Majeera Chronicles

When I was ten, my aunt Ruthie gave me a journal for my birthday, and I can still remember it. It was a Bugs Bunny little journal, but to me, it was a story waiting to be written, and I wanted to put the most perfect thing into it. It was then that the Majeera Chronicles was born. Though then, it didn’t really have a title. It wrote and I wrote, and the journal eventually fell apart. Mostly because I would rip pages out when I didn’t like them and over time, it wore on the binding and the whole thing came apart one day.

Okay, I may have pulled it part.

Okay, I did.

From then on, no matter where I was, no matter what I was doing, Majeera Chronicles came to life in my head over and over. No matter what other stories I wrote, no matter what other stories I came up with, there it was. Festering in my head like an infection, growing worse and worse over the years.

Or in this case and ever expanding plot and character base with more depth. Soon, the world has grown from a tiny little kingdom to a vast empire filled with dragons, goblins, giants, merpeople, demons, fairies, elves, and more. Soon it went from one character assuming two rolls two separate characters with similar goals and ideals. It went from a little story to a HUGE ONE. I didn’t actually sit to start writing it till I was 20.

Eight years later, SEVERAL drafts later, I’ve come to what I feel is the final draft. I decided to post it online.

I decided to post it online.

Why?

I’m not really sure, to be honest. I just felt the urge and went with it. Probably not the best idea when it comes to writing a story, but I felt like it was the right thing to do. It may take off, it may not, I may try to self-publish it someday, I may take it off the internet and try to publish it through a publishing company, I don’t know. But I do know that I have to keep writing it, and I want to at least put the story out there. I think it’s time others read it too.

So, if you want to read my story, here’s a link: Majeera Chronicles

I hope you enjoy the journey that it takes you on. Because it’s been an interesting eighteen years with this story in my head.

The Calm and the Quiet

Today is a lazy dazy day. It’s Friday, the end of a school week, the last day of school for a week and a half. Why? Because next week is spring break for us, and my daughter is beside herself. With plans for a sleepover tonight, I am sitting here alone in the quiet with my dogs, the window open, and life is just blissful.

I went back to bed and I slept in till 11am. I took a bath with ebsom salt to ease the tension in my shoulders and neck. Did I say ease? HOLY CRAP that stuff erased it entirely. I’m sitting here, my neck and shoulders tension and sore free for the first time in weeks! Which is amazing, let me tell you.

But I was laying there, and I could exactly remember the last time I treated myself to a soak, a decent soak, took my time washing my hair, and just letting the hot water hit my shoulders and the massaging spray doing its job to work out the last few kinks the soak didn’t quite get.

Don’t get me wrong, I love my husband, I love my daughter. I would do anything for them. But it’s nice to sit and relax. No worrying, no stress, just breathing in and out and just being still. Being thankful that you’re alive. That you have a roof over your head, your bills are paid, and everyone is doing okay.

I don’t often do that. I’m usually freaking out about the fact that we’re running low on gas, that we’re running out of milk, that the electric account is getting low and I need to pay more money on it. It’s so bad that my daughter looks at things she wants and sighs and says, “We can’t afford that.” (Grant it she’s saying to like $50-$100 toys that no, we can’t afford and most times, they break within a week!) I’m always stressing about something.

But today, today I was reminding that we all need to calm down, that we all need to be grateful for what we have, and not fret about the things we don’t. Everything happens for a reason, all things come to an end; the good and the bad, and it will all work out, one way or another. I tell my husband and my daughter this a lot, I guess it’s time I start telling myself that more often.

The Ending is always the hardest part

I’ve learned things about myself as I’ve gotten older. One of the worst habits that I have is that I procrastinate. I also self-sabotage. The closer I get to the end of a project, the longer and longer it takes me to finish it. Sometimes I start other things in order to drag out the process.

Things like this can keep me occupied for days. Sometimes weeks depending on what else I have filling the time. I always have some excuse, some reason to keep putting it off. I’m sick, I’ve got to clean, and I want to finish this drawing, I have to edit this for a friend. The list goes on and on. But the truth is, I have to finish something, or I’ll neve know what I’m capable of.

So, I’m making a goal for myself. I will finish Siren’s Cove. I will write, at least a chapter a day until the chapters I’ve got outlined are finished. Then I will edit, once it’s all edited, I will let others read it. Then submit it into the 2017 FicFest.  I will do this, one way or another. I have to.

Once I’ve finished Siren’s Cove, then there are other things that I want to look into. I’m a little scared to voice them right now. But we’ll see. When I’m finished with Siren’s Cove, I will hopefully have a better grasp on my plans and I will be able to articulate them better.

 

Hobbies

This year has been a nightmare to get through, but I did it.

I felt like I was going to break down and cry several days, and at times, I did.

