Why did you stop writing?

“Why did you stop writing?”

Brooke sat slouched over with her elbows on her knees and face in the palm of her hands. She said nothing, but shrugged her shoulders.

“I can’t help you if you are not willing to talk. What happened?”

“Stuff, lots of stuff, my world seemed to just fold one storyline after another until I had no story left.”

“Your writing just stopped?”

“No, my world. I was someone. I used to write. I used to have an opinion, and people used to read my writing. It was like I was on a roll at a blackjack table and then it just stopped. I used to feel like something big was going to happen, something really great, but then I realized it wasn’t. That is when my life started falling to shit.”

“So, your writing stopped and your life fell to shit.  Is that what you are saying?”

“No, my life fell to shit and my writing stopped.”

“Ok, then why do you think this happened?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do.”

“Ok, maybe but I don’t want to say it. If I say it you will think I am nuts.” She inhales a big breath and slowly exhales like she was practicing yoga or Lamaze.  “The suicide…” She inhales another big breath and exhales. “  When she took her life, it was like she stole mine too or at least my happiness.”

“Who? Who is she? Who took who’s life?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Tears rolled down her eyes.

“Brooke, we have been meeting once a week for over a year, and I don’t know what you are talking about. I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.”

“I know. I know, but this is real and it hurts. It still hurts just like it did the day it happened. I don’t want to talk about it. I just want to live a happy life and I have done pretty ok. I mean people think I am happy. I do feel happy at times, but deep down she is always there. The sad part is I can only remember her dead body, the bad times, the sad times and very few good times. I just want it all to go away.”

“This is why you should write. You need to write about this. This story is real and people like you can get comfort knowing about what you are going through.”

“Yeah, that is what I thought too. Then literary agent after agent rejected me. I got to the point where I was numb. All The literary agents want from me is to write humor, but it takes every ounce of strength to find the energy to be happy. I am too tired trying to be happy that I can’t. You know what I am?”

The therapist shook his head.

“I am sad. I am fucking sad. I cry myself to sleep almost every night and that has been for ten years, 3,650 day and I don’t want to be sad anymore. The worst part is that being sad in today’s society is just not ok. It is no longer accepted. No one wants to see the tears, hear the cries or talk about the bad in life. I just can’t be fake. I am me and right now that is a sad person. I just want to

Giving Purpose to Life

I have found myself at a crossroads in life, again. I can tell you that is feels good for once to have choices. I have been writing, parenting, working and spousing for years. If feels good to know I have a purpose in life.

For the last year and a half, I have been recovering from four long and painful surgeries. I found myself weak. The worst part of it all was I felt worthless in a world that was still moving as I laid idle in bed. Many have asked and wondered why I was just laying around. Well, I also suffer IBS, a really bad case. My stomach bleeds when I eat the wrong foods, dehydrate, or take medications. Due to my IBS, I took very few pain pills; instead, I had to lay in bed with my foot elevated on ice. As days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months, and months turned into a year I began to feel as though my life had no purpose. The world around me continued to move even though I was not a part of it.

Then when my baby went off to college this fall I hit bottom, not rock bottom, but almost. I just could not find my purpose in life. My son told me, “this is your time to get healthy and get known for the writing you have been doing your whole life.”

I started my healing journey at a small gym with a trainer. I started with baby steps. Since September, I have gotten a lot of strength back. It all began with a set of 5 pound weights. As my foot and body got stronger, my voice did too. This fall, I received my first notification from Barnes and Noble to accept my children’s books, Best Friend For Christmas, Promise and Snow-po and Tour The Mount Molly. It was the golden key to my future.

Currently, I am working on new stories for my Promise and Snow-po series. I have started my social media campaign. Most important, I have found my new purposes in life. This has given me new and wonderful opportunities to choose from.

Lately, the media has focused so much attention on the great divide in our nation. I sit and watch the media with sadness. Thousands and thousands are protesting, angry, sad and confused. Now, as a person that has just found new purposes life.  I have decided to give back to our nation. The only way we can bridge the gap is with knowledge. Knowledge is more powerful than anything in our world. I have volunteered to help inner city children with homework help. It will give me another new purpose, and hopefully the knowledge to create a new purpose for another person in our nation.

If you are reading this, I would like to encourage you too to give purpose to life by adding value to some else’s.




What I learned from a marathon of Entourage on HBO

wallpaper-s8-1600The past week, my husband and I spent our entire time cuddled on the couch watching back to back episodes of Entourage.  I am talking all eight seasons. It was easy for the both of us to get caught up in the show, because we never heard of the show before the movie.  The show definitely sucked us right in.

