Tag Archives: story

“Partners In Crime” Episode 4 (My Day In A Short Noir)


She almost forgot what she was doing… almost. But only because she forgot to reread the previous episode. She was rarely so careless, but present circumstances had her… confused… bedazzled.

That’s right! The storm. The thunder and lightening, so very loud, it would make sneaking back home for dinner not so easy. Because if she was about, that meant other bindle stiffs were walking the streets as well, oblivious to the lightning, oblivious to the… danger.

But Danger… was her middle name.

Film Noir 3

Unfortunately, the storm grew so bad all she could do was stand against a lamppost in the fog. But that was just fine, because as we’ve established, she likes standing against lampposts. A lot.


It didn’t take her long to get her dinner and sneak back inside, where Gibbs waited, expectantly, impatiently. She begged for him to go outside, to see the streets so muddled and full of danger, to understand why it took so long for her return. But he just wouldn’t. “Can’t you see I’m busy, darling?”

Busy. Busy clipping an innocent pillow and giving her pants the chiv like this was some kind of gooseberry lay. She began to wonder if he was a dropper in disguise. Seemed every time she turned around he was bumping off someone else.  It made her wonder if it was all about the scratch, or if he was some kind of conman out for hot iron or possibly a shamus that fell in the game a little too deep.

With that, she could relate.


It was time to eat now, but all she could think about was this big Dog, trying to get in her lap like she was some kind of tomato or rube, begging for her scraps. But she was no easy mark, she knew his game.  A little too well. “Hey there bruno, what do you think you’re doing? I’m no sap. You can’t take me down that easy.”

Or could he?

*** To Be Continued… ***



“A professional writer is an amateur who didn’t quit.”

-Richard Bach


cover    For more information on my published novels, click here!

thevillagepoetpress  Visit The Village Poet Press (My publishing company)


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New Characters= Complicated Fun!!


It’s been awhile since I’ve talked in any kind of detail regarding my novels. I cannot tell you why, I just haven’t. Now I want to (funny how life works out that way.)

So, my two newest characters (First Captain Aida Mancini and Captain Mario Baldovino) were introduced to my series in 2009 (when I began the rewrites of the whole series, starting with book 1, Blood of Darkness, which was published in April of 2012) I made so many changes from the original books that I found gaps that I needed to fill in, and Aida and Baldovino did so perfectly. That is probably the most grateful change I have needed to make, I love Aida and Baldovino and they have become important aspects to the series.

BUT, it has made things slightly complicated. Being that they did not come into my series until 2009, and I finished with the original copy of book 11 in 2008 (remember, I am rewriting them all). That leaves 11 books they had no parts in. At first, Baldovino was a fill-in character who has become a very integral sub-character, and Aida was originally intended to have a big part in books one and three, and fade from there. I feel almost blasphemous saying so, Aida is such a dear part of the series now. But that leaves me with 11 books I need to change.

How much fun is that??? TONS.

It’s complicated, but it’s fun. And I can’t help but feel these characters were missing from the very beginning. Aida’s quirky bad-ass attitude adding comedic value, Baldovino’s brash hardcore personality adding its own form of comedy as it becomes clear since book 3 just how much he hates the Werewolves.

And the more I write, the more it becomes so obvious that they belong, just as importantly as all my other characters. From the first character I created in 1999 (Alisha) to the turning point in 2002 when I decided Otztal would be my main character, to now, when book four is almost entirely reconstructed and in its final edit before publication, with 9 more books (at least) in the works just waiting to be rewritten and published… It’s been an incredible journey that continues in complicated, fun and amazing ways.

I can’t wait to see how the series continues as I continue to mold it and form it and watch it grow, and be grateful that I can share this experience with all of you 🙂 Thank you, my dedicated fans and readers!


The Legends of Sangue

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“There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.”

-Ernest Hemingway


cover    For more information on my published novels, click here!

thevillagepoetpress  Visit The Village Poet Press (My publishing company)

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Heroic dolphins

I was very moved by this story, I thought I would share it with you all.


Dolphins Help Save Dog from Drowning!