But now this year is coming to an end, but before that’s done, we have Christmas. I can’t guarantee that I will be able to make it through the day with dry eyes. However, I can promise there will be smiles just as much as tears. I will smile.

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Because it’s not just me. I have my daughter and my husband with me every day, and I will need to smile for them. Christmas is about family. The two of them. I know Isabelle will like Christmas because it’s the start of a bigger project for the two of us. For Christmas this year I’m taking the first step in a many piece project.

The first, I got her stuff for making things. At first, it’s jewelry, and stuff for designing things. Because the next steps involve cleaning up and organizing her room, to painting it, then donating what clothes and toys we don’t keep.

Then I need to decide if I want to put a desk in her room, or put one in the kitchen (after I get rid of a dinner table we never ever use — or if I want to keep the table and just get better organizing stuff) and then, it’s onto the sewing machine, the threads, the fabrics, everything else we need.

Why?

Because my daughter wants to get into doll makeovers.

For example, check out her things, Isabelle loves this stuff.

Dollightful

This is the kind of thing that she wants to do, and I am all for it. To start it, I’ve gotten the process going with beads, and art supplies so she can design and plan things for how she wants this to go.

But I ran into a bit of a snag. win_20161214_17_20_22_pro

One of the things of beads came in this really flimsy bag, and it ripped! on it’s way here!

Ripped! I couldn’t believe it. I had it in this unpersonalized back, and I didn’t care much for that.

So when I emptied this jar today, I had this amazing idea, use the jar!

I had scrubbed off the label, but there was still the label on the lid, and that was a problem. So I got the bright idea, since I had no white paint, to use my white nail polish.

It had mix results.

#1 there was a horrible smell.

#2 It was obvious that I had painted over the label, and I hated it.

But the beads fit! So the jar idea was a great one! I just had to find a way to make it work. That’s when I remembered we have this amazing thing called Duct tape!!!

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So I gave the jar a tape makeover!

I think the duct tape look is better and it holds all of her beads. I can’t wait to wrap it! ❤

My daughter and I are very close. Grant it we’re not Gilmore Girls close, but we’re still close. And I don’t want my daughter’s childhood memories to include that I didn’t support a hobby she was really interested in. If she wants to make over dolls, then I shall endeavor to help her. Because I love her, and I want her to be happy. Plus it gives me an excuse to look up new desks and desk chairs. Course it might be cheaper to buy them locally, but it’s fun to look.

I really hope this doll makeovers takes off for her.

My daughter is her own person. I love that she loves video games, has my imagination, and she has a lot of big dreams. But I want her to have her own thing. Her own hobby, and if doll makeovers is what she wants, then so be it.

Well, I did it.

Well, I did it.

Lunar Cycle Series

I’ve created a page for my story. We’ll see how it goes. I just wanted to get things moving. I feel as if I didn’t start this today, I wasn’t going to get it done ever. So we’ll see.

I will admit, I’m scared. This is a long project, and I hope things will be smooth and great.

I’ve taken a bit of a break from Siren’s Cove, I still have the Spring to get it all ready for FicFest, if I decide to enter it. I hope that I will. But I’ve decided to take a break and just sit and write for fun for a little while.

Things have been so crazy with my life since 2016 began, and my emotions are all crazy right now. I think writing Lunar Cycles is exactly what I need to take a break from it all and just relax my brain. Because I will be writing, editing, drawing, and coloring for this story, so it’s as relaxing as it can be.

So, I’m going to write Lunar Cycles, and come the new year, we’ll see. ^_^

Mel ❤

If I do this, I’m in for a long ride

So I have a story in my head, it’s not one I can publish, cause I will literally be using some of my favorite stories in this series as the story for the that chapter, essentially it will be a type of fanfiction.

Allow me to clarify.

Lunar Cycle is a story about a mother, Mallory (Mal), who loses her daughter then her life after a tragic turn of events in her life. In the afterlife, she stands before the Powers that Be, and they apologize, this wasn’t supposed to happen to her. While they have no idea why it happened, they have no way of checking what happened to lead her to this moment. They only know what her fate should have been. They are not omnipotent.

They offer her special favor, instead of paying for her sins, they will make her a blank slate, and she can go to heaven with her daughter. There, she will be with her daughter, and never have to be reborn or suffer again, but there’s a catch. Being a blank slate means she won’t have her memories. She won’t know who her daughter is, or how much she means to Mal. But they will be together, and that’s what important.

Mal rejects this idea, and offers her own. She wants to be with her daughter, have her memories, and have a life where no evil or bad intent will befall them. At least nothing like what she had lived through. It’s possible, but to do so, she has to prove herself worthy, and serve the powers. If she can prove herself worthy to her cause, she will be their servant, and be their eyes, ears, and at times, their will, in each of the worlds. If she can help them figure out what’s going on with the worlds that’s causing her fate, and others, to be so altered, then she can be reunited with her daughter and have the life she requested.

