You know the difference between creating content and inspired writing. Creating content is a process while inspiration is an explosion of passion.
Source: How to Capture Inspired Writing
The #WomensMarch
An idea started by just a handful of women after the election of Donald Trump turned into something far greater than anyone could have imagined.
Citizens across the country marched yesterday in defiance of Donald Trump. It was an unprecedented moment in American history. One I’m glad I was here to see. There’s never been this level of opposition to an incoming President in history.
One of my favorite moments of the day came when Senator Kamala Harris made it very clear that women’s issues are the same issues we discuss and debate all the time. The most incredible thing I saw yesterday was in LA. Organizers there expected 80k people to take part in their march. 750k people showed up!
Some try to deligitimize the concerns of women, but yesterday showed me what can happen when people don’t just talk about coming together but actually do it. I’m immensely…
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It’s raining..
My feet can’t touch the floor
It’s cold and damp
My body wants to stay asleep
I’d rather have a day of snow than a day of rain
I feel alone when it rains
Yet I love thunder and lightening?
But not cold, damp, gloomy rain
I feel depressed
Not wanting to go or do anything
The dogs need walking
Oh please not in this!
I’m bitchy, I’m moody, I make excuses
I stay in my PJ’s all day long
Sit on the couch, wasting away
Watching TV
No, I don’t like rain
It’s not refreshing or warm
In the cold, damp, winter days
Take it away!
Push the clouds away
Let the sun brighten my day
No, I don’t like rain…
I ache, is it from gloom, depression, or being alone
Let me stay in bed
And wake up tomorrow
No…I don’t like rain…
Three Things To Do Before You Write A Book | BookBaby Blog
Dear Mom & Dad
This has always been hard to write, but I truly believe you need to know how I feel.
Oct 1976 I come home from school to tell you about my big swim meet. Do you know what it like to never see my parents at my swim meets, because you’re away and mom can’t handle life? Did you ever think about how yours and moms actions effected me & the girls? No I don’t think you did.
I didn’t find out that my father, the preacher of the 1970’s & ’80’s, and my perfect mom, were getting separated, because my parents the typical ‘stiff upper lip’ Brits couldn’t tell their daughters. Life was not what it was supposed to be.
You wanted us to follow you around England, Scotland & Ireland, because that was our job, being your family. Three daughters who dressed the same, mom who helped other women more than her own girls, because that was her job, being a ministers wife.
I loved telling everyone I moved 24 times before I was 14, I was the talk of grade school, junior high, and HS, but I never thought this devastation would hit us?
Sure, I heard everyone tell me, “Why are you your Dads favorite?” I had no idea, until I overheard our good friends lecture you and tell you, “It’s not good that you can go around and tell everyone, ‘Donna is my favorite’, how does that make your other kids feel? Left out?” Your answer was, “She’s like me, strong, she has a voice, I love her go get it attitude..I love all my girls, but Donna is my favorite” Daddy, out of 5 children I don’t and will not have a favorite, you expected too much out of me, that hurt!
Then after traveling to every state and providence in Canada, YOU made the decision to move us all to the U.S.A. Did you ask us? Did you ask us as a family? I don’t remember, because you chose to take over a church where the Pastor died…but did you ask how we felt? No…you didn’t.
You didn’t even ask if we would mind taking the ‘S.S. France’ on June 20, 1968. I was sick even before leaving the port because I was so excited! Did you get a sitter so you could have taken Mom out in one of the fanciest dining adventures, but no, you left her with me, while venturing out.
God must have not been too happy, considering we hit a hurricane for the next 3 days! When Mom got sick, my sisters & me, again, you got sick out of the portal. Who cleaned it Mom!
Why mom did you always have to act like a 1950’s mom?!
Why was everything done in secret?
Dad why did you have affairs? Mom why did you allow him to?
There’s something called, ENOUGH IS ENOUGH! You hurt each other thinking we didn’t know the truth! We knew, well I did, my sisters pretended, like Mom, Dad would grow out of it, but he didn’t.