On Marco Island, Florida a group of dolphins came to the aid of a lost Dog that had fallen into a canal and couldn’t get out. The dolphins made so much noise, it attracted the attention of people living nearby, who then rescued the dog.

The Dog was believed to have spent 15 hours in the canal water before he was pulled out by fire personnel and reunited with his owner.

One of the people whose attention was captured by the noisy, demonstrative dolphins said, “They were really putting up a ruckus, almost beaching themselves on the sandbar over there. If it wasn’t for the dolphin, I would have never seen the dog.”

He said also if the dolphins hadn’t persisted enough to get their attention, they dog would have died in the canal.

The dog had fallen over the edge of a concrete wall down into the water far enough that it had no chance of getting back up by itself. The dog was exhausted from being in the cold water for hours, and most likely suffering from hypothermia.

Dolphins have been known to sometimes help stranded or injured people as well. In 2007, a pod of dolphins formed a ring around a surfer who was injured and bleeding after being bitten by a Great White shark.

The surfer survived because they prevented further bites. No one knows exactly why dolphins have intervened in such emergency situations, and helped save the lives of other species. Suffice to say they are capable of empathy and heroic actions.

Thanks for reading 🙂



“There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.”

-Ernest Hemingway


cover    For more information on my published novels, click here!

thevillagepoetpress  Visit The Village Poet Press (My publishing company)

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Finances, Chocolate Chips and Sake

Here we go. It’s all about the Benjamins, baby. (Hah, wait, I don’t see any bens in these files…) I’m doing my finances. Especially, most importantly, my business finances. Creating expenditure and profit lists, client information lists, that sort of thing. That was last night, I stayed up until five AM doing this.

Tonight, it’s time to catch up on my SOAP notes (Subjective, Objective, Action, Plan) that is legally required following massage.

OMG, this post is so boring I just about fell asleep. Or it could be the Sake. Yum. I came home from my last massage of the day to find an open bottle of Sake sitting out. So, naturally, I helped myself to some. I’m also making dinner. The problem is, I worry that some nice gentle rice wine and curry (do those two often go together? Never mind, I’m going to be done with the Sake far before dinner’s done cooking) will make me drowsy.

And the original title of this blog was not-so-destined to be “Hands Off The Kindle” Why? Because it’s been my go-to device whenever I need a break from life, and it’s become somewhat of a crutch as of late. And guess what, I’ve needed that quite often lately. Sick nieces and sick grandmothers and major life changes and jackass boyfriends aside, whew, I’m a little worried I may be getting overwhelmed.

Then, comes flush that warming feeling deep inside that alcohol tends to provide during times like these, along with the slightly increased amount of erase-and-retypes.

Everyone has a favorite book. Everyone has a book that they read and say, “God I wish I was there.” That speaks to them on so many levels, in so many ways, that you find a piece of yourself in every character, you can relate to the way this person speak, that person acts, even the side characters- hell, sometimes even the enemies- provide you with that little feeling inside of belonging and hope. And that, my friends, is the whole point of stories.

Excuse me, while I ensure my curry is not burning, and add the tomatoes.

Wait, I just answered my own question. Sake DOES go with curry, because I’m serving my curry dish with rice, and Sake is rice wine (the only wine I can stand, by the way)

And in what universe does “My grandmother is sick in the hospital and I may have to go there in the morning and then I work all day tomorrow and I’m busy in the evening, so I will call you on Saturday” equates to “Yes I will drop everything and have dinner with you tomorrow” ? Sorry to say, not MY universe, whether certain people expect it or not. I honestly do not feel that text deserves a reply, so it is not getting one.

Right, yes. The books. The stories. They’re escapes, are they not? To be someone else for just a little while, to live their lives, to follow their stories, their adventures and share with them their emotions and life. I can very easily see how reading can become anyone’s escape, unfortunately, I fear that not enough people nowadays use it as such. More people need to read, is my opinion. Nowadays, people turn to Sake and other alcoholic beverages. The only issue is that I cannot do finances and read and blog and catch up with my SOAP notes and work on story boards and decide whether or not to turn my Legends franchise into an actual publishing company (purely for the sake of easier taxes, perhaps) or not, if I am reading. Which is why I have been reading so much. (You know, doing what you don’t really feel like doing being impossible while reading… Definitely an appeal there…) But it occurs to me simply that I am avoiding a lot of things right now. SOAP notes being the least of them.