As a couple, we both understood how Ari could simply take his wife for granted. It is hard to balance family life with work.

We also loved the way Ari built, clawed, fought and negotiated strategy to get to the top of agents. Ari did not have the best ethics, but he worked hard and never let “no” stop him for getting what he wanted.

Finances of the star Vince and his friends pretty much sums up life. Money comes and money goes. It seems like there is never enough and when you have it life is a hell of a lot better than when you don’t.

My husband enjoyed the negotiations and strategy throughout the show along with the wide variety of tits, asses, hot girls, hot cars and the appearances of real directors, writers, studio executives and actors.  For me, my favorite part was the writing. I enjoyed the dialogue. I thought it was a well written show. I enjoyed how scripts were evaluated on the show. I have always dreamed of being a writer, even with the frustration of Final Draft software. I know what I want to write. I know what I like to write about. I even know my limitations on what I can and cannot write.  It never really occurred to me that all that shit doesn’t really matter. What really matters is what the audience of movies and television want.

In reality I could write the best movie ever about a cat that can crotchet small hats to be sold on Etsy, but in reality no matter how well that script or novel is written not many are going to pay a dollar to read or see it.

I just want to tell the casts, directors, and writers of  “Entourage” thank you. Thank you for letting me to finally understand the business. If it was not for me sitting on my sofa ordering pizza multiple times with my husband for the past seven days, I might still be trying to sell my handcrafted piece of shit. Now, I am a wishful writer with nothing, but hey at least I am not wasting anyone’s time.

If you want to know more at Entourage please check it out at: http://www.hbo.com/entourage/about/video/entourage-hbo-first-look.html?autoplay=true

Losing My Christmas Sprit

Losing my Christmas Spirit


This year I began my holiday preparations early. I started my holiday layaway in July. Making payments every week even though I had lost my job after returning from summer vacation. I would not let the economy foster or predict Christmas of 2015.

I began to put holiday lights on the house two weeks before Thanksgiving. It was nothing elaborate, but after recovering from a very painful injury, surgery, three weeks of bedrest, crawling up and down the stairs of my home on all fours and scooting on a scooter, while my neighbors continued to park in front of my house I would not let the last Christmas before my son went off to college to be ruined.

Hours of watching holiday movies on the Hallmark Channel, hours upon hours of baking for the troops in my spouse’s Army unit my spirit level was in the high marks. The holiday season was full of bonding with my son and husband as we went to dinners, visited Christmas lights and as they helped me packed the baked goods for the troops.

Sounds perfect, so how did it all just go to shit?

It all began with the best of my intentions for the Senior holiday party my son asked me to make my grandmother’s recipe of rocky road fudge or my own chocolate chip cookies. For some wild crazy reason, I did not do either; instead, I went out to purchase one of those fancy cookie cakes with a colored icing drawing of a Christmas tree and the message of “Merry Christmas Class of 2016.”

Unknowing that this would upset him, as each day passed he got more and more passive aggressive towards me. Then Friday night before Christmas, I pushed my family again to do more holiday events. We piled in the car to see the live Nativity scene. My son was rude, but quiet, my husband was distracted, but we went even with the family dog.

As we drove through the holiday light displays my son and husband began to spout out knowledge of the Angels in the bible. I began to interject, but only to hear from my husband, “I am Catholic. I know about Angels. I am not sure what bible you read.”

I am Methodist. I am the smartest person to attend service and often I don’t, but I do read the bible almost every day. Then my teenage son began to spice things up with his own comments.

Once out of the park, my husband exclaims, “Let’s drive by the movie theater to see the turnout on the Star Wars movie.” Which we did. We drove around the parking lot. Across the street from the movie theater was a home with beautiful lights. I demanded with great energy, “Let’s drive through to look at the lights.” We did. Then out of the conversation, my son and husband begin to exclaim how I have nothing positive to say about the movie theater. I try to defend myself, but under the two I felt very attacked. I wept. Then my weepy tears became small rivers. My perfect holiday was coming to a crash.

The battle continued to the point where my son was telling me how he was disgusted with my political point of views. Over and over I felt battered with each verbal blow. Back at home, I took my dog and retreated to the bedroom to cry myself to sleep.

The next morning we woke up at 7 am to go watch Star Wars. The viewing of this movie was more important to my husband than anything I had ever witnessed in our ten plus years of marriage. After the movie, like every good battle never completed, it pressed on with more verbal attacks on one another.