I could say I became rebellious at 16, drink and other drugs, but then I’d blame my self destructive behavior on ‘parents’; I think their are enough kids who do that, making parents the villain.
We are responsible for our own actions, not my sisters or my parents. I blamed my behavior for years on you two. It’s time to say goodbye to those wrong attitudes. How do I raise 5 children who grew up into 5 responsible adults and use me as an excuse? What they did wrong was they’re fault, not mine. It’s called ‘tough love!
I love my kids! They made big and stupid errors, but not my problems!
So, Mom, Dad, it’s time to grow up…it’s never too late. I love you both, you have a family, it’s time to start talking to us and your ex wife and ex husband. God will bless you, and us when we realize, not every time I say hi I shouldn’t get”Well…it’s been a hard last few months…sigh”
How about..it…I love you and forgive you, always…
August 1976…Let Me Down
I remember, as a preachers kid, we were not allowed to have thoughts of loosing ones virginity before marriage.
Yet my thoughts haunted me, “If he loves me, like the movie ‘Love Story’ he’ll stay because I’ll agree.”
I remember the kissing, “You know I love you?”
I remember the begging, “If you really loved me, you wouldn’t make me beg?”
I remember the yelling, “Everyone ‘makes out’ except you! You’re such a prude!”
He kept ignoring me, “Sorry, he just left this very second.” I had to give him my answer. Crying myself to sleep was common during the summer of ’76.
I thought I was expected to wait until I was older? I thought ‘love’ was much more than sex? Why wasn’t I following my heart? Does a 16 year old have experience?
I didn’t have any desire to loose my first ‘love’, but I did not know the first thing about true ‘love’.
I was totally ignorant, a broken heart was in the making and that was scaring me.
I remember the night.
On August 15, 1976 we were driving home in his ’72 ‘Goat’ GTO muscle car of the 1970’s, or so he thought. With eyes downcast, I said, “I’m ready.”
He kissed me, said he loved me, and would forever!
My folks were at home, and they trusted me inexplicably, I wish they hadn’t.
We put our fake smiles on, especially him. They had company over and I said, “Mom, Dad, we’re heading toward my room and watch TV, okay?”
They could have said, “It’s okay, but keep the door open.” They didn’t, instead, “We may be loud, you may feel like closing your door sweetheart.” Thanks Dad
I remember saying, “Quietly latch the door, but pretend you’re coughing.” He did, he was about to loose his virginity too!
I remember saying, “What now? I’m really scared?”
He said, “Get undressed!”
I said, “I’m crawling under the covers, I’m really scared!”
He said, “It’s 95 degrees out! I want to see you!”
I said, “Please, let’s just start, what would happen if they knock at the door, or something?!”
He said, “Okay, get under the covers, but I want the light on.”
I said, “Only my lava lamp, enough, start.”
I remember thinking a guy could cum eyeing a girl, I was so naïve. I didn’t know what foreplay meant, and there was none of that.
I remember he burst out kissing me and all my thoughts were, “How long does this take?”
The ‘rubber’ was on, and before you could say ‘Jack Robinson’, it finished. I began to tear in pain.
Spotty blood leaked out, and he concluded.
We were all sweaty from the heat, we just clumped all up. My first thought was, “I lost my virginity for this? Where were the fireworks? The sexual pleasure you see on Tv? All I saw was blood, and I ached with shame?”
I remember he said goodnight in my driveway, but not with the intensity when I agreed he could ‘deflower’ me earlier.
I remember feeling like I had ridden a horse for 24 hours the next day.
I could never keep a secret. My sisters asked me why was I walking strange, I told them. I may have had one foot in the grave as far as they were concerned.
Then the unthinkable befell upon a naïve 16 year old on September 7, 1976
I was dumped the day school started.
“It’s not you, it’s just I’m a Senior in HS now.” He spoke it out loud and smooth, like a greaseball, “I have an urge to date other girls, you’re too clingy.”