Oh dear, yes I know I’m not the only one with issues. But see, my favorite characters’ issues I can share in and not have to take actual responsibility for. But I can live it, and feel how they are resolved, and feel good at the end of the book. Life just isn’t like that.

I am making a dire mistake. I am taking an emotional day and topping it off with Sake and the song “The End of The Innocence” By Don Henley. The last genuine year of my childhood, 1996. After that it was nothing but taking care of the sick and injured and sacrificing my own needs to ensure things and people stuck together. This is the first year I’ve focused solely on me. And even then, I’m not solely focusing on me.

But I remember the sunshine, riding my bike in the bright sunlight and gentle Oregon winds minutely scented with a touch of comforting sea air, the tall grass swaying, the summer evenings of my childhood dipping into soft dusk, then night time, where I would read and assure myself that the sun would rise again the next day. And it always did. As it always does.

What is a one sided relationship anyway? In short, exhausting. Bringing up my favorite (one of) sayings;

“Trying to understand the behavior of others is like trying to smell the color 9”

It brings me great comfort when I find myself stressing and trying to figure out exactly how someone’s mind can take someone else’s tragedy and somehow make it about themselves. And no matter what I do and say, it will always be about them.

No, sorry honey, that’s not how my universe works. And never will it, I don’t have the patience, energy or lack of self-respect to be the minority in a relationship. My world is equal grounds, or my grounds are off limits. The end.

I wonder if I may regret this post come time for me to be less warm inside. Probably not. I’m on the warm side, not yet tipsy, and not desperate enough to become so. Just taking the edge off the planet, is all.

Off comes the edge, in comes the realization that I need to take care of myself. With that comes the brutal point I MUST concede that sleep, right now, is more important than SOAP notes, more important than math and finances, more important than story boards and indecisive decision making. So here is my plan. Put leftovers away. Drink a ton of water. Go to bed.

Hopefully the nightmares will hold off for a night, and I can get restful sleep, and maybe feel prepared for my day this time.

But probably not. Not with everything going on.

At least this is my second to last day at the store. That’s going to help A LOT.

Good night, my dear friends.





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My name is Stacey, and I am an Abibliophobiac


I am, and I am not ashamed to admit it. I realize I still have some things on my Kindle I haven’t yet read, but I can’t help but think “What happens after I read them?? Then what??”

Ok, so this post has been sitting open for awhile. Why? I have a boo-boo? Yes, but that’s not the whole reason. I want to make dinner, and don’t know what to make, so I decided instead to stare wonderingly into the distance, hoping the stale, stagnant spring-but-not-quite-spring air outside my closed window may offer some dietary suggestions? Well, ok so that’s a good portion. All it can suggest to me is curried garbanzos and organic white jasmine rice. Or, well, maybe my stomach is saying that to me, and my taste buds are going along with that suggestion. Step two. Actually getting off my lazy patootie and walking myself out to the kitchen to make it.

Instead, I blog about it. Because blogging about it is much easier than making it when I’m feeling this crappy.

“But you’re a poet, shouldn’t you be off in authorland authoring some words onto electronic paper with your dictionary and your imagination guided by your penchant for grammar nazi-ing and furrowing your brow and drinking your brown liquor in the forever-stereo-typecast ideal of the typical poet?” Well if I am a stereotype writer, I ought to go find my spectacles, turn on my phonograph for some classical pleasure listening, and sport my top hat.

No, I don’t wear glasses. I don’t have a taste for brown liquor- I am a vodka girl, I don’t wear top hats, I wear fedoras (true fact, by the way, though I put my fedoras away for the windy/snowy season) I do grammar nazi, I don’t furrow one brow but two, I am listening to classical music though on my ipod and not a phonograph, and my imagination seems to be bogarted by my appetite at the moment.