Mal, agrees.

*  *  *

If I do this, it will be a LONG project.

Will each chapter be necessary? No, not really.

Will I write it anyway, most likely. Because I love to write.

I wonder if I’ll be able to post it on here. I hope I’ll be able to.

Now, as for the fanfics. I have a few chapters where it’s taking, say the plot for Look Who’s Talking. In one story, it’s essentially the sequel for the three movies (though really, three was not necessary — the first two were just perfect enough.), and it’s many years later when the kids are adults and it follows the life of the youngest, the daughter. Though the names will be different. At least the daughters will be.

That’s what I meant by fanfiction. So I won’t be able to publish this series, if I do, I’ll have to do some drastic editing and not all of it will be available to read online anymore. So I highly doubt I’ll publish this anywhere but online where it’s free to read.

If I do write this, it will be over 40 chapters. Each chapter being the length of a novel. At the very least, they will be 30-40K, per chapter. Each “chapter” is a book. Needless to say, this will be quite the undertaking.

Well . . .

Okay, I want to start off by saying, that 2016, had it’s good moments. I mean I went to Maine, got to see and hang out with a bunch of people I hadn’t in like 9-13 years. But, this year has also been the hardest, and suckiest years ever! This includes the year where my husband was unemployed. And for those of you who knew me back then, know, it wasn’t all that star light twinkle eyed of a time.

At least then, we had great people who understood our plight, who were there to help us, and gave us a place to stay till we got on our feet again.

This year, I will admit this, (and I can hear feminazi’s screaming already) : I would not have gotten through it, had not been for my husband, and our child.

Literally, the very beginning of the year, I lost my sister. Many of you will remember this. Because it’s kind of hard to forget. It’s one of those black stains that you can’t remove, so you just kind of build up around it, and keep moving on, but it’s always there, and you can’t forget it. It’s been like that for me.

Grief isn’t something anyone or anything can prepare you for, or how you will react to it. Some days, I’m fine. I’m moving right along, singing that Muppet song in my head, with a smile on my face, and I’m just fine. Then, there are days when I’m down. Where I don’t know if I can do what I planned to do. My heads so full of memories, and other things that are “More important” (ie, hanging out with my daughter, getting in touch with someone I hadn’t talked to in forever and thanking them for what they did for me, and how much they meant to me.). So needless to say, my writing has taken a nose dive.

People don’t really talk about what grief will do to you. I was raised in a way that made it apparent “we don’t talk about that.” Or “Shhhh, no one wants to hear that!” “No one wants to be reminded” So we all buried it inside and pretended it never existed. My mother, looking back now I realize, suffered from a lot of insecurities, and they impacted my development, and my sisters as well. I don’t blame her, hell, given the way she grew up, it’s amazing she’s as well as she is.

But no one even remotely said how grief would impact my mental state. Though it’s talked about all over. Grief causing depression, grief doing things to your emotional state, grief doing this to you, doing that to you. It’s in several several articles, medical journals, and talked about a lot on forums. Seriously, google it if you are concerned about it. Each person processes differently, and the one thing that they say, and the one thing people seem to forget in day to day life, is it doesn’t just go away. You can be sitting there, six to eight months after the death of a loved one, and be slammed by this blue state that you just can’t get yourself out of till it passes. It’s when it doesn’t pass that you have to worry.

I’m a writer, and I work on a project while I have a groove for it, while I have it there in my head. But if something happens to mess up my train of thought, it comes crashing down and I have no idea when I will get it back.

Several years ago, while I was working on Majeera Chronicles, back then it was Dark Fantasy (I changed the title because apparently Dark Fantasy was a genre!), I got into a huge falling out with my sister, and for the better part of a year, I couldn’t go near Majeera Chronicles. It wasn’t that I was reminded of the incident, it was that I couldn’t sit and focus on it. Maybe subconsciously, I did remember, and that was a problem I had to deal with. When things simmered down and I got back into a semi stable relationship with her, I was able to go back to it. Only to put it down when I realized, I’d been throwing myself at it for over ten years and I still STILL hadn’t been able to get it the way I wanted it. So I had to take a step back and think about how I wanted it to go. That was roughly a year ago, and I have since started to work on another project that I want to see to completion first.

Siren’s Cove came into creation in the Spring of 2016, my goal is to have this draft finished by the end of 2016 beginning of 2017. In truth, I wanted it finished before Halloween, but, in September, when most of my work was supposed to be done. I just lost it. I realized soon it would be a year since my sister had passed, the groove fell away. Like it usually does when I think about other things.