My son, mad, upset and ashamed of me came to me to resolve the underlying issues that caused all his frustrations towards me. One after another fault of mine that came from his lips hurt but were true. I did not view the world’s problems the same as him. My fears of guns was real from my own experiences as his were not, because he never been in similar situations. My kind acts were not his wishes. My views of the holiday, bible, and religion were not the same. All these were true. Then I said, “Son, I am only a portion of your views. You were born of a man that no longer visits, talks or writes to you, but genetically you have some of his characteristics. Your step father has been nurturing you into a young man for over ten years, of course you are going to value his opinions and such. I don’t want you to be like me, or even like the same things I do. I just want you to be able to tolerate that I am who I am based on my experiences through life. My views are my own, but don’t judge me for them.”


Now, today is Sunday, four days before Christmas. My family has been shaken apart from our holiday spirit by our points of interest, actions, views and history, but I will not let the negativity destroy our holidays. Instead, I will not lose heart. Galatians 6:1-10 talks about in due season we shall reap if we do not lose heart.

For any of you readers who have had Christmas stolen from you by loss of job, surgery or illness, miles apart, politics, financial hardships, deaths, injustices or anything else do not give up on your holiday spirit. There are so many places to fill up your spirit and break down the walls that separate us from our loved ones. My gift to you, is I love you all. I wish you all a Merry Christmas!

What is love?

Love has many meanings. It can the pride a mother has for a child. It the strong physical and emotional bond between baby and mother. It is the beauty in a flower, sunset, mountain tops or dress. Love can also be the euphoria of tingle when a puppy nestles up under your neck.

Love is the desire to want to know more about someone. To stay up and talk all night. To read the books they love, listen to the music they enjoy. Watch the movies they like. It is looking forward to celebrating their birthday with them. It can be wanting that person to succeed so much that you are willing to sacrifice all for them.

Love can be the tenderness of the familiar. The sight of home. The comfort in your favorite chair after a long day. It can be the excitement after receiving a long desired gift.

Love can be touch. It is the bond of a child nursing on a mother. Love can be a hug from a teacher, pastor, friend, father, mother, sibling, or spouse. Love is the tenderness of ones lips touching your own. Love is physical. It is soft. Love is gentle never aggressive.

Love is respect, care, kindness, sadness, curiosity, happiness, tears of loneliness, tears of happiness, touch and desire to want to know all about the one you love.

When you no longer care to understand the other person. You no longer want to touch, kiss, or hug love is missing. Love that hurts is love that is gone. Love can only be taken away by betrayal.

There are many types of betrayal. The most popular sexual cheating, emotional cheating, drugs, alcohol abuse, lying, physical abuse, gambling, shopaholics, sabotage, and deceit. Betrayal can come from your lover, mother, father, uncle, aunt, grandmother, grandfather, teacher, doctor, friend, pastor, enemy, or more.

What if your lover is smart, has a great job, goes to church, comes home every night, and takes care of you, but constantly betrays you? Maybe your love for that person is so strong that you stay with that person no matter how often they betray you, even if they do it every single day.

Betrayal is the only thing that can poison your love for another. When one betrays you so much that your own self-worth is destroyed it is time to find a new love, a love for yourself.

Love for yourself is the greatest love of all. Be kind and gentle to yourself. Learn about yourself. Care for yourself. Celebrate yourself. Most of all, no matter how many people betray you, never betray yourself. You are one of a kind. Your love should be one of kind too.

The dog that bit the shit out of me

It took time to get to where we were.

Molly, our 17 year old senior dog, was depressed. She laid in bed all day, she would wet in bed. She refused to eat and would bite us if we wanted to give her attention. Life was bad for Molly. The breaking point for Molly was one night I step in the kitchen where she stood with pee all around her. I bent over to tell her no with my finger pointing and shaking it at her muzzle.

Molly could take no more. Whatever reason it was, Molly saw that finger as an opportunity. She watched it like it was prime rib flapping before her chops. That was the moment in a instance that senior dog jumped up and latched on to my finger like a tick on fat warm skin. I yelp, “Help!” I wiggled. I shook my arm up and down and that dog went up and down with my finger holding on for dear life. “Fuck’n shit! Help me!” I cried. The first one down the stairs was my Spanish speaking mother-in-law in her see through pajamas without a bra.

“Javi! Fucking help me!” My mother-in-law stood there with her hands over her mouth. I was still standing in dog piss as my dog hung from my finger. My husband finally came running down stairs to see me crying. My face red. The dog and I both wet from the piss splashing every time I lowered my arm to shake her off.

Javi ran to Molly and picked up her body to where it was level with my finger and she released the grip she had. My finger was torn just a little. The problem was part of her tooth broke off into the skin.

“I’m taking you to the hospital.”

“No, I’m fine.”