And Microsoft Windows XP Spelling and Grammar Check- “Bogarted”, according to google, merriam-webster.com, thefreedictionary.com AND dictionaryreference.com, IS indeed a real word, used correctly in my paragraph.

Sheesh, apparently Windows is more of a grammar nazi than I am- however, I wish it would get its facts straight because it tells me things are wrong when they’re right, and it doesn’t correct some things I mistype. Luckily, in most cases, I know I mistyped them and fix them myself.

Oh boy, perhaps I am the stereotype writer, just a modern day one.

Also, a very hungry one.

Also is not uncommon for the typical writer and/or human being during dinner time. Although, I think I am using it as an excuse to employ my amazing procrastination abilities to good use, though I have signed off Facebook, I took that to be a sign of personal growth and encouragement. But here I am, having exchanged needless Facebook procrastination time with blogging about curry, stereotypes and procrastination. I can’t help but feel like a very high maintenance novel, in which no matter how many words I use, they just aren’t good enough.

Not until I eat, anyway.

“Make dinner” you say?? Never! And I repeat Never!! (No, now read it again with a fake British accent. There you go, now you have the full effect. Pretend I’m swilling some form of strong alcohol in a wine glass, with those spectacles and that top hat. Perfect.)

Oh, have I yet mentioned exactly what I am avoiding? No? Ah yes, the elusive and yet oh-so-desirable and not-yet-created genius of Book Four.

Seems I have this problem with every book. Especially the ones that are already completed. I WANT TO CHANGE THEM. It’s like taking a sculpture that hasn’t yet been kilned, and having an undeniable urge to reshape it. If the book has been published and I get the desire to “remold” it, or change details facts or plots, I can say to myself “Ha Ha it’s published you can’t touch it! Neener Neener!”

But this… This.

This is unpublished, unfinished, oh so moldable and fixable and ready to be manipulated into something entirely new if I so desire. And I so desire.

“But what’s wrong with the old version?”

Are you kidding? How, and I repeat, HOW can you even ASK that??

It’s old.

It’s unnew (now that isn’t a real word) it’s unchecked, unedited, untouched for so long. Yes, there’s small details I must change due to changes I made before publishing book 3, which I had to change due to details I changed in book 2, which I had to change due to details I changed in book 1…

But why change minor details? Why stick with that? Why not go out and change THE ENTIRE THING?

Wipe the slate clean with my old fashioned electronic handkerchief, pour myself a shot of warm brown liquor, make a toast to my old efforts as a poet and CREATE A WHOLE NEW PLOT.

Oh the temptation, the temptation! Pick up my electronic pen and have a whole new go at this! Change it! Reinvent a whole new world! Why MUST they say what I already have written down, when my characters can say WHOLE NEW WORDS? Why must their actions remain the way they are when they can do something ENTIRELY NEW? Just change the WHOLE DAMN THING!!

“But Why??”

Because I’m the Poet.

Because I CAN.

But really, should I?

Maybe not while I’m this hungry.

Have a good night!



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Is This Supposed To Be Saint Patty’s Day Themed?


Have you ever had one of those nights that so many thoughts are going through your head you can’t keep track of them all? They rush by so fast you can’t grip a’one of them greased pigs to hold them still long enough to figure them out.

Of course you have, we all have!

Well that’s the night I’m having. That’s the night I’ve been having for the past week. It’s put a damper on my ability to sleep and function like a normal person might (whatever normal is, and whatever my ‘normal’ happens to be.)

As I think to myself, “What do my precious followers want to read from me tonight?” A number of things go through my mind. The ones that slow down enough to glimpse? My penchant for being a Grammar Nazi? NAH. Music? MAYBE. Probably not. WRITING. Maybe! Maybe? Um, the new book I bought (called “The Well-Spoken Thesaurus” by Tom Heehler) but that may just lead me into Grammar Nazi mode and nobody wants me to go there.

We’ll go with writing. It has the least amount of “hell no’s” attached.

