellow weeds disguised as flowers seemed a perfect gift from a six year old to my mom.  I never noticed how short they lasted from the time I picked them, until I gave them to her. Suddenly, the act of picking wildflowers and weeds became a cruel and unnecessary punishment to both human and earth.
Please visit us at our main site for more interpretations of metal  Tuesday Tales Main Page
 




 
 

Monday, January 30, 2017

Tuesday Tales on Track

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



A group of writers gather together and give our interpretation of a specific word prompt each week. Once per month, we even write to an image.  You never know what you might encounter when you get inside our minds. This week our group writes to the word- track This will be an excerpt from my new WIP for a new romance contemporary, What the Storm Didn't Take.

Enjoy!~



It was then I realized I hadn't selected a focal point. During the classes, my mom and I chose something readily available at the time. I don't know why I hadn't selected something specific. Details became lost in my sluggish attempt at getting through each day without crying. I wanted something that would inadvertently soothe me, and take my thoughts somewhere pleasant. Spontaneously, a recollection appeared of Conner holding up that paper bag. I knew then my focal point needed to be an item from a happier time. I needed that little plastic Chewbacca.

The next time the nurse came into the room, I asked her to retrieve it. "Would you please get into that top drawer for me? I need my focal point for my breathing. I'm going to go with a toy."

Chuckling, the nurse complied. "I used a stuffed animal when I was in labor. My best friend brought a Care Bear for me to use. I guess it was comforting."

She relieved some of my self-consciousness when she admitted to using a toy as well. "Thank you, sounds like you get it."

"Labor is a challenge, one of the most rewarding challenges you'll face. You're going to get through this. Remember your breathing and everything you learned from the classes and your books. Where would you like me to put this little guy." Holding up the little brown action figure, she looked around the room.

I appreciated she didn’t mention Garrett or my horrible situation. She treated me like a run of the mill woman giving birth and I valued her for it. "I think on my tray table next to the bed will be fine. If we need to move it later, we can."

Anticipating I wouldn't stay in the same position for very long, I'd knew I'd need to move around a little bit, especially when these pains got worse. By then someone would be there to help me. Someone better be my coach, my mother. "Will you hand me my phone? I think it's charged enough now I can call my mom."

The nurse handed me the phone, leaving the room to give me some privacy. When mom didn't answer, I left a voicemail, also sending a text message. Settling back into the pillows, I listened to the rapid beat of my child's heart is monitor speakers. I checked the time on my phone to get an idea of how far apart these contractions were. I guessed seven minutes was an average as best I could tell. The monitor was keeping track anyway. A little sleepy, I closed my eyes hoping for a little catnap before the rolling pain struck again.

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



 

Monday, January 23, 2017

Tuesday Tales in the Pictures


Ahoy Fellow Fathomers! It's time for Tuesday Tales.
A group of writers gather together and give our interpretation of a specific word prompt each week. Once per month, we even write to an image.  You never know what you might encounter when you get inside our minds. This week our group writes to a picture prompt. We have 300 words to get your attention. This will be an excerpt from my new WIP for a new romance contemporary, What the Storm Didn't Take.

Enjoy!~
Grief is the kind of heartache you feel in your bones. When I need peace, I look to the fresh snow, lovingly blanketing and protecting everything it covered. In February you are my Valentine for so many years I never knew what it was like to not have a valentine on Valentine's Day. We always share that special day just as happy and wrapped up as we did when we were first dating. I want you to know everything I did I truly meant it and I still enjoyed it even if I like to tease that I thought it was silly tradition or that the greeting card companies made up the holiday. Although they may have capitalized on it, I want you to know that as your Valentine I will always be your Valentine. I died loving you with every inch of my body and with all that I have in my heart. I hope you can believe that. I’ll believe you love me with all you had and all your strength came from your love. You'll need that strength now more than ever. Finding love again won't be as hard as you're going to try to make it. You're going to dig in your heels and pretend like it's some kind of cheating on me or however else you want to put it. You’ll think by loving again, and sharing Valentine's again with someone, it’s wrong somehow. Don’t think that way. It’s wrong, so wrong to deny your heart the fullness of love.  You need to know that all the love you had for me and all that passion doesn't go away. It doesn't die- it remains and it changes a little- it changes into all the memories of everything we ever did and keeps you from withering away.

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



 


 
 


 


 

Monday, January 16, 2017

Tuesday Tales Taking the Train


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



A group of writers gather together and give our interpretation of a specific word prompt each week. Once per month, we even write to an image.  You never know what you might encounter when you get inside our minds. This week our group writes to the word- train This will be an excerpt from my new WIP for a new romance contemporary, What the Storm Didn't Take.

Enjoy!~




Walking to me, dad brushed sweaty clump of hair off my four head, then kissed my cheek. "I'll be right outside in the waiting room if you need anything. You've got a good team here to help, so I'm gonna get out of their way."