Does this mean that Siren’s Cove is going to take a back burner till 2017, I most certainly hope not. I don’t want to let this sit too long and have it be a story that I just can’t get back to. Like my Divines series. I started writing it online. Because it was the first really dark story I’d ever written (okay not true, but in my head, it was) and I’d shared it with Kristy, and what all I wanted to do with the series, and she applauded me, and wanted to read the finish product, but never did. I never finished it. In January, I started to write it on Royal Road as a way to distract myself from the grief and finish something for her that I’d been so far unable to do. When it was finished, I went to keep working on book 2, and PLOP! It left me. I realized the only reason I even finished book one was because of her, and I just had to stop. That wasn’t where I wanted to go right now.

Siren’s Cove came into creation during the two weeks that my wrists were utterly aching at every move. Even the barest minimum of a move. Turns out, I had tendinitis. Which the doctor said, just regular over the counter pain relief, and at least a week with braces on, possibly two. Be sure to wear them while sleeping. So I did. Sure enough, it cleared up, and Voila! I was able to write again.

Siren’s Cove is about four girls, who are as close as sisters, who make a wish to be more than they were. The next morning they wake up as different things. Something more. There is vampires, werewolves, mermaids, and stars (if you’re confused as to how a star, a in the space, the outer space, kind of star, can be a character in a book series, then look up a Wrinkle in Time. Seriously do that anyway, that story’s amazing!). There would be four books total in the main series, with two little novella’s in between books three and four. However, I wanted to write the first one in a way, that if the other three were never published, that it could be taken as a stand alone and I could later write the other three and the novella’s and maybe post them online or something.

I am currently editing the book, and so far, I love the way it’s going. I still have to write out a few chapters, but most of it is finished. I just have to finish editing the book, then I put it all into the computer. Let it sit for a few days before reading through all of it. Checking on my spelling, grammar, the way it sounds, the way it flows, and then, hopefully. Be ready for FicFest coming in the spring of 2017. That’s how I want to start the year as a writer. Is to put my story in a writing contest. I’m ready.

I think, what stopped me from working on Siren’s Cove, wasn’t just grief, it was because I’d been working so much it was time to stop and take a deep breath. Sit back and decide for myself where I wanted to go as a writer. Did I want to try the publishing world? And if I did, did I want to the self publishing, or try to get an agent and go that route?

But is that really what I wanted? Am I just doing this to distract myself? Or is this something I’m actually ready for? Am I happy with the way I have things planned?

Well . . .

I eventually realized that I wouldn’t know unless I tried, and to try, I had to finish what I started. To do that, I had to get my head back into writing. So, till I got my focus where it belonged, I colored in a few pictures, (like 5, yeah) in my ocean adult coloring book. (Seriously, adult coloring book? I would still color in a Little Mermaid Coloring book if I could fine them! An Ocean “adult” coloring book, and no tentacle porn? Or exotic looking mermaids, all beautiful and alluring in one image, then drowning and devouring poor sailors in the next image? — Yeah, I would own a coloring book like that! And I would have no hesitation whatsoever as I colored it in) Once my OCD side was finished with that, I tried to get back into writing.

But somethings kept nagging at the back of my head.

  1. I wanted to be healthier, so I spoke to my doctor got that started. Went on a diet, and started to exercise more.
  2. My hair. Good Lord what a mess that was!

Many of you know in early 2016, I dyed my hair outrageously.

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The first had been a purple and blue, which slowly faded to an awkward gray and green color. In an attempts to cover that up, I went red.

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Downside was, I still had green hair under all of that red. I mean, I would pull my hair back and all you saw was this awful green. I could have been a clown for Halloween if I had been so inclined.

So, I was finally able to get hair dye, and I went black. Yup, Black. Cherry Black, to be exact!

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I got black lipstick for Halloween, and okay let’s face, everyday uses too. Because yes, I’m a goth at heart. I love back, I love the darker side of the things, the misunderstood, the evil can do evil under the belief they’re doing it to save the ones they care about. Yes, that’s all me.

Once I did that, I realized, yes, I was getting happier. I was more comfortable in my own skin now, at 27, than I had been, ever. I let my hair down, I let my soul show, and you know what, people still accepted me. Despite being told as a child through my teenage years that the way I saw things, the way I liked things, was wrong, just plain wrong, unacceptable, and people wouldn’t like me if they saw all of that. My friends, my true friends, always knew who I was. They weren’t put off by me, if anything, they were proud of me. Even my mother likes me better like this. And that’s saying something from a woman who once cringed at the sight of the my black nail polish.

My self, being myself brought all of my mental problems into focus. Yes, I was grieving, yes I was suffering from a horrendous case of writers block, but yes, there was a light at the end of the tunnel, that started with me taking the first step. By accepting myself, the side I only let those closest to me see, I was able to let go of the grief. It’s not that I’ve stopped grieving, but I wasn’t gripping it the way I had been. I was clinging to it for dear life begging for a chance to talk to my sister again so she would know how much I love her. Yes, I still cry. Yes, I still miss her terribly and wish more than anything I could go back and try to save her.