First, I must say, “You Can Do It” By Ice Cube (which just started playing on my new Ipod) is not the appropriate music to read literary quotes with.  There we go. Bach.

Our subject being Poetry, I propose to speak not only of the art in general but also of its species and their respective capacities; of the structure of plot required for a good poem…” -Aristotle, The Poetics.

Along with wonderful suggestions on how to word things not so commonplace, which is helping my writing tremendously, this book also has some damn fine quotes.

Anyway, that’s right… writing.

I wish us writers were still referred to as “poets”, regardless of whether we write poetry or not. Once upon a time, anyone who took up a pen and parchment was referred to as “the poet” and I believe that term had a certain sort of (pardon the pun) poetical aspects to it. Also, a respectable aspect as well.  We may be seen as flighty, or scruffy, artistic and maybe a little odd- but it was well respected. Nowadays, I tell someone I’m a writer, and they say a noncommittal “oh, how nice” and move on. Has it now eluded the common man that writing, no matter what it is that is being written, is no more simple or commonplace than it is to paint a masterpiece of art?  After all, writing is nothing but a painting of words, a mural pieced together by those of us who see words for all the fine color and beauty they are.  I am both an artist and a poet (in the modern literal and past respective meaning of the word) and I tell you, it feels exactly the same to paint as it does to write. The same places in my body, mind and soul are active- and what, besides these two functions (and music) can you say awakens all three parts of the complete human?

Out of many who shrug it off as more-or-less an “eccentricity” or “laziness” to be overlooked or “tolerated” from me when I say I am a writer, are the ones who assume I am in it for the money. This bunch I like to refer to politely as “ignorant”. Everyone has heard of the term “starving artist” Well then, “starving poet” quite applies in most scenarios as well. Furthermore, even if I was somehow “getting rich” from my writing, I’m appalled at the inference that money is the only reason I do it.

The Utopians wonder how any man should be so much taken with the glaring doubtful luster of a jewel or stone, that can look up to a star, or to the sun himself.” Sir Thomas More, Utopia

It is because of these attitudes that I consistently fight the urge to feel lazy and unfit during the times I am writing, or sitting down to write. As we all know, writing takes time, and trying to figure out what to write takes longer. To sit here and do nothing but think, and wonder, and come up with ideas to discard and reexamine, then discard again, looks to others as a waste of time (trust me, I wish I had great amount more time in which to devote to my writing).  They say I should just write the whole time I set aside to write, if I should set aside any at all. To me, that’s like trying to paint a rainbow without mixing your colors. You can’t make a truly believable rainbow with the only three prime colors Red, Yellow and Blue. If I don’t contemplate my words thoroughly, then one of two things happens: 1. It comes out poorly and fake. And 2. It doesn’t come out at all. Everyone knows that writers can “suffer” from writer’s block on a fairly regular basis- I don’t need to feel lazy on top of it. It just distracts me from all the magnificent writing I COULD be creating.

It was only that, having written down the first few fine paragraphs, I could not produce any others- or, to approximate Gertrude Stein’s remark about a lesser writer of The Lost Generation- I had the syrup, but it wouldn’t pour.” William Styron, Sophie’s Choice.

I realize times have changed quite phenomenally, even from when I was a little girl, curled up in bed with a book begging my mother to let me finish “just one more chapter” before bed (then trying to see how many chapters I could get in before she came back to “remind” me that I was allotted just “one” more chapter- I can’t tell you how many books I finished this way. “I’m almost done with the chapter, I promise!”) to nowadays, when the most reading I do on days I don’t write includes the horrendous forced short-hand of texts with the even more horrendous awareness that current education is failing this new generation- It’s appalling. I’m not saying one has to know how to spell to magnificent proportions, or that short-hand is a bad thing (with 160 word limits on my texts, I am a sad-to-say habitual user of texting short-hand myself) but the attitude looked upon (and down) the written word, the lack of effort put into its productivity and completion, the lack of caring one has pertaining to the way they “sound” when they write is… how should I put this delicately? Borderline stupidity? Ignorance not to be ignored? Ignorance of the worst kind, indeed. Regardless of the technological era and the fact that our children nowadays can name hundreds more video games than they possibly could species of flower or animal or even book titles, people still fail to realize that more than half of communication we do (ESPECIALLY during this technological age, with the internet readily available and texting now easier than dialing a call) is WRITTEN. Why can we not find it in ourselves to learn to use our words properly?

