Tomorrow Will Be A Better Day

Happy New Year all! What better way to welcome the new year than to get a new book published??? 😉 My new book, "The Captive Maiden," is coming out today and I hope you all can read it! Here is what it is about...Ella Eccles is so unhappy. Shivering cold as she lay in her bed, she is too afraid to simply get up and light the fire because she has recently been scolded for doing things that servants are supposed to do (not princesses). New to the castle rules and norms, Ella is having great trouble adjusting to her never-to-be-foreseen (ever) role as a princess. In this wonderful continuation of the classic Cinderella story, I concoct up a heroine who has gotten exactly what she wants, though not by the supposed intervention of a fairy godmother's magic, but by taking full control of her very own destiny. However, trouble always seems to follow her, since it is still with her, even at the palace. Even though all of Ella's dreams are coming true, Ella is starting to hav...

Hey, I would just like to clarify if your a long time, my blog reader that I still stand highly in favor of goal-setting and being goal-oriented (particularly SMART goals) it is just that I have been busy (I am doing fine, that is just a fact), so here is a cookie-cutter list of my goals for the new year, seeing that it is the new year in a couple of hours (I go to sleep early and there is nothing wrong with that, it's not like it is going to be a different year tomorrow because I do, lol)... 1) Start a daily journaling practice 2) Unplug from your phone more--only use it for calling/communicating with others! 3) Make those doctor appointments (or regular meetings with a counselor, to be specific in my case) (...but not regular enough to be expensive) 4) More time with friends and family--don't be afraid to make it! 5) Drink more water (SERIOUSLY! (I am already flunking on this one, though if you really look at it, it isn't the new year yet)) 6) Choose fresh and heal...

Hello. I'm Willow, not of the human variety, but rather one of those ancient trees who whisper dark secrets to the wind. My life is brought to me in the seasons, my roots firmly anchoring me to the earth while my branches reach neverendlessly for the sky. I have seen the world change from the quiet, peaceful perspcective of my forest home, I have witnessed the fall of supposedly powerful empires, the passing of meek generations, and the continual dance of both life and death. The verst first memory which I have is the gentle touch of the rain, a soft caress as the entire world was reborn following a long, painful winter. As I grew and matured, I felt the sun's comforting warmth after a long and painful winter on my leaves, a presence that initiated my growth. I learned the language of the creatures with whom I shared my quaint space--the busy squirrels, the graceful birds (in both sound and flight), the near-silent rustle of deer hooves on the forest floor among the fallen lea...

The last sliver of sunlight was fading through the dense canopy, leaving the forest in an eerie haunting twilight. Amelia, her heart pounding quickly in her chest, stumbled through the undergrowth, the path she thought she'd been following now swallowed by the thickening shadows. She had been so very focused on the rare bird she'd been trying to photograph, she hadn't noticed how far she'd wandered from the marked trail. Now, she had to admit that she was utterly lost. A brisk wind rustled the leaves, creating an unsettling whisper that seemed to echo her own mounting fear. She tried to remember the park ranger's instructions, the landmarks he'd mentioned, but the trees all looked the same, their gnarled branches twisting into an indistinguishable maze. The thought of spending the night in this wilderness, alone, sent a shiver down her spine. As darkness descended even further upon her, Amelia's eyes strained to see through the dim gloom. Every rustle, eve...

The attic was a labrrinth of lost memories, each dusty box holding a piece of things barely even recalled. Fiona, the one who had recently inherited the ancient Victorian household was cautiosly sifting through a box of her old great-grandmother's belongings where he finger brushed against an old leather pouch. Inside, nestled among faded photograps, laid a tarnished locket, was one train ticket, it's edges long-frayed, the ink faded butt the destination printed clearly on the ticket: "Faronay." "Faronay?" she murmured, turning the ticket over in her hands a few times. She had never before heard of such a place and a quick Google search yielded her no results. It looked like it was a real ticket with an actual train station address and departure date, but the location that would be arrived at was completely unknown. Curiousity gnawed at her without any relent. Could it possibly be a typo? Or perhaps it was a fictional place from a book her great-grandmot...

I remember it. The sensation was not of life, no, buut of the damp earth, pressing roughly against my skin. It was indeed a slow, agonizing awakening, much like a seed pushing its way through the soil, except instead of being greeted by sunlight, I was greeted by the pale, haunting glow of the moon filtering soundly through the graveyard's willow canopy, giving the illusion of peace. I was Emily, the Corpse Bride (yes, the tales are true), and my life, or rather, my death, had been quite the affair not to bother anyone, it had indeed been an overlooked whisper drifting in the forgotten annals of time. Then, one unexpected day, an ungenteel, noisy young lad bequethed the name of Victor stumbled (basically tripped) into my unnoticeable grave. He was rehearsing his wedding vows (the nerve!), his voice reverberating eerily in the frozen stillness, and in his timid fumbling, he dropped the wedding ring onto my finger, thinking that it was only a tree-root (he has to be forgiven for tha...