“What the fuck did you do to that dog?”

“Molly? Now you care more about Molly than me?”

“You had to do something.”

“Yeah, I did. I told her no. She peed on the floor and I’m tired of it. I said bad dog and shook my finger at her.”

“Well, don’t. Let her do what she wants. She’s a dog. She’s old. Leave her alone.”

“No. I’m sick and tired of everyone in this house doing what they want. For once I want her to pee outside.”

The blood from my finger was all over my arm. Tears down my face. “You don’t give a shit about me. Look at this blood. There is something in my fucking finger and you’re yelling at me.”

To be continued……

Son wants to go to camp

 We have all heard, “Ask and you shall receive.”

There are financial hard times all artist can relate to. Those times can be when you have desire to attain a new skill, new aid (camera, paints, computer) to improve your craft and take your talent to the next level, but just can not afford to make it happen. We all know life throws us all curve balls and being able to purchase that class, instruction, camera, computer seems like an unattainable goals. I am writing today, because as a mom and creative person I have born a creative son. He wants so badly to go to a summer camp that is just above my means. I have started a fundraiser to attempt to raise the money needed to send him to that next level. 


You donation of only $1 or $2 can make the dreams of a grown boy come true.



Coming or Going??

The year is over, well almost over. Thank you!

The year was long, full of blessings, bitches, changes and illness and recovery. The entire year, I could not tell if I was coming or going from my goals. Hmm…

Well, 2013 was my year to stop blogging and start working a 40 hour a week job. A job which I learned so many things and grew from, but at the same time made me worry day by day if I was coming up in the world or going from the world of creativity.

The one constant in my life was doubt. I doubted everyday with intense worry. I wanted to know, if I was coming into the woman I wanted to be for my family, or was I going from my dreams.

The truth of the matter is the core to my change resonated with the change of duty station with my military spouse. “Don’t shake your head at me. I can see you.  You are reading this and thinking, another winey military wife.”

The truth is, I might just be all of that, but I am so much more. Let me start again. I moved to Oklahoma to find a great job opportunity. I left behind wonderful friends.  I have met wonderful and awful people though networking. I have found my value. Yes, in the real estate world, I am worth less than $2,000 anything over and my former newly found good friend threw me under the bus for. Yes, we are no longer friends. I could understand being thrown under a bus or sold out for a mere $10,000, but $2,000 she can take a walk.

Now, back to my coming or going theory. I moved, I got a job, lost friends,  made friends,  made enemies,  loved, got sick and yes, I was loved. Deep down inside, I was sad. I don’t mean the sad that I ruined a great pair of jeans or snagged a fantastic sweater. No, I was sad. I missed the fundamentals of blogging daily. I loved the patting sound of my finders across the keyboard of my laptop as I created stories. I enjoyed the characters, the humor, the sadness and reading the comments. What I missed was the community that I had found here in the blogosphere. I created this blog many years ago in hopes to meet an agent or publishers, but believe it or not I have met both. I had a wonderful year full of promises, but when it came to my craft. I fucked it all up. I did nothing. I worked vigilantly in my new job, but let my art sit by my waist side. The shame, the pity, the WTF feelings I carried day to day made it harder and harder to write as each new day came, so I did NOTHING.

What? You want to know about meeting the publisher and agent.  Ok. Ok.

Well, I met with the publisher, Steve from ICE CUBE Press. He was funny, intelligent and asked for my work. I have not heard anything at this time, but it was a great experience. I can only hope for the best.

Yes, I will tell you about the agents too. Yes, that is plural.

I met with one that I really thought would hate me. She was one of those beautiful model looking agents from one of those larger literary agencies in New York. I was nervous. I was sick at my stomach (which later I learned I was literally sick at my stomach). I sat down and she looked at me and said, “Are you going to start your pitch?”

I shook my head no. Then I began, “I don’t know why the fuck I am here. You see, I suck. I wrote something, but it truly sucks and maybe we can talk about something else.” That was when our conversation really took off and she gave me her contact information. You could then assume I ran home and sent out anything to her right away, but no…  I did NOTHING!

As for the other agent, well that will just have to be another blog in 2014.

I could go on about questioning how I wonder if was coming or going towards my life goals but that shit would have you drinking shots in no time. I could also tell you how I am going to jump out of my stupor and whip my own ass and take charge of my future, but that would be a lie. Instead, I am just going to make no promises and try to make sure that in 2014 I just stay true to myself and hope each day I am going towards my future.


Happy New Year’s to you all!