By profession he is, or has been, a scholar, and scholarship still engages, intermittently, the core of him.” J.M Coetzee, Disgrace

I’ll admit now, I am little less than screwed if I did not have my computer’s spell check (from a publication standpoint, where professionally published novels and their readers are unforgiving of more than a couple spelling errors). But I do not turn it off and I do not choose to ignore it- I learn from it. Every red underlined word I find I MUST understand WHY it is “wrong” (if indeed it is). This creates new learning every time I write. Whether it be that I mistyped a word I know, and how to train myself from making the same mistake again, learning to spell a new word or even an old word I can’t for the life of me remember how to spell- it isn’t a cheat. It’s a learning tool. Did anyone ever refer to a dictionary as a cheat? I use dictionaries, thesauruses and the internet to define words for me all the time, and often learn better ones to use in their stead. In conclusion: Words just fascinate me. Maybe I’m being too harsh on the rest of the world to say they should learn to spell correctly. Maybe I’m sounding pompous. Or maybe, just maybe…

This new “trend” of short-hand texting coupled with the deplorable education system of this nation is driving me crazy. “What” is not “Wut”, “Brother” is not “Bruther”, “Psycho” is not “Syco” I mean, I realize many schools start out their kindergarteners and first-graders with their words using phonetics and sounds- but then they seem to forget to teach them the rest. English is not a sound-based language, sad to say. The WORST advice I got BY FAR in school was this: “Just sound it out.”

Oh boy, I think I’ve trailed into Grammar Nazi land again. I realize I’ve dedicated my life to the written word (among other things) but it is not my place to correct others, I realize that. If the urge to correct others drives me this insane, perhaps I should have pursued being a teacher instead (I’ll pass).

No, us poets were meant to learn our words and utilize them to the best of our abilities. Not everybody is meant to be a poet. Just like not everyone is meant to be a mathematician. As I am sitting here complaining of the atrocious spelling I find all around me, somewhere out there is a Math Nazi blogging “Why can’t they just learn simple division??” Or “She” in my case. There’s my own piece of humble pie, served straight from Humbledoore to my ego’s mouth-watering appetite.

Chomp Chomp. Nom Nom.

… And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief…” T. S. Eliot, The Waste Land

There is something to be said for the technological age. The fact that I can cart around 1000 (more or less) books in something the size of a paperback novel and read it wherever I want. That I can listen to Bach and Beethoven with headphones as I write and not madden the others in my vicinity. THAT I HAVE THE ABILITY TO WRITE AT ALL. This computer, a modern-day poet’s savior. I have written well over 3,000,000 words in my 19 years as a writer (my first published writing was a well-worded book review at the age of nine) I could not even get half that down (or anywhere close) if all I had was an ink pen and parchment. Everything I’ve written by hand, I’ve altered and added upon transferring to an electronic device.

But, in my stubbornness, my penchant for the old fashioned, and in yearning for respect as a writer, I still maintain it would be fantastic if us writers were once again referred to as the “poets” of our society.

Of Life immense in passion, pulse, and power, Cheerful, for the freest action form’d under the laws divine, The Modern Man I sing.” Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass, Book 1 “Inscriptions”

I am by no means laying claim to the theory that my writing is in any way shape or form better or worse than my fellow poets. But I write from the heart, always. Leaving me to leave you with this one last quote, taken from the book but with no explained source:

If his performance was not electrifying, at least it was believable.

Thank you, and Happy Saint Patrick’s day.




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Debut Cover!

With less than three days to go until the publication of Destroyed, Book Three of The Legends of Sangue, I bring to you…. The cover! Feel free to give me your opinion, and check out snippets and such here: Destroyed


DestroyedCover12 copy

Destroyed, Book Three

Thanks for all your support!