I remember being inconsolable, the tears were so deep, I sobbed as if I lost a child, but I had! I lost the child inside of me!
“You told me you loved me and that’s why we were ‘making love’?!” I spluttered out in between my sobs.
Then I remember, the very last thing he said to me.
“We didn’t ‘make love’ we fucked, at least I can get blow jobs from other girls, you don’t know how, sorry.” Off he drove in his GTO with me crying at my HS door.
The pain, the hurt, the anger, and the disgust at only being 16 was never worth that long horrible trip I put one’s trust in, August 15, 1976
The Autumn of 1940: This is a true story, written about my mother during WWII. It was in a contest for ‘the write practice’…the theme was Scar. To this day my mom, at 80 years old, will never forget those days…
The Autumn of 1940
Children cried in fear, terror and confusion. Those years would pass, and perhaps painlessly. Yet the war kept the memories inside, where the scar is buried deep.
Jean was a 5 year old who resided in Hastings, England. As the youngest of 6, she coped with hardships, but her childhood was happy and fun-filled.
Summer came to an end and Germany had invaded France. Officials had backed all children off coastal towns in England.
When Jean entered into the hectic railroad depot, a tall man snatched Jean away from her mum. He proudly wore a British arm band, and mud-stained rubber boots. Jean tugged at the troopers fingers around her wrist, but his grip was too strong. She screamed for her mother.
“Leave her! Please!” said Kath, who stood behind Dora.
“I don’t want to go!” said Jean.
“Luv, I want to make sure your name is in your coat. ‘Jean Waters’ that’s your name.” Kath said with a smile. “Look, you have a postcard with a stamp on it?” She nervously kissed Jean on her tear soaked face, but pretended to keep cool.
Dora held back her tears. “Listen my girl, brightens! Be a brave girl for mummy. I’m sure the man will have a sweet for you? Go on now.” She hugged her tight, but the man was already pulling on Jeans arm.
The official took Jean, still screaming and crying. Dora and Kath were doing nothing, but listening for Jean crying out their names.The lump that began to form in Dora’s throat was now stinging behind her eyes. She had been brave for Jean, but the emotions she felt had to be released.
Jean arrived at a local village with the volunteers and many children positioned themselves with foster families. Jean was picked by an elderly couple who lived in Glasgow, Scotland.
The Campbell’s took Jeans hand to catch the train, but she forced them apart. All she did was continually rub her eyes and yawn. She had made an attempt to keep vigil by looking out the train window, but the trains constant motion eventually sent her to sleep.
Jean finally awoke and Mr. Campbell reached down for her chin with his hand and said, “Lassie, why are ye still crying?”
“I wish to go home.” Jean sobbed.
“Lass, we be going hame soon, and then ye have food. Will ye like that?” Mrs. Campbell sat beside her.
“Yes, thank you.” Jean sniffed, but she still wanted her Mum.
“Well now, the ‘Blue Train’, she’s almost here in Glescae!” He exclaimed, looking out of the window.
The train finally stopped. Jean stood, still upset, but Mr. Campbell picked her up over his shoulder. She started feeling a bit better, yet trembled too.
“Still hungry lass?” Mr. Campbell asked.
“Yes, Sir.”
Suddenly, she saw a strange look inside Mr. Campbell’s eyes. He said, “Lass, we came a long voyage, now ye ours. Please call us Faither and Mither.”
“I have a Mummy and Daddy!” stamping her feet.
Mrs. Campbell wryly grinned, and said, “Now ye have two”.
Jean was too tired to understand this. They were so helpful on the train? Why were they thinking she was their daughter? She missed home.
The bus arrived, and twenty minutes later they were at home. Mrs. Campbell brought her inside and said, “Would you like a little bit of eggs and fried bread lassie?”
“Yes, please!” answered Jean.
“When you’re finished, go to your room Jimmy. It’s getting late!” Mrs. Campbell said in a trancelike state.
“I’m not Jimmy?!” Jean said shaking.