“DPchallenge/ doompocalyptic-resolutions

Here’s the backstory for this week’s challenge: The tin-foil hat, Mayan apocalypse conspiracy people were wrong about the world ending in 2012. Hooray. Time for them to go back to watching grassy knoll footage in slow motion. BUT!

They were only half wrong. There’s a gigantic meteor hurtling toward earth at an alarming rate, and a 97.3% probability that we’re all going the way of the dodos and dinosaurs within three months. So, this year you aren’t going to make resolutions about losing a notch on your belt. You aren’t going to concern yourself about polishing off Remembrance of Things Past once and for all. You don’t even care a jot about emptying your email inbox. In three months, doompocalpyse is going to be upon us. So what are you going to do?

Fuck you 2012! Gone are the old days of weepie tears, fat thoughts, binge eating, self-destruction.  The world is ending in three months! I’m tired of being nice! I’m tired of being sorry for shit I didn’t even do. Quite honestly I don’t even like the puss-puss I’ve become, so watch out World, I have three months to live! My three months start now.

My new beginning starts now. I call my peep in NYC.

“Whaz up?”




“Shirley! It’s me Cheese!”

“Cheese…Why you talking funny?”

“You owe me bitch.”


“Sorry. No, I’m not sorry. No more apologizes. It’s the new me.”

“No good.”

“Ok, you’re not a bitch. I need a ride.”

“You in China Town?”

“I’ll be there tomorrow.”

“Ahh, you come visit and shopping? I find you good purse.”

“Shirley! The world is ending. That crap is crap! Let’s travel.”


“Paris! Where else? My passport is no good. I need you to hook me up with one of those guys.”

“What guys?”

“You know the pimps that brought you over here from China. The ones you had to work off your freedom with hardcore sex.”

“Nooo, I virgin!”

“What about those stories you talked about hiding in small places in the dark cold and listening to people call your name. You said you almost wanted to cry in pain.”

“That was the story of me playing hide-n-seek as a child. I’m American. I’ve never been to China.”

“You can’t be an American. You’re not smart like all those other Asians in school and you talk funny.”

“So, you stupid and talk funny too.”

“You’re Chinese!”

“You’re a dumbass!”

“Ok fine. I’ll be a dumbass,  but can you help me?”

“Yes, stop watching CSI, 24 and all those television shows, oh and try getting off the caffeine. Are you still on your way to NYC?”

“Yep, the bus is still moving. I guess I’m screwed for the last 3 months of my life. I sold all my stuff.”

“No you didn’t. You too lazy.”

“Fine, you’re right. I was in a hurry to leave. Talking about it makes it sound kind of stupid. I just thought with the world falling apart I should run off and live my dream and travel around France.”

“You can stay with me in China Town. It might only be NYC, but I can show you China, Russia, Italy, Poland and the world for that matter without ever leaving the country.”

“Shirley, syeh-syeh.”

It all stopped…

I was in my comfort zone of blogging. I was creating and following other writers, photographers, cartoonist, artist and more. Then I got the call my grandmother, my biggest cheerleader, died.  I was upset with her passing, but I celebrated her life. Things were fine until I returned home after the funeral. My siblings, my father and I got into a huge fight. I was hurt. The problem was the pain of my father’s neglect and my siblings demands reminded me why I ever became a writer, a graduate, a military member and why I left my home and to only return in ten years, when my mother died.

Now, you probably thinking, “Why did you stop writing?” Truth is, I didn’t know how to say what I just wrote. I was writing, but not the words that were heavy on my heart. I wanted to write about my characters, but I did not have the joy to do so. Then, about three weeks ago, I went to bed and had this dream. I dreamed there was a bald naked middle-aged man holding his balls standing in my closet. He had not one piece of hair on his round body; the only thing he wore was the expression of shame. I was terrified at first. I could not sleep through the night. Then, I began to wonder what the meaning was behind the naked man in my dream. Was there a naked shameful man running around my neighborhood standing in closets?  Was this an odd creepy fantasy? Am I going to have a naked man ghost move into my closet? Was this a sign I need a fashion makeover?

The weeks following, I kept thinking about my naked hairless visitor and I began to write technical reports. I wanted to go back to the fundamentals.  As I plugged away writing and researching, I had time to reflect on my previous post. I wondered how I could improve on my creative writing. That’s when I decided to enroll in a script writing class. I am not abandoning my blog or characters; instead, I looking for new doors to open. I am searching for my next chapter in life.  That’s when I began to understand who that mysterious, shameful naked man in my closet is. He is the birth of my new literary balls. I am no longer going to suffer in silence or shame or write with reservation. Now, I am in a new chapter in my life. I am opening new doors and exposing my new literary balls. I hope you continue to enjoy my life’s journey.