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Let The Silence Commence!

Well, upon request- or rather, quest– for opinion (regarding when you all would like to see me publish book 3, the 13th or 31st) I have received one, and it was a unanimous….


So that I shall do,

That…   I shall do.

Anyway, that gives me less than a week to finish editing (I’m halfway done with the FINAL edit, hip hip hooray!) and it shall be available for purchase on 13th, March, 2013!!!

I’m already beginning the edit/rewrites on book four, and having a blast doing it!

Thank you, one and all, for your opinion, and everyone check back for updates. Don’t forget to read snippets of book 3 here: Destroyed, Book Three of The Legends of Sangue

Have a wonderful day, my friends!!



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The Silver Lining

I need some opinions. Amongst this somewhat difficult day a silver lining has appeared- Destroyed, book 3, is done!!

Like, finished. Written. On its final edit. On my Kindle, even 😉

Leading me to ask your opinion (please do not be shy about giving it, I know this blog actually gets read)

Would you rather;

1. Wait until the 31st of March for me to publish Destroyed, so I can give you a full month worth of snippets on Destroyed like I did with Blood of Darkness and Murder on her Mind,


2. Screw a full month, gimme half a month and publish the book on the 13th like originally planned!!

I’m not sure which one I’m leaning toward yet, but it was an unexpectedly good thing, and as always, I am more than eager to share my work. Thanks!


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When Change Calls- Pick Up The Phone!



I am having a difficult time writing, and it may not be what you expect. For once, I’ve been able to work on book 3 without a hitch all day yesterday.

I’m having a difficult time writing because there’s a dog in my lap.

myjezzieblog1Something interesting has happened.

Ok I’m tempted to make another photo blog but damnit, I just don’t have that kind of time.  Mostly because I spent all of it reading old blogs and realizing I was a much better blog writer way-back-when than I am now. Well that may not be so, but here’s what made me come to that conclusion: I don’t blog nearly as often as I used to.

And right now, I’m kind of feeling a little shabby so I don’t have the energy to really get in there and think.

So far, since waking up too early, I’ve done only a few things. Most of which included letting my dog in and out of my room as she struggles with her indecision whether to stay or to go, and touring through old blogs of mine making additions, or just reading for fun. It began when I went looking for an old post with pictures of my dog for this blog, since I switched computers I couldn’t find these pics on them. Here’s the post I’m talking about: The Jealousy Between Small Pets and Your Keyboard. 

The other one I found myself both taken with and taken aback by and had to add an addition to, was this: This Post is So Random! And Somewhat Sexy…

Ah yes, back to the present. I decided to write about change and spent the last hour reading past blogs. How ironic.

Maybe I just need the right song.

Ok, I’m going to get back on topic, because this blog is neither entertaining or fun. And if it’s not seriously, which was its original intention, I would at least like someone to finish reading it.

Something interesting has happened.

No sooner have I written a blog about being a spinster (or viewed as one) that I have a date with someone I text with every night. Uh-oh, I just gave everyone gossip. It’s ok. But I can guarantee this isn’t like my ex fuck-buddy- I mean, boyfriend?? (The question marks are there because I still to this day haven’t a clue what exactly that was, even though he still shows up at the store). Whereas I make no assumptions about whatever this new thing happens to be, I am calm, I am attentive, I am comfortable. Is it, isn’t it- it doesn’t matter. It will be what it’s meant to be, patience is a virtue best understood with… patience 🙂

Ah, so anyway…

The reason this blog is titled as it is, is because this isn’t the only change going on in my life. And part of me has been fighting it. I ignored my phone yesterday. And fucked myself over about a hundred times doing so. I forgot to make an important phone call, and missed one even more important. I haven’t even checked my messages. Is that not depraved for a woman about to begin her own business?

I keep telling myself “I’ll do it when I’m ready”. Well guess what, I’m ready. I know it doesn’t sound like it, but it’s true. I just need to continue shaking some issues off. It’s been a long few months in which a lot of beautiful things happened and a lot of awful things happened. A lot of changes happened and not all of them good, and some of them more blessed than I could ever have imagined. I have yet to really register a single one of them, so really… can anyone blame me for wanting to hide once and awhile?