But I came to realize if I did, those people that Kristy’s organs managed to save, wouldn’t have found life again. Maybe they would have, maybe they wouldn’t have. That’s not for me to say. So, I made peace with the loss of my sister.

I still walk with grief, but, it’s not a weight now. I have it on my shoulder like a soot sprite from one of Studio Ghibli’s movies, and I still feel it, but it’s not a constant pain. I walk with my sisters memory in my heart, and as I walk forward, I’m holding hands with the love of my life, and the most precious thing in the world to me, my little girl.

If it had not been for my husbands constant love and support, I don’t know what I would have done. He kept me smiling, he supported me through the struggle. He didn’t question my sudden choice to stop writing for a bit. He merely smiled and shrugged and said “Whatever you want honey. It’s your choice.” He understood when I cried during a song for no apparent reason. He told me when I was starting to fall apart and lose myself, and helped guide me back to a place where I was calmer. When I started to unlock the chains that I had placed on myself as a teenager to keep what I had come to think of as my “Mistress Black” persona, he merely grinned.

Now, I’m free. I’m able to breath again. In order to get through the grief of losing my sister, I first had to accept that wasn’t the only thing that I was messed up about. There was a lot of things. The fact that I kept myself under lock and key, the loss of my aunt who I felt was the only one who understood me, the loss of my grandmother, the one I turned to when I needed help and guidance, the loss of my sister, who I felt was the most like me.

I knew I had made the right choice when I had a dream. (I know, cliche, but bear with me here). I’ve always believed that dreams are windows into something else. Maybe our subconscious, maybe to some other place. Some alternate dimension.

In the dreams, I was with Kristy.

The ones I had before, she was always there as I cried. She was always smiling, merely hugged me or ran her fingers through my hair and said “You have to let go.” I always thought she meant, let go of her. Which wasn’t something I was capable of doing. I wanted to go hold her, drag her back to reality with me. She couldn’t leave me, leave our mother, our sisters. But she would merely say that wasn’t possible, and I knew it. She would smile and remind me before I was woke up, “Let go.”

In this new dream, she was grinning. “You did it. You’re free.” I realized then what she’d been trying to tell me. Let go, of not only the grief, of myself. Be free. Be myself. Only by letting go, would I be able to handle the grief in a better place, and be able to move on with life the way I should. I smiled, hugged her, and said I looked forward to our next meeting in my dreams to come.

That was the closure I needed. What I didn’t get the hospital, what I didn’t get in all of the months to come. All of the “She’s in a better place.” “Things happen for a reason.” “God must have a plan.” “She’s an angel, and she’s guiding people now.” Didn’t help. Didn’t help me. I hated hearing it all, even from myself. I knew they were all true to some extent, but it’s not what I wanted to hear, not the closure I needed. Even though I didn’t understand exactly what kind of closure I needed.

Yeah, my sister is an angel, and I know it, because she helped me.

After the dream, I got up, and started to write. But Siren’s Cove just wasn’t coming out right. Not at all.

So I broke out a journal I had briefly jotted down an idea for a story to write on Royal Road that I wanted to work on someday. Most likely after I had finished editing Siren’s Cove. It was to be my next project.

win_20161026_07_22_18_pro The Journal.

When I started, I had about fourteen pages filled from the first time I wrote it.

win_20161026_07_22_31_pro Fourteen pages, front and back.

Fourteen pages, then I put it aside and started to work on Siren’s Cove’s second draft. When I picked it back up two weeks ago, I went from that fourteen, to one hundred and nineteen.

win_20161026_07_22_48_pro One Hundred and nineteen pages.

win_20161026_07_23_00_pro I have exactly twenty-four pages left in the journal. Twenty-Four!!!

I started writing to get the idea for all of it out, what happened, was literally, exactly that. I was even able to get the first book started. Which is always the hardest part for me, getting started. I’ve gotten down; how it starts, what happens in the series, down to the last little minute detail, and how it ends.

All in all, when I write this, it will roughly 44 chapters on Royal Road.

win_20161026_07_23_40_pro 44 chapters, 44! Each them, not exactly a chapter in a book. No, oh no. Each chapter, is a book. Each book, is going to end up being a minimum of 60K. I have no idea exactly how long they will be until I start writing it, but that’s just a rough estimate given the amount of detail I’ve already configured, and several outlines I already had written. Did I mention that some of the books are actually stories that I already had outlined a bit? Waking Moon already has over 13K, and I’ve just barely gotten started with it.

Oh yeah, the series is going to be called Lunar Cycles. The first book is called Waking Moon.

haha, get it? See what I did there? Oh fine, don’t be amused by my terrible humor.