Mr. Campbell was right behind his wife and heard what she said, “Lass, eat your eggs and go to your room, now!”
“Yea, yea, yes..” Jean sobbed again.
“Stop your sniffling! Mrs. Campbell didn’t aim to call you Jimmy! Now finish!”
Jean rushed through supper, and Mr. Campbell spoke silently with his wife. Jean didn’t know what was mistaken with her?
“Lass, ye our daughter, we are entitled to be called Mam and Pa, we saved ye from the bombs!” Mr. Campbell yelled.
“No!” Jean screamed back.
“You best watch yourself lass, I’m not calling in me markers to take care of a wee devil.”
From that moment on she knew she had to run. “Why were they nice at first? What’s wrong?” thought Jean.
They dragged her upstairs and said, “Since you’re not being friendly to us, you’ll keep to the house. After you wake up, maybe you’ll think again bairn!”
“You’re not my Mummy and Daddy!” Over and over she cried, no one listened. Finally she looked around. This was a large closet with a cot and a window! Jean held her dolly and cried.
Jean didn’t go to sleep. She was set on staying in her coat, it identified her. She looked out the window, the roof was straw, she could slide down. Quietly she tried opening the window, it was old and stiff, but it budged. She grabbed her dolly, and suitcase.
Carefully she clambered onto the ledge. Fearful of falling, she put it behind her. This wasn’t her home. She slide down, landing right on her bottom. Nothing would stop her. Jean rose to her feet, and ran without looking back.
Suddenly she felt a tug on her coat. “Let go of me!” she screamed. Jean didn’t know Mr. Campbell was up before the sun, he wasn’t about to let go of his meal ticket.
“You’ll stay here, BONNIE LASSIE, until I say, but you’ll learn a lesson ye never will forget” with arms wailing at his face, he pulled her like a rag doll. “Now hunker over!”
“No, NO!” Tears began gushing.
“Hunker over or I’ll thrash you till you bleed!” Jean was hysterically crying. She hunkered over and Mr. Campbell took a switch, and whipped her twice. “Now bairn, once for disobeying, and twice for running, next time will be worse. Run down to the house and remember who we are!”
Jean remembered who they were: mean, old and hateful people. The man in authority, who made her call him ‘faither’ worked her on his farm, it’s not like she was a boy. The woman, she had to call her ‘mither’ dressed Jean as her son. Jimmy had died a long time ago and they couldn’t let go of him.
The woman never brushed her hair, or even gave her a bath. She was dirty & nearly starving.
The beatings were continuous. Jean would cry herself to sleep saying, “Kath, you promised.”
One day she found the postcard in her coat with a stamp on it! Her address was already on it and all she had to do was put the Campbell’s return address on. She kept watching for Mrs. Campbell, this was the time when she fed the chickens. Jean ran to the back of the house to make sure Mr. Campbell was milking the cows. He was, but the postcard had to be short, she had one chance:
“dear kath-
please get me. everything is not fine. I am being beaten! please?
love jean”
The postman was due at 10 am. The Campbell’s could not see her by the postbox.
“Good Morning Bonnie Lass,” he said
“Good Morning, Mr. White”. She said “Mr. White, I forgot, the officials told us to send this along to our homes and I forgot, it’s so late now.”
“Ah las, I’ll attend to the postcard, for ye.”
“Thank you Mr. White!” Jean smiled.
“Don’t you worry now. Have a good day!” with that he gave her a wave.
Months went by and no news came from England. One night they were all sitting below having supper. Mr. Campbell never allowed talking and Jean was only allowed minimal portions. Suddenly, a knock was heard.
“Who’s that during my suppertime Mrs.Campbell?!”
“I don’t know? Would you want me to see?” he nodded stuffing his mouth. Mrs. Campbell rose from the table, slowly walking to the main entrance. Jean wasn’t even paying attention.
“May I help ye?” Mrs. Campbell asked.
“My name is Miss Kathleen Waters, I’m here for my sister. I’m not leaving without her!” Jean heard her sisters voice and jumped off the table, knocking her chair over. Mr. Campbell jumped up, tripping over the chair.