"Yeah right, you're just squeamish." Smiling back he needed to understand I was kidding.

His smile broadened, and his eyes even got happier. "That's my girl, you know me very well."

Even though I'm sure it took forever, it also seemed too soon that the labor pains intensified, and they seemed almost on top of each other. My endurance wasn't just thin, I had none left. And I knew that anytime I spoke it probably sounded like I was barking orders or bitching incessantly. I still felt the joy – joy that the kid would be out soon in all this pain would be over with. I wanted someone to talk, and break the silence, and halt the freight train running through my head. "Somebody tell me a story." Maybe a distraction would help, since my other strategies were starting to give out.

Neither of them said anything right away. The beeping tapped against my four head like a type of water torture, and I felt the urge to grit my teeth and scream. His voice began before I had to do either of those things.

"Remember when we were little, and I had that cat?"

"I don't want this to be a dialogue. I just want one of you to tell me a story without my input."

"Anyway, you and I were always thinking of new things to do for entertainment. But Mrs. Blanton, I want you to know, we never hurt any person or animal. I need to clear that up before I went on. We had been swinging from a rope on a tree in my yard, taking turns to see who can swing the highest without falling off."

"Is that how she really broke her arm?" Mom's voice caught an edge of frustration in the question.
Please visit us at our main site for more interpretations of train  Tuesday Tales Main Page

Wednesday, January 4, 2017

REVIEW All the Ugly and Wonderful Things Bryn Greenwood


Review

All the Ugly and Wonderful Things

 
 
 


It’s hard for me to put into words how this book made me feel. On one hand, the book flirts with taboos. The storyline made me occasionally cringe, and stop reading. However, I’d pick it back up and start again, anxious to see how the story ends. I have to say it’s Bryn’s outstanding writing style that kept me coming back to the book. I dare say I enjoyed her writing more than the story itself. The story simply a catalyst weaving her gorgeous tapestry of syllables.

Bryn put me smack dab in the middle of the dejected, uncomfortable existence of the characters. I cannot call this a romantic love story. I had to step out of my comfort zone, and see the world through Wavy Quinn’s eyes, the leading character in this bitter tale. Bryn does a superb job squaring the reader firmly into Wavy’s mind.  I could understand why Wavy wouldn’t speak, or why she reacted in more feral ways than socially acceptable ones. Humans are not cookie cutter and Bryn reminds us of that with every page turn.  

I appreciated the message this book gives to its’ readers. We don’t all live in the stereotypical family life of 3.2 children, with loving supportive parents actually doing their jobs as parents. We live in a world where some children don’t receive hugs and hot meals, and someone checking their homework folders at night. Some kids have no “real” childhood.

This book is going in my stack of favorites. Although I may not read it again for quite some time, the storyline was just that gritty.

Bryn showed me I still had empathy simmering beneath my cynicism.

I’m giving this one **** 4 snowflakes.

Tuesday, December 27, 2016

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


Growing up, our family didn’t have much money. I had what I needed, and never wanted for anything. Christmas was always magical, and Santa always filled my stocking. Coca-Cola commercials were incredibly affectionate, and filled my heart with love. In 1977, I was young, impressionable, and believed in the power of what lie ahead of me. My mom watched Dr. Who on PBS, and sparked my imagination full of wonder and the possibility of “what was out there”, before the X-Files asked the notorious question.

Then, came Star Wars. Oh. My. God. I was hooked, mesmerized, enchanted. This young, small feisty princess wielded a blaster, took charge and pushed the limits of what a Princess could do. She reconfigured in my mind what a girl could do, given the gift of possibilities. I had a new role model, Princess Leia Organa, and new crushes, Han Solo and Luke Skywalker. Honestly, given the choice, Han Solo was the rogue I loved. I mean, who could resist him?

Driving home from the movie theater, which was a rare treat to go to the movies, I looked into the sky and imagined the Millennium Falcon darting, zooming through the darkness. Our quartet of good guys led the way, Princess Leia, Luke Skywalker, Han Solo, and Chewbacca.

Thankfully, I got the action figures, and my best friend, Stephen, and I played Star Wars longer than I can really remember. I was always Princess Leia- that was the benefit of having a boy best friend. I imagined running from Stormtroopers, escaping a garbage compactor, saving the galaxy from Darth Vader. All while keeping my hair in perfect place and never breaking a sweat. Princess Leia made my childhood more fun and inspired.

I cried real tears today for a person I never met, for a person who truly changed my young mind without even knowing me. She added stars to my imagination. A Princess died today, someone who may have never known how much she touched young lives, for generations to come, and more on the way. Princess Leia was a legend, a diplomat for the curious and stubborn. The galaxy lost a renowned ambassador today, and for that, I’m truly blue.

Rest in piece, Carrie Fisher. Millions loved you more than you could ever imagine, more than the stars in the galaxy you so fabulously represented.

My heart hurts.