What’s Lunar Cycles about you may ask? How could you go from talking about your grief, opening up and accepting all that you are, to a story!? well,  . . . that’s a good question.

Stories are who I am. I’ve always written them. Always.

Maybe not on paper, but always had something going in my head. As a child, it was hard to tell which was reality and which was the story that I was creating. I would get so pissed off when people didn’t follow the dialogue I already had planned for them. Sometimes they did, and I was blissful, other times I got pissed and their ad-lips just made me fumble and lose my focus.

Lunar Cycles, is a story that I’ve thought about for years. Even before the Majeera Chronicles. Not many people know that fact. Matter of fact, I can only think of one, and that’s my husband.

Lunar Cycles, I guess you can say, has been in creation since I was about five. (Since I’m 27, that’s 22 years.) When I first started telling stories and creating them in my head. But I didn’t have a context for them, or how the story should go. Now, I do.

Lunar Cycles is about a woman named Mallory, she goes by Mal.

Mal, had a good life, was a good wife, a great mother to a daughter to who had been born with a heart condition, and while there were struggles, they still came out with a smile. When their mortal lives end tragically, the Powers that Be greet her with remorse. It wasn’t supposed to end like that. Something was amiss with time, space, and the very worlds they’d created, but they didn’t know what. They were not omnipotent, like most mortals think divine beings to be.

For their mistake, Mal is offered a favor. Only one. They thought, she would have her soul cleansed, which meant her mortal memories would be removed from both her and her daughter and they would be together in heaven. Eternal rest and peace. But Mal had other thoughts. She wants to keep her memories, and she wants a new life with her daughter. One where they will not suffer at the hands of their loved ones.

The Powers agree to grant her request, after she helps them figure out what’s wrong. But to do that, Mal has to be trained, gain power, and be reborn several several times to hunt down and eradicate each problem. For her soul, it would be many many centuries till she was with her daughter again. Mal merely grins, what was a thousand years compared to a blissful easy life with her daughter, where they knew each other.

Mal was put to the test, and she is reincarnated several times, with a star to guide her. Her soul is not the only one being put to the test.

Her first love, her husband, Garret, who broke her heart, is also being tested. Having been discovered not to have willingly betrayed his wife. Something made him. A special bond is formed between two souls who find love in each other when they are first created, and it’s not a bond so easily broken.

Char, the one who wanted Mal to himself despite being almost a decade her junior, is her perfect soul match. Like two pieces of a puzzle that just fit perfectly together. A bond not so easily ignored, and he’s determined to make her see that.

But there’s another. A shadow who crawled out of the bowels of hell, broke free of his shackles, and followed her through her many lives to be with her. He’s willing to do anything it takes to help her, and to make her his. Even if it means ripping her away from the happiness she thinks she has gained.

Yeah, that’s the series. Rather long winded, but I’m working on it.

Well, this is a rather long post and I think I’m done.

Later everyone! I have work to do!