“Kath! You came!” Jean jumped right into her arms.
“Darling! My luv, how couldn’t I after I got your post!” Kath said while kissing her face.
“Here, here, you can’t take this lass! She’s mine!” He said.
“No! She’s not yours! She’s my sister! I won’t leave without her on my arm!
“Jean bend over.” Jean bent over.
“What are those scars Mr. Campbell? You bastard! How dare you strike a 5 year old! I’ve contacted the local police force. You lied, saying you’ve never had foster children! You’re an abuser! You both disgust me.” Kath spat out.
“Come here my luv! Get your coat, suitcase and dolly, we’re going home. No one will ever put a scar on you again.”
Surgery…prayer..anger…and prayer
The pain that exists within a body
You can’t expel anymore
The pain you cause others
You refuse to expel it
The pain you cause your body
You refuse to let it go
You cry out over and over
You hear others, “we’re praying over and over….”
But you don’t care
Because the hate you have for yourself and others you want paid back
Paid back for the injury
Paid back for material items lost
Paid back for things your body can now longer do
This isn’t living, its existing in a body that has died to anger
To hate
You have allowed the power of un forgiveness and anger to reign
God has given us the power to ask and receive
” I will heal you, love you with unconditional love, I released the pain you still harbor as a boat waits in the harbor to leave, throw off the bowlines…sail away from your safety net, it no longer exists. My burden has always been light..cover me with your pain and anger…yet you refuse to listen just as you refuse to be forgiven. My tears are flowing for you my child, yes I cry, my Father cried while I was dying on the cross…but you are the only one who can take my hand…let me lead you to the peace that passes all understanding, the peace only I the risen Savior can take you to…the peace given my disciples, the fire inside them, I only was able to give. I come to give you life, life more abundantly than any material item or man will or can give you in this world that is falling further and further away from Me…Hold my hand, don’t let go, let the pain you’ve received blow away like a cloud blowing in the wind. Our time on earth is nearly over…and on that day when you’re still holding on, I will receive you into Glory to live an Eternal life that only I, your Lord Jesus Christ can give you…paths of gold, nothing man could ever make..only I your Father knows…I love you Mike…I know every hair counted on your head and I know each thought you have ever had..whether it’s anger…or love and adoration…I am here….with Me, you can crawl, then you will walk, and then run, but you can’t until your eyes are on the goal….to live”
Dear Mr. Reince Priebus…
*On May 16 I felt a real pulling on my heart to write a letter to Reince Priebus, Chairman of the GOP. I felt he was allowing a candidate to pull his strings in this election year. He allowed a mean spirited, racist, candidate to publish lies about a certain conservative candidate that did nothing to him except be in the 2016 election and get caught in the middle.
Since the days of Lincoln, and before, there have always been political mudslinging in election years, but in over 100 years, there has never been the downright disrespect by one candidate.
I was tired of tweeting my anger, I was tired of writing the same things over and over again. I was tired of being called names, and nothing I or others were objecting to were making a dent. We were literally going back in time when prejudice was rampant and acceptable. We were acting like brothers against brother, race against race, and one man was not standing up to this. I had to call him out on it.
This is the letter I wrote on May 16, 2016 to Reince Preibus. It was never acknowledged by him, just social media. If you haven’t read it, I hope you do with he understanding that this is 2016, not 1936. Continue reading
Ted Cruz & the Constitution part 1
Ted Cruz has spent a lifetime fighting to defend the Constitution.
Our nation’s founding document and the supreme law of the land was crafted by our founding fathers to act as chains to bind the mischief of government and to protect the liberties endowed to us by our Creator.
Unfortunately, recent administrations have defied the Constitution and the rule of law, and as a result we are less free.
We need to restore the Constitution as our standard. We need to protect the people by rolling back the federal government to the functions the Constitution sets out. We need to give power back to the states and the people so that we remain a land where liberty can flourish.
The genuine article 