Hit Pause…Speak Truth

This is not a normal, concise and word-perfect post from me.

It’s a ramble because I need to say it, to heal, and to keep being me. 


The past few months have been devastating for so many around the world—acts of terror, terrifying weather and just the unstoppable march of time.

It’s hard to believe that in 2017, I could be surprised at how hateful and cruel people can be to each other. Yet…I’m shocked.


My confession: I am not political.

My truth: I am human.

My advice to the President and anyone else who has the privilege of a platform and a voice:

In the face of absolute disaster and human suffering, do not tear others down.

Be kind to strangers, even if they are not kind to you. You have no idea what people are going through.

Take the high road.

Be a leader.



If you can’t or won’t take any of these actions, shut up. Please.


Then, Monday, October 2nd, 2017.

One of those days I wonder, why bother? We’re irreparably broken.

I stumbled across an old post I never published—I probably should have.

It was from another time that I questioned writing and reading fantasy, when everything was wrong with the world.

I felt frivolous, silly…like a waste of time…or a big lie.

It took some time to work my way free.


I didn’t post this yesterday. I couldn’t hit the button.


Today, Tuesday October 3rd, 2017…people are standing in lines for hours to donate blood.

I’m working my way free. So about that old post…



To the dreamers and the artists;

The singers, painters, jewelry designers, authors, photographers and songwriters—without your genius, every ounce of joy and beauty will be lost forever.

Be strong.

Never give up.

You are our only true hope.






So perfect, so tragic…

So Anne Marie, tell me about Monsters and Angels in one sentence.

How about one picture?


“We don’t choose who we love.”

                        -Sorcha Alden

The Shimmer Where You Stood


Damn this lonely and bleak season.

Could you be a ghost? Are the undead capable of haunting each other? Credible sources tell me no. Not possible.

Yet, you come to me in dreams so vivid, I tremble for hours. Everywhere in this labyrinth, I see you. Your figure blurs in one blink and fades to nothing in the next. A mirage of the way you were on the day we met-innocent and unscarred.

Tricks for my eyes and torture for my soul.

Lies and treachery are woven into life’s tapestry for New Orleans’ first family. Theatrics seem normal-until they sabotage everything.

One last fight. Crossed signals.

One final truce. Buried resentment.

One handwritten note. Love paid the price.

My eternal mission is to rekindle that fire and honor our wedding vows.  I did write them myself.