Mel ❤

Imaginations Do Pass On

By now, everyone knows that I have a little girl. Isabelle. She’s a happy go lucky little girl with my blue eyes, my nose, and dirty blonde hair that everyone wonders, where did she get that!? Well, blondes run on both sides of the family, or at least I know they do on mine, and I was told my husband was blonde as a boy. I was blonde as a toddler, so it makes sense genetics wise. Probably by the time she’s a teenager her hair will be more brown.
Anyway, looking at my daughter, all I see is my husbands family. I can look at her, and at times, all I see in her face, and in her tone of voice is my sister in law. There are days, I’m left wondering, what of me did she get? Then I have mornings like this morning, and I remember what she got from me, because I’m witnessing it with my own eyes.
When I was little, my imagination was so wild, so out of control, there were days when I had a hard time focusing on reality. There were days when reality was nonexistent to me. Sometimes I was with Ariel beneath the sea. Sometimes I was Belle, trapped in the castle by choice. Other times, I was creating a world in my head from scratch. A world just for me. Where I was loved for who I was, where I had friends who actually wanted to be my friends, a person who adored me, and a little one that followed me around. At the time, the person who adored me, was basically just a very good friend or an innocent childhood sweetheart, and the little one who followed me around with a baby sister. Of which, I had three at the time. Sometimes, the little one was Kristy in my mind, others, it was my newest baby sister Julie. Amanda and I were at odds so often when I was little, if she was there, she was this fierce iron willed warrior that irritated me as much there as she did in reality.
As I grew up, I realized that my world had faded to the back of my mind, the more and more I focused on reality. I had to force it some days, but I rarely visited that world. As an adult, it’s like that world has been made a reality. I have people who love me for me, most of them already did, and I just didn’t realize. I have friends who actually want to be my friends. I have a husband who adores me, and that little one, is now my daughter. I woke up day and realized, my greatest wish, actually came true without my realizing it.
What’s the point of that story? And what does it have to do with what my daughter got from me? Well, there’s a point, and I’m getting to it.
So down at the bus stop this morning, my little girl was playing. In the game, she was beating up Inuyasha, for Fairy Tail. He, and his friends, were in the Grand Magic Games, and Isabelle was on Natsu’s team (as she was learning fire magic from him and Romeo).
In the games, she threw Shippo at me so he could snuggle on my chest, and I said “Maximum Defense Engage!” Isabelle incorporated this and he bounced off my shield and landed on the ground.
Isabelle was ruthlessly beating up Inuyasha. She kicked him in the groin, and totally pummeled him when he was down. Because of her actions, Fairy Tail won the match, and thus, won the Grand Magic Games.
Everyone was so proud of her, and Natsu was ecstatic. She brought me back to the Guild Hall where I was able to sit and just relax while they all celebrated and Natsu, Lucy, and Happy, snuck her out so they could go on a job together.
As she got onto the bus to go to school, Shippo was still crying because he couldn’t cuddle into my Goddess bosom. She laughed when I retorted with, “Tough titties.”
All in all, the morning was very energetic. She woke up with the words, “I don’t feel so good.”
I took her temp, no fever. We all know what that means, so I got her ready for school. By the time we were down at the bus stop, she was this ball of never ending energy, dancing and prancing around. All I was able to do was shake my head in disbelief, laugh at her imagination which mirrors mine so much, and add my vocals to her game when necessary.
It’s on mornings like this that I see myself in her. What did she get from me? Well isn’t it obvious? She got my imagination. It does pass on, I’m a firm believer of that. I don’t remember if my imagination was ever really encouraged. I get the feeling from my memories that it was more tolerated than it was encouraged. Perhaps when I was young it was cute, but given my life, I can see how it was a bit of a bother as I got older. Especially when some people were “no nonsense” kind of people.
I don’t think they ever said to not be imaginative, I think they wanted me to tone it down  at times, and maybe “not act like that” in public, but I can’t really recall if there was ever a time when it was verbally put down.
Which is a good thing, imagination should never be put down. There are times when Isabelle is so keyed up, I have to tell her to calm down a bit. She’s being too loud. If she’s in the yard, playing loudly, that’s fine. So long as she’s not shouting too much or screaming, then I’m okay with it. In Maine, I could see on my families faces, that they saw me in her. That was all they saw. A younger me, jumping around, happy, and picky. A little copy of me. In my grandparents case, I know they saw the me that they believe I should have been all along. Because life happens, bad things occur, and people, especially children, change as a result. But, not the time and place for that story.
Isabelle definitely has my imagination. It’s in moments like this morning that I see myself in her. I see that world I built in my head, in her own mind, in her thoughts, she thinks of it as her home. It’s her world now, and she’s merely adding to it.  Because I built this safe place in my mind, my daughter now feels safe, and secure in her imagination. She plays with confidence no one can really break. Others words may hurt, but I’ve noticed, the same person never bothers her twice. In fact, a couple of people who once made fun of her, are now her friends.
She has confidence,  happiness, laughter, and love, and that’s as infectious as hatred, anger, pain, and sorrow. She’s a source of light, and I can see how others are drawn to it. Sometimes, she’s overbearing, and they need a break, she doesn’t understand why, but I do. A light, that’s what she is. And there’s only so long a person can stand in direct light without needing some shade to off set it. It’s nice to be all keyed up, but it’s nice to mellow out too.
Someone once told me, I was overwhelming. I didn’t understand what he meant then, but I do now. Seeing my daughter, seeing how she was just like me, I understand what he meant.
I got my imagination from my father, and my daughter got it from me. ❤

So I write

this year, 2016, has been a hard year. Good things have happened don’t get me wrong. Very good things.

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I went to Maine and I got to visit with family and friends that I hadn’t been able to see in years! It was great to see them again, it was great to visit them and the places I grew up. I needed to go back, to find out, that I didn’t have to go back for my life to complete. I am happy here at home with my daughter, my love, and my dogs. Now if I could visit more, and spend more time near the ocean, that would be a dream. But I don’t need it. I have all I need here.

I’ve been writing stories my whole life. Maybe not always on paper, but always in my mind, there were stories. A part of me always knew what I was going to do with my life, and it was just waiting for me to realize it. When I was 19-20, I jumped the gun, I didn’t do enough research, and when a company offered, I went with it. Too excited to really look at what was really happening. Come to find out, they weren’t what I thought they were. I was stuck in the contract for eight years. Now, I’m finally free of it, and I’m able to move forward into the publishing world. Smarter from having learned from my mistakes, and a better writer for having studied and kept working despite the one failed attempt.