I am conducting a social experiment. What does that entail? Accepting those who want to be my friend. I have been fucked over by friends in my life to extremes I don’t care to speak of, and something occurred to me just the other day. What the previous people have done in my life has NOTHING to do with the current people in my life.  When one asks if I want to go shopping with her- Why say no?? ( I didn’t, I’m going some time today). But it did take three weeks for me to ask if she wanted to hang out again. I’ve said no twice to someone who wanted to hang out.  I nearly canceled my date. So on and so forth. I began to realize, out of everything that’s happened: I was becoming the bad friend. The one not to rely on. The one who forgets to go online when she said she was going to be on to chat. The one who doesn’t return messages, doesn’t answer calls… I feel terrible. I’m going to change that. But its none-too-easy.

I trust those in my life now (well, most.) The thought keeps popping in my head “well I trusted the others, too” Then I need to take into consideration that my skills of being able to see people as they are and not be oblivious to what may go wrong are much more fine tuned. I can watch my back without being paranoid.  I am more mature. I can trust my personal judgment better.

Still, I’m having a hard time because some of the biggest changes of my life are coming up, and I don’t want to be alone when they do, yet I’ve been alone for so long, it’s now my comfort zone.

In school our motto during the less-than-enlightening business course was “Get comfortable being uncomfortable”

Usually I’ve always abided (abode? I like abided better) by that. That’s why I make decisions in my life based on the “close your eyes and jump” theory. Had I not lived my life this way, I never would have went to school, I never would have gone to CNA training, I never would have climbed ranks in most jobs I’ve had, I never would have worked honestly toward my goals. You know, etc. I never would have gotten to the point where my life is so full of choices that I have no choice but to choose one and change and I just want to run from it all.

I just want to find a choice that’s easy. But you know what, it doesn’t work like that, and I know it. So why am I having this crisis, why am I going through this, this… thing? Whatever it is? Is this my way of slowly coming to grips with the fact that everything that’s eluded me (relationships, career paths worth the effort I put into everything,real  friendship) is now facing me head on and I wasn’t expecting it, even though I’ve not only been wanting it, but asking for it?

Nobody deals well with change. Particularly me and I am somewhat known for that. I threw a fit when my seat in school was changed. Yes, a fit. For about a week straight and occassionally for the next month did I mention it.

This is a hell of a lot of change for one person to handle alone. Possibly the reason so many opportunities to get close to other people are opening up to me. I cannot, I repeat, cannot ignore them. Without being daft and a generally bad person, anyway.

Don’t get me wrong. Out of everyone I know, I’m probably one of the most firm believers in the human condition (that we’re not meant to be alone) than a lot.

As I said, I am so used to being alone and knowing people in my past that it was PREFERABLE to be alone, that I no longer know what it’s like to trust. And I am terrified of letting that get in the way of friendships and relationships.

I realize this blog has turned into a therapy session/diary entry, but it’s needed. For me, and maybe for someone out there who can relate.

Just because change is scary doesn’t mean you need to run from it.

Accept that lunch invitation. Go on that date. Don’t run from a miserable job without understanding why you want to run, and THEN make your decision. I discovered that my problems with my job were improved once I got the guts to have a personal face-to-face discussion with my boss. The issues were not entirely fixed, but a compromise was struck and it’ll do me until I get my license (paperwork went out two days ago, yay!)

Just repeat after me:

I am strong enough to face the challenges in my life, to accept these changes without fear, and become the person I want to be. Become the person I already AM. Strong. Courageous. Caring. Loving. Healthy, Brave. I open my arms to change, I open my heart to those around me, I open my mind to the opportunities that will arise for me once I realize the pure solid truth: I am me, and there is no better person for me to be.

So when change comes calling: Pick it up, it may just be that opportunity you’re looking for. Don’t give that up for anything. Misery and loneliness, no matter how comfortable, are not the best way to live.




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