You live, you learn, you move on, and you never give up. Ever. If my daughter takes anything away from my attempts at getting published, I hope she learns that.

This is year has been great as far as realizations, closed chapters, and new beginnings go.

However, this year has also been filled with loss.

In December of 2015, I got the call that I lost my grandma. I knew when my dad left the message. I wasn’t sure how I knew, maybe it was his tone, maybe it was she was sick just before the call. I couldn’t tell you, but I knew. To my surprise, she had already made the gift cards that she always sent me on Christmas, and our birthdays. That Christmas was special, because I knew it was the technically the last one I had with her. It broke my heart that I lost a great woman in my life, and one that my daughter would never get to meet.

Boat Trip 7-30-06 00047

In the beginning of 2016, I lost my sister. That loss still cuts like a knife into the heart every single day. At least with the loss of my grandmother, I can reason that she lived a full life, that she was happy with the life she lived, that she proud of me and loved me so much, and thought the world of my daughter. She was at peace with her fate. With my sister, I don’t have that reason, I don’t have that logical. There are questions of why, and none of them will ever be answered. I could ask them every day, all day, for the rest of my life, and even if I got some kind of answer for them, I doubt it would make me feel better.

 

these are the best two pictures I have of my sister Kristy and my daughter.

This month, I lost a grandfather. A man who was always smiling when I saw him, a man who always had us laughing, battled cancer for as long as he could. Eventually, it claimed him. I’m sure I have seen that man angry, and I’m sure I was the source of it a couple times, such is life. But when I think back on him now, I can’t remember those times. I can’t remember his angry face. All I remember is him smiling. All I remember is his utter delight when he gave baby Isabelle a sour barrel pickle, and instead of making a sour puss face like every other baby, she threw git wanting more of the pickle. So he shared with her, and the drunk look on that babies face when she was full of the pickle was priceless.

This my most picture clear memory at the moment. There are other memories, but this one is the clearest.

So many good people lost, and we’re left to try and pick up the pieces as best we can. Some pray, others hold their head high and think positively, some try to move on with life and do their best to just live with the grief that comes with day to day life. What do I do?

I write. I create stories. Some of them, will never see the light the day. They will remain my head, or hidden away in some file on my computer forever. Others, I will move forward with, mold it, and shape it until it’s the best story that it can be and try to share it with others. But it’s all I know how to do. It’s all I can do. I can’t paint, I’m not that best at drawing, so I can’t create a mural that would bring them to life in away that will bring us some peace of mind. So I write. I write stories about sisters, I write stories where the grandparents are the parents and they are treasured. I write stories about loss, about life, about reuniting in a way that was thought to be impossible. I just write. I write to make myself feel better, I write to get the stories out of my head, I write because it helps me.

If I seem happy to you, if I seem lively, it’s been a good day of writing. If I seem melancholy, testy, it’s probably not been a good day of writing. If I’m crying, I was unable to write, and I was left with my thoughts. If I seem broken, I was writing, doing great, then I remembered something precious, and I broke down.

Loss is different for everyone, we each deal with it in our own way. We can’t expect our way to work for others. If it does, then great, if not, then that’s good too. People need to find their own way of coping. Healthy way of coping. But do not think badly of the people who lose themselves when they lose a child, a parent, a sister, a brother, or a friend. Do not think they are weaker than you, do not think they couldn’t handle the real world if one little loss broke them. Truth is, it’s those people who have been dealing with loss and the “reality” you speak of, for far too long. It’s those people who have watched loved ones leave, fall, and never get back up, more often than you’ve tied your shoes. Do not judge a person when they reach the point where the grief becomes too much for them.

I broke down crying in Walmart on my birthday. I opened my wallet, where I keep a picture of my sister, and I saw it as I was paying for a bottle of water and I broke down crying. It hit me hard. Here I was, 27, my birthday, and my sister wasn’t there. I wouldn’t get a call from her, I wouldn’t see that post on facebook, I wouldn’t get a birthday card from her. I wouldn’t have my mom telling me she says happy birthday. I knew that in three days, my daughter would turn eight, and again, there would be nothing, my sister wouldn’t be there either. And I broke.

At the time, my grandpa was sick, and wasn’t doing well. I was told to prepare myself for his loss. Again, I could reason like I did with my grandmother, but with the loss of my sister, all of it, added together, I broke. I break. Not often, because I have amazing friends and family who love seeing me smile. But I do break.

So I write. I write them into stories so a part of them, the parts that I remember clearly, live on in some way. Even if it’s only on paper, hidden in words of a bigger story, where very few will catch the meaning. They live there, with parts of me. Happily. No pain. No suffering. Where no evil, or “reality” can touch them. They are my treasures, they are my peace. Words. Where I can keep them.